The Puzzle Of Why
I read two interesting things recently.
(Ed. Note: Three, actually. I forgot to mention an article I read over at The Thinking Writer. My mind is turning to mush. I blame my children.)
The first were some comments by a friend who was discussing “why we write”. He seems to have stopped writing (at least for the meanwhile) because he simply stopped enjoying it. In fact, it started to become painful.
The other was a little throwaway in a recycled article that John August put up about his days as a studio reader slogging through awful scripts.
I got a taste of my own medicine later, when I slipped one of my scripts under a pseudonym to an intern whose opinion I respected. His coverage lambasted the screenplay and the untalented hack who created it. I actually got nauseous reading his critique.
He actually got nauseous.
You might think that John is either exaggerating or perhaps too sensitive. It’s possible that he is exaggerating here, but I can absolutely say that my writing…and reactions to my writing…have made me physically sick. Nauseated. Headachey. Exhausted. Dizzy.
Why…why do we do something that can impact us so viscerally and so negatively? And before you say, “Because the highs are just as high!” let me assure you that they’re not.
Don’t get me wrong…they’re very very good. I love being successful (when it happens). But for that success to equal the physical and emotional pain that failure can bring, it would have to be the equivalent of an hour-long nitrous high, and it ain’t. In fact, success is usually experienced as relief that I haven’t failed.
Don’t believe me? Two months ago, I turned in a treatment to my studio exec. I was sitting at dinner with my wife when he called. He hated it. HATED it.
I had to leave. I couldn’t even stay in the restaurant. Food lost taste, my head was literally buzzing with some kind of failure vapor, and my mind could only focus on one thought, no matter how hard I tried to avoid it: I am no good. My thoughts, my values, my sense of what’s good and bad…everything that composes the thing known as Craig Mazin was simply no good.
By the time I went to bed, I was practically imagining myself as Ozymandias, buried in the sand of dead careers…a monument to my own hubris and fallibility.
I know I’m not alone in this, because if you scratch at a professional writer long enough, he or she will share a similar moment.
Yeah, it’s irrational. Yeah, it’s painful. So I ask the question again…why do I write?
The money’s great, but honestly, I think I could do just fine as a lawyer or physician.
And while the marketing people at Final Draft have built a campaign around self-affirming answers to this very question, I find myself returning to one simple explanation.
I love puzzles.
To me, screenwriting is more than simply story-telling. If I just wanted to tell stories, I’d tell them. I’d write novels or sing songs or get up in front of an audience like Garrison Keillor and spin a great yarn.
But that’s not me. Never will be.
I love the puzzle of screenwriting. “Tell a story, and use any words you’d like. BUT…only some of the words will ever be heard, so pick those carefully. It must be visual. It must be performable. It must have a certain structure. It must be 95-120 pages. It must fit a budget. It must fit a schedule. It must include certain characters. It must fit a certain rating.”
That’s just the beginning. Once you’re in production, scene writing becomes advanced puzzle-solving. “It must be able to be shot in a day. It must feature four characters, two of whom will be present for half the time, and different halves at that. It must cover the ground that was previously covered in another scene that has been cut.” And so on.
And while all this micropuzzling is going on, there’s the macropuzzling that must be solved in parallel. The puzzle of the plot. The puzzle of the narrative. The puzzle of the theme. The puzzle of the characters. The puzzle of the punchline. The puzzle of the revelation.
The micropuzzles change the macropuzzles, which change the micropuzzles, which changes the macropuzzles…
Screenwriting is Star Trek chess with words.
With the skills and talents I have, this is the puzzle that is most satisfying to me. It’s certainly the closest I’ll ever get to being a Magister Ludi.
Unfortunately, the essence of a puzzle is that it must be solved.
This is where the pain comes in. If you religiously do the Friday, Saturday and Sunday New York Times Crossword Puzzles the way I do, then you know how much credit you give yourself for a mostly-finished puzzle. Zippo. Nada. Either it’s solved…
…or it ain’t.
For a puzzler, puzzles aren’t things that can be solved. Puzzles are things that demand to be solved. And I think that sometimes when I get that sick feeling in my stomach and my jaw tightens and my head pounds, I make a terrible mistake in presuming that the negativity is anger at me.
It’s anger at the puzzle. The puzzle has refused my solution. The puzzle mocks me.
And I know that I won’t be able to stop until the puzzle is solved.
This is why, quite frankly, I hate doing production polishes. I was reminded of this just this past week. I had one week to improve the screenplay as best I could, keeping in mind that shooting would begin exactly two weeks after I turned in my pages, and so cast and locations and sets and so forth were already in place.
A good puzzle, no?
The problem is that the best solution required more than a week’s work. I was being asked to do the equivalent of filling in as many crossword blanks as I could, and maybe correcting some wrong answers while I was at it.
But not really solve it. No time for that.
Frustrating.
Anyway, that friend I was telling you about in the first paragraph…he was saying that he did enjoy the puzzle aspects of the story-breaking, but not of the actual production. He was divorced from the ultimate solution, and so the process failed to satisfy.
I guess I differ in that I see the entire process…from blank page to premiere…as a puzzle. One massive Rubik’s Cube of creation, money, egos, failure, success, confusion, and hopefully a little bit of elation.
So when I finally consider the real question, which is simply “Is it all worth the nausea and the pain?” I guess the answer I’ve arrived at after ten years is this:
It doesn’t matter.
The puzzle is waiting. And for better or worse, I’m compelled to solve it.
Oh, very interesting! I’ve always loved puzzles, but I never connected it with my interest in writing for television. It makes sense, though. I love writing challenges; being told, “Do this and include this and it must occur here. Oh, and try to make it seem like it all happens naturally.” It’s similar to writing a computer program; creativity within structure.
Nicely put, Craig. I write scripts because I love the challenges inherent in the medium, period. If all I cared about were telling stories or having my precious words adored in and of themselves, I’d write novels. But for me, fewer constrictions equal less intellectual satisfaction.
Still working on the financial satisfaction angle, but that will come. :)
I write screenplays for two reasons: (God knows money ain’t one of ‘em)
1. I have no real-life friends so I make people up and tell them what to do.
2. Even though I love movies, I can’t afford to go see them, so I have to make those up, too.
The equation? Imaginary friends + enemies * love of movies = Screenwriting.
Just kidding. I write because I wasn’t good enough to make the NBA.
By the way, Craig, I just bought 50,000 shares of Scary Movie 4 at Hollywood Stock Exchange at $27.75 a pop. Tell me that’s a steal.
Ha! I bought 50,000 shares at $34 a while back.
Did the same for Scary Movie 3. Bought the max at 20-something. It closed out over $100.
It’s hard to say if we’ll hit a hundred million again with Scary 4 (difficult with the third sequel), but we’ll easily beat 28 million in four weeks. Scary 3 made 48 million in its first three days.
It’s a steal. I think one of the things factored into the price is the possibility of the movie not getting made. So here’s my insider tip.
Movie’s getting made. :)
I write because
1) Thrill. I get a thrill when I’m writing something that I know is good—when I know I’m hitting the beat, portraying the emotion just right—doesn’t happen always, just enough to keep me going. I get a different kind of thrill from seeing the properly bound finished baby sitting next to me on a chair. I get no thrill from the rejected query letters or nothings I get back, but see #3. I don’t view the writing as a puzzle I (see #3) view it as a release.
2) Freedom. I am a lawyer, and while being a lawyer isn’t a half-bad job, there is very little freedom. While no job, including being a screenwriter is free, it is my impression that you guys have a lot more say over what,how and when you work.
3) Dreams. Everybody needs a dream valve to let off the steam of their lives. This is mine. I’m sure if I ever make it I’ll have a different dream (becoming a director? Winning an Oscar? Only the Shadow knows what screenwriters dream of.) So despite the rejected queries, I keep slogging. Trying to sell script A and work when I can on script B.
Cheers, T
Great insight. Your analogy makes me think of writers who talk about being able to “lick” a story or being able to crack it like a nut. Thinking in these terms creates a sense of conflict— or drama— with the story, and isn’t that what it’s all about? Beautiful.
A side note: I know a lot of people like to link to Amazon, but there are also some great Independent (and unionized) bookstores on-line. One that comes to mind is (ahem) the one I currently work for. Here’s a link to the same great Hermann Hesse novel as well as a selection of fabulous staff picks on screenwriting.
http://www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?inkey=65-0312278497-2
http://www.powells.com/staffpicks/employee/picks_tavis.html
Why do you write, Ted?
Lee
Tavis:
You had me at unionized.
Fantastic site, by the way. I’ve replaced the link in the main body, and I’m giving Powell’s an “Interesting” plug.
I recently came up with a different answer to why we write, but I wish I had written yours. :)
Jon:
You know what? I read that. I read that, and in fact, it was one of the things that inspired me to write the article, and I completely blew it when it came time to mention it.
It’s been a rough week. :)
Anyway, I added the reference up at the top. Sorry about that.
I definitely enjoy the puzzle aspect. I did improv comedy in college and a bit afterwards, and I really enjoyed the limitations of it—having to craft a scene where (say) each line begins with a certain letter of the alphabet.
Still, for me personally, the storytelling aspect outweights the puzzle aspect. At one point, I wanted to be a short story writer, and if I could have made a living doing it, I’d probably have stuck with short stories.
I just sent the first draft of my first adaptation off to the producer, and while I really enjoyed the process, it wasn’t quite as satisfying as an original story. When you write an original script, the story-making-up process outweighs the puzzle solving process. In an adaptation, somebody has already made up the story (or, at least, parts of it), and so the puzzle-solving aspect becomes dominant.
Writers who think of themselves as puzzlephiles: do you like adaptations as much as, or more than, originals?
Jacob:
Interesting question. Of the scripts I’ve written, it’s about a 50/50 split between originals and adaptations (in which I include scripts based on historical events, even if they’d qualify as originals in the Academy Award sense).
And I do enjoy adaptations more, now that I think about it. I’m much more interested in finding the best way to tell a story vs. making up the best story. So much for my fantasies of a seven-figure spec sale, I guess. :)
Jacob:
I find originals and adaptations separately-but-equally puzzling.
I don’t know what this says about me as a writer, but when I was kid, I never had the patience to solve the Rubik’s Cube. The furthest I ever got was two sides, and the bottom two rungs of the third and fourth sides. That I still remember that… maybe this says more about me as a writer than I’d like to admit. Then again, I was only 9.
Obviously, anyone who has ever written a story understands that writing is about problem solving. But I’ve never really looked at is as puzzle-solving before. A slight, but semantically significant distinction.
I don’t know. For me, writing is so difficult, and has always been so difficult that I’ve never really had the inclination to stop and think about its more challenging, character-building aspects. Once I start a story, it’s all about survival. Something compels me to finish, but its not that “A-ha!” rush of everything falling into place that other folks have talked about. I have a feeling it’s a bit more sinister than that. A compulsion that might, in a less forgiving environment, lead me into a 12-step program.
In fact, everytime I finish a first draft, I am completely flabbergasted that I managed to finish it at all. Something that’s actually funny, cohesive, and makes a bit of sense.
Rather than being satisfied at having untangled a nasty knot, I am instead stunned at having found my way to the end of the maze at all.
I emerge from it with the blank mask of the trauma victim, wandering around my apartment somewhat somnambulistic, bumping into walls. It takes me days to recover.
I suppose the puzzle-solving aspect comes into play on the second and subsequent drafts. Though I’ve never thought of it as such. For me, once the first draft is there and actually exists in a space-time continuum that I share with others, it’s all about weaseling out of the story in as efficient and practical a manner as humanly possible. If the first draft is survival, then the second draft, I suppose, is damage control.
But because I’m a weasel, I think, in many ways, I’ve cultivated innovative strategies to get me to my goal that other, less weaselly folk haven’t yet discovered. Like, for example, ever so carefully removing the Rubik’s Cube stickers and rearranging them so they match up. :-)
The only thing about writing that doesn’t make me feel like a pro-wrestler is squeezing my temples in a vicious headlock… is dialogue. I’m pretty good at it, thank god. And I think this is what gives me the confidence to sally forth into the otherwise ridiculous forays of plot reversals and second act sags and all that other shit that leaves me feeling like a pre-verbal, inbred, knuckle-dragging, red-headed austistic step-child on most days.
All my scripts are dialogue-heavy on the first draft because, being confident with it, I tend to gravitate to dialogue as a way to solve story problems. But puzzle-solving? I don’t know. That sounds like too much fun to have anything to do with real writing.
The weasel in me is always looking for the end-run around the typical problems. The way to avoid all the traps, to find the secret tunnel up into the sunlight that everybody else has yet to discover. By nature I guess, I’m unsuited to the riddle. But then, I’m willing to dig deep.
Jaylynn
Great discussion. I really don’t know how I ended up writing screenplays. I always figured I’d write novels. But, on a lark, I took a screenwriting course in college. I guess I just liked it.
The plan had been to write two solid scripts before worrying about anything else. I was halfway into rewriting the second when the first one, written when I was nineteen, accidentally got me a couple of jobs. This happened a few months ago. I’m twenty-three now. It’s pretty weird.
I’ve never been too comfortable with my own writing: I always see problems. I used to think this would stop when I started getting work—kind of a validation of my writing ability, I guess—but that hasn’t been the case at all.
Writing for me—ridiculous simile, incoming—is, and I guess always will be, like being given a half-solved New York Times crossword puzzle and being asked to supply the questions and the remaining answers. I don’t know what that means, either, but my point, however roundabout, is that I don’t have a whole lot of faith in my own writing. No matter how much other people might like it, I only see problems.
Craig, The nail has been hit. My first job out of grad school was on the business-side of advertising… basically putting out fires all day. I had no idea how much that was going to prepare me for screenwriting in hollywood.
Writing a first draft — whether an original or an assignment — is like Indiana Jones beating all the traps to get the little gold figure on the pedestal. He’s got a plan; he knows he’s pretty good at it; he can mosey along on his own schedule to avoid as many pitfalls as possible. Dealing with producer notes, studio notes, director notes, actor notes, not to mention production schedules, budgetary restrictions, and the fact that actors just like to improvise dialogue… whether it throws the entire logic of the script out of whack… now we’re getting to the good stuff! It’s like Indiana Jones trying to get back out of the temple, springing traps left and right, poison darts flying at his head, his comrades turning on him, stealing his whip, all while having a gigantic rolling rock breathing down his neck.
And when it’s all over, and he’s completely unappreciated, and his greatest success has been locked away in a wooden crate with all the other wooden crates… he puts back on his hat and goes right after the next treasure. See… screenwriting is heroic!
Exactly. Screenwriters are just a lot more anonymous than Indiana Jones. I thought I knew movies O.K., but I’m really having to look an awful lot of you guys up on IMDb… .
I don’t think the puzzle-solvin aspect applies to me. Or rather, it applies, in that I love all types of verbal mental puzzles. Riddles, crosswords and stuff like that. I have a seemingly inexhaustable supply of patience for solvin those kinda puzzles.
But other types of puzzles, particularly those dealin w/ math (shudder) sorta bore me. When tryin to solve those my mind quickly shuts down. Solvin ‘em becomes a chore instead of play. And I like to play.
For instance, I played w/ the Rubik’s cube when I was a kid. After solvin 2 sides on it, I grew frustrated and flung it aside because I (didn’t have the patience to solve that crafty lil bastard) didn’t see what all the fuss was about. It was just a funny lil cube w/ colors on it. So what if you could “solve” the entire thing. Big whup. But could you write an engagin tale? I’m more impressed w/ words. Or rather, what you can do w/ words.
Words are powerful. Sticks and stones my ass! If you string the right words together you can cause all kinds of harm or bring all kinds of joy.
For me, the challenge is to learn to make the words do what I want ‘em to do. To capture what I see (or hear or feel) in my head and/or heart — to make that appear on the page. Masterin that is a summmmmbitch. So in that sense, yeah, writin is solvin a puzzle. Or rather masterin a feat. But even that doesn’t fully explain why I write.
I write because I wanna tell stories. I’ve always wanted to tell stories. I wanna seduce, transport and entertain folks w/ my tales. I wanna give folks the same joy that Stephen King’s tales give me. If I could do that to just one person (okay, to King himself :-) I’d be a happy camper. But then, I’m not only interested in writin screenplays. I’m also interested in writin novels, short stories and plays.
And not to get too woo-woo on y’all, but Jay, your description of why you write is perfectly in keepin w/ your astro chart :-) Particularly your bit about it (writin) sorta bein a compulsion and your likin to “dig deep”.
I read that and thought: Of course! She has Pluto (compulsion and a proclivity for diggin deep, gettin to the heart of the matter) in her house of communications. Just like me. Of course she would feel that way. There’s more, but I just had to share that lil tidbit :-)
Mariama
craig
my answer to same question over at the thinking writer was ‘i want to make the world a better place’. but, looking at the direction that thread went, i’m changing my answer: i write because i know i’m one of the best.
that’s right. i said it. you can chalk this up as arrogance (who could blame you), but it’s not. this answer is related to the story of a failed writer told over at ttw about some guy who went to school (i guess for writing) made inroads in lala land but never succeeded and was never taken seriously as a scribe.
here’s my take: those who have the talent (and i mean, they’re brilliant [like mozart brilliant]) will succeed. those who are merely talented will struggle and may or may not succeed. this guy in the ttw story - he may have known what he was doing but was not brilliant - therefore, he should have chosen another field of endeavor. the ability to construct a proper 3 act story is not good enough. not for this field. people do not buy tickets to movies whose stongest attribute is that they are ‘properly structured’. they buy tickets to movies that will entertain them
now, me. i watch a chris rock dvd and i love it. he’s a great stand-up. i wish i could do that. that would be great. i’d take that in a heart beat. but, one problem: i’m not a comedian. ‘duh’ you say. ‘what’s your point?’ who would be stupid enough to pursue something they didn’t have the talent for? wannabe screenwriters, that’s who. my point: i know better. if you think my earlier ‘i’m one of the best’ comment was arrogant, let me balance it out: i’d suck as a stand-up comedian. it would be pathetic. lousy. boo! i know this. i admit it. i’m not going to try stand-up. not my talent
the ‘wanting to make the world a better place’ thing is still true, but one must choose the right method. for me, no way is it stand up or any kind of comedy - i just can’t do funny. i do creepy.
i write because i know i’m one of the best (at writing). i avoid getting in front of an audience and telling jokes because i know i’d suck the big one at comedy. i know it. don’t have to think about it. wannabes are not this honest. that’s the problem. and, they make things worse by not working very, very hard - so you get a mediocre writer who slaps together a draft and sends it out praying to win the lotto
this industry is for the very best. next time you look at a movie ad in the paper and think ‘i’m not wasting my time’ you’re proving my point. it’s a tough business. most movies cost a lot and return little. it’s logical - if you’re one of the (very) best, hollywood will invite you in. why? cause you got what they are desperate for - the talent to write stories that will put asses in seats.
i write because i know i can. if i knew i could be one of the best lawyers, or doctors, or senators - well, i might go in that direction. but, writing is my talent. it’s the talent i was given. i’m lucky to have discovered it. i work hard to reach my potential. i don’t take my ability for granted, and understand that, with talent comes responsibility. i hope i can do something as a writer that justifies being given the talent to write.
my hope, however, is that my movies will make the world a better place. i hope you can forgive my arrogance
Per the Rubic’s cube analogy going around…
As a kid I could only get two sides. But then I’d get a screwdriver, stick it in, pull the thing apart and reassemble it. Admire it for a few weeks, then scramble it again, get two sides and get the screwdriver out again.
Is that Bill Martell’s Third Door? :)
Alan:
If you think you’re one of the best…hey, who am I to say you’re not? You very well might be!
Alan, I can forgive your arrogance but not your boycott of capital letters :)
Uh… why do so many screenwriters think they’re better than novelists?
“If I just wanted to do simple storytelling I’d write novels.”
Give me a break. Obviously you have never tried writing or novel and/or have only read bad novels.
I’ve worked as a screenwriter for 8 years. I have been hanging around novelists for the past 3 or 4 years. And one thing that novelists never do is claim their art/craft is any better than screenwriters. Something that I can’t say about the screenwriters I know… and am now reading here.
Great writing is great writing. A screenplay is no tougher nor easier than a novel. They are different forms of the same art. To think that a screenplay is any deeper than a novel is a joke.
And the puzzle thing I don’t get.
And this whole “Writing is so painful” thing baffles me. We love writing. Otherwise we would do something else. Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard all the “I can’t do anything else…” crap. We’re writers. We’d do it if we got paid mininum wage (or less as some of us do), or if we make so much that our WGA dues are more than most people’s yearly income. We do it because we love it. The “pain” so many writers love to talk about is bullshit.
Pain is digging ditches in 106 degree weather for $8 an hour. Pain is being a teacher or a cop and having all the responsibility that goes with that and still being paid garbage. Pain is living on food stamps.
The only other vocation that comes close to the way writers love to pat each other on the back is stuntmen.
You’re a writer. Shut up and do your job or go find another job.
/rant
Sorry. My muse is out of town.
Paul:
You misquoted me in your comment. I don’t think of novels as simple story telling. I used the word “simply” as in “solely” or “exclusively”.
I think you’re referring to my comment with this jab, and it’s not totally undeserved.
However, I didn’t mean to imply that screenwriters are better than novelists or that novelists have it easier, only that the challenges inherent in writing screenplays excite me more than the challenges inherent in writing novels. I have in fact tried writing a novel, and I hated it utterly. And part of the reason I hated it was that I didn’t think I was particularly good at it, frankly. So I absolutely have respect for those who write novels—even bad ones.
To me, screenplays are more like puzzles because you know you have a maximum of 120 pages to tell the story. You aren’t allowed to simply tell the audience what the characters are thinking or feeling; you have to convey that with visuals or with dialogue alone. Same with backstory—in a novel, you can go off on a long multichapter tangent explaining a character’s backstory if you like. In a script, however, you don’t have that luxury, or at least if you decide you need to show some backstory you have to decide what you’re going to be willing to cut because you still have to get it into 120 pages.
That said, of course novels aren’t any easier to write. You still have to come up with and tell a great story, and while you don’t have the page limits and you can just explain what a character is thinking when necessary, the lack of constraints means you have a completely different problem: When do you STOP? How much is too much? That was what drove me insane when I tried to write a novel. I just don’t have any instincts for it. I also had no fun at all describing every little thing, whether it’s the way the characters look or the environments they find themselves in. I am also much happier writing screenplays because I can leave those details to directors, actors and set designers. So in that regard, screenwriting is (to me) considerably easier than novel-writing…and I’m perfectly happy to accept that. :)
Anyway, absolutely no offense intended.
Craig is right - I misquoted him, and I apologize.
craig
i might be one of the best, i might be a bullshit artist. my point remains just as valid (or invalid)
gary
the shift key on my keyboard doesn’t work (the period key works half the time) :(
Why do you write, Lee?
Mariama
Me?
I am a text-book amateur; I write because I find the act in-and-of itself enjoyable. I asked because it is interesting to hear how a professional views the activity; especially one with such wonderful accomplishments.
It is also helpful to get a glimpse of what the terrain ahead might look like from someone I have come to respect. Personally, I’m at a difficult cross-road with writing, and I find myself asking ‘is it worth it to continue?’ So when I read something like Craig’s puzzle view, and find I can link that to my previous experience in another field (an aspect of the work I loved), it helps me better assess my choice.
Lee
How many times can you use the word “puzzle” in a single essay. It makes the mind spin.