An Introduction to Screenwriting

UEA (University of East Anglia)

What do we mean by cinematic story and form?

Michael Lengsfield starts by taking a broad look at screen stories.

Anyone who’s been to the pictures will have a perfectly good notion of how screen
stories operate. For example, most of us are pretty clear that we like particular movie
genres: we might like RomComs and hate SciFi, or vice versa. And we know that
movies from these genres produce a certain response in us: Comedies, make us laugh;
Horror movies will scare us, and so on. So we may not think about it, but we see most
movies with a pretty good idea of what to expect from the story.

But other, more general, aspects of the movies are so ingrained in us that we may
remain unaware of them. We instinctively know the pace and rhythm of movies; we
know the common qualities, sometimes called conventions, of our favourite genres; and
we know that the story’s primary ‘question’ – the “what’s this about” - will be resolved
before the movie can end.

And we unconsciously know that other aspects of the movies will usually happen, but
not always. For example, we know that that the hero will be tested before he or she
earns their happy ending; that our major characters will usually change or develop over
the course of the film; and that love always seems to win out.

It’s the screenwriter’s job to craft a story that responds to this mix of familiar
conventions and audience expectations – and find a way to make it feel fresh and
original.

Basic characteristics of screen story

First, screenwriting is a dramatic form, which means that we’re creating a script for
actors to perform in front of the cameras. So, a screenplay is often similar to the script
for a stage play. It’s constructed with “Dramatic Action”, a term that refers to character
movement with consequence. It builds the story on a certain sort of causality. E.M.
Forster once remarked that, “The king died and then the queen died is a story. The king
died, and then the queen died of grief is a plot.” i Most movies are built around a plot.

And, the story is constructed to take advantage of the considerable power of cinema.
The visual experience happens to us. It can be grand, perhaps in the films of David
Lean; overwhelming in the sci-fi worlds of Ridley Scott; or evocative, as in the films of
Lynne Ramsay or Andrea Arnold. Colm Toibin, whose novel Brooklyn was recently
adapted into a film, remarked that Saoirse Ronan’s character Eilis was able convey fifty
pages of character development in a single look. It was Nick Hornby’s screenplay that
set up that ‘look’.
A movie story is told ‘in the cut’, or in the editing process. The film will be composed
of many short fragments of action that come together. The screenwriter uses this
fragmentary process to shape the rhythm and pace of the story.

And the movies are able to ‘multi-track’, telling its story in many ways. For example,
we will see the action, but we can also hear speech in the story world and hear it as
voice over.

All in all, it’s a very powerful medium. But it does have limitations, too. It’s an external
form, so we see what characters say and do, but we aren’t privy to their thoughts and
feelings, as you might be in a novel. It’s up to the screenwriter to create action that
implies the character’s inner life, to make that inner life accessible to us.

And in most cases, it all hinges on the characters: movies work when the characters are
compelling. In most cases, we, as audience, will empathise with a character so deeply
that we become immersed in the action. It needn’t even be a sympathetic character, such
is the power of this immersion, as we will gladly empathise with a sociopath and
murderer, as in The Talented Mr Ripley. The story is capable of pitting our hearts
against our minds, with our hearts usually winning.

Developing stories

The problem for us, as writers, comes in finding and developing the stories.

David Mamet, the playwright and filmmaker, once remarked that, “Stories happen
because somebody wants something and has trouble getting it.” Let’s take a quick look
at this simple format:

 The “Somebody”… gives us a character. Not just a name, but a person in a

specific place, at a specific time, living a specific life.
 The “Wants Something”… gives us a goal, the ‘story question’ that will be what
this film is ‘about’. Sometimes this is an opportunity to do something that the
character wants: to travel, to climb a mountain, to woo the person of their
dreams, and so on. And sometimes it’s a dilemma forced onto the character: to
flee the alien invasion, escape the stalker or survive a Tsunami. And it might be
largely internal, for example in a story built around a character battling grief.
 And “Has Trouble Getting It”… gives us the conflict. It provides obstacles that
the character must overcome to achieve their goal. These obstacles will ask
difficult questions, and the response will come to change and define the
character.

Put these three elements together, and you have the makings of a basic storyline. We
often use this approach to create a movie logline, or one-sentence synopsis.

To this I want to add one more question: What’s great about it? What’s exciting about
this? That’s the key. Why is this material compelling? To You.

I think that makes a good place to start.

Developing a basic storyline

When developing a story, we all need time to cast about for the material that interests
and excites us.

At a certain point, however, it helps to work some ideas into a crude story form. The
step forces us to make clear decisions on the basic “Somebody wants something and has
trouble getting it” for our story. We may not know the complete story yet, but the very
act of trying to create the setup will move the project past the idea stage.

We can approach this in many ways but to help get us started, we are going to develop a
short verbal “pitch”, which is a simple way to summarise a story. It can be used as a
selling tool, but it also makes a very good tool to start the writing process.

Now, describing a story in a pithy yet effective way is a formidable challenge for many
of us. Actually, it’s downright terrifying for some people. The very term ‘pitching’
evokes images of door-to-door salesmen and brings up all sorts of performance anxiety.
After all, we’re writers, not actors.

There are many strategies to cope with this particular challenge, most of them
ineffective:

 Reading a pitch is dull. It just never sounds natural.

 Memorising and reciting the pitch can be worse. And forgetting your place is totally
humiliating.
 Bullet Points on index cards gets closer to the mark, but it’s too easy to start reading
them.

The best way is to simply know your story and be confident enough to relate it in a
clear, conversational manner. This is storytelling, and our goal is simply to engage our
audience.

We’ve found a simple aide memoire that helps to focus the story and sooth the jitters,
something we call a Five Finger Pitch. The method reduces your story to five basic
elements and offers an easy way to remember them.
What is story structure?

Now that we have a basis for a story, we will consider the idea of “story structure.” It
refers to the process of organising the story and constructing the screenplay’s plot.

Story structure is concerned with the order and timing of the events that take place in
the film, so, it’s concerned with the flow of information – who knows what, and when –
and the pace and rhythm of that flow. As audience, we only think about this when
something goes wrong: a story begins to drag, or maybe we miss something important.
Otherwise, the structure disappears into the story background.

Screenwriters, however, spend a lot of time thinking about structure. It’s a very
important part of screenwriting and the subject of many books and courses. In fact,
American screenwriter William Goldman famously remarked that, “Movies are
structure and that’s all they are. The quality of writing – which is crucial in almost every
other form of literature – is not what makes a screenplay work.” i Novelist John Irving,
who won an Oscar for adapting his own work, The Cider House Rules, goes even
further: “There is no (literary) language in a screenplay. (For me, dialogue doesn’t
count as language.) What passes for language in a screenplay is rudimentary, like the
directions for assembling a complicated children’s toy. The only aesthetic is to be
clear… A screenplay, as a piece of writing, is merely the scaffolding for a building
someone else is going to build… However many months I spend writing a screenplay, I
never feel as if I’ve been writing at all. I’ve been constructing a story…” ii

We’re taken by the idea of constructing the story, because it brings with it a sense of
craft and purposefulness. Yet it goes nowhere without the characters. The structure sets
in motion the character action, which, in turn, creates more story. Structure helps the
audience to become absorbed or immersed in the story, the source of its great emotional
impact. We empathise with the lead character: his/her wants become our wants; their
risks become our risks; their rewards our rewards. The visual storytelling tools of
cinema are very, very powerful, which link with our empathy to make for a deeply
moving audience experience.

The character-driven Three Act Structure remains the most common approach, as it
delivers the most immersive experience. Other forms may actually work to limit the
immersion in order to emphasise themes or elements of the story.

The Three Act Structure

This article will focus on the format that’s most commonly seen in contemporary
movies, the causal, character-driven “Three Act Structure”. While modern films don’t
have intervals or ‘real’ acts, the model refers to a particular way of organising a story’s
Beginning, Middle and End.

George Abbott, the theatre and film director-producer, reduced the structure to this: “In
the first act, your hero gets stuck in a tree. In the second act, you throw stones at him. In
the third act, you get him out of the tree.” Most film stories still work the same way:
Somebody - our Hero - Wants Something - to get out of the tree - And Has Trouble
Getting It - but people are throwing rocks at him…

The first act usually lasts twenty to thirty minutes and has the task of setting up the
story. It’s all about our ‘Somebody’ and the ‘Wants Something’. The act introduces
most of the basic story elements - setting, period, genre, characters, themes, conflicts –
and more important, it introduces us to the protagonist, or lead character. In most cases,
we’ll meet this person in his or her own world, only to soon see them jolted into action.
It may be the opportunity of a lifetime – to climb a mountain, woo the person of his/her
dreams, start a social network – or it may be a dilemma – escape an advancing army,
reverse failing A-levels, or tend a dying spouse. This choice will send the character in
pursuit of a clearly identified goal that will ask the ‘story question’ - the “What’s this
about?” - that defines the story and drives the rest of the action.

The second act usually lasts for half of the movie, up to an hour, and it’s all about the
‘Has Trouble Getting It’. We follow the protagonist in pursuit of the goal, only to see
them thwarted by obstacles at every turn. The effort to overcome these challenges and
setbacks will force the character into new situations, ask important questions and forge
new relationships. It usually ends with the failure of the original plan of action, and
often leaves the character lower than at the start of the story.

The third act takes the movie’s final half hour to resolve the story. In most cases, the
character has learned from the struggles in the second act, so a changed person will
gather their strength for a final confrontation that will answer the story questions and
bring the story to a close. It may be a battle with a dragon or a race to stop a wedding.
Either way, it will force a conclusion and establish a new, if only temporary, balance in
this story world.

This approach hasn’t changed greatly from that of Aristotle’s Poetics, written close to
2,500 years ago.

The Three Act Structure will be the ‘scaffolding’ that John Irving mentions, but the
story’s dimensionality will flow from the character changes, subplots and revelations
that are produced by this story movement.

In recent decades, we’ve seen greater emphasis on the personal growth of the lead
character, sometimes called ‘Conversion Narrative’ or ‘Restorative Three-Act
Structure’. In this format, the development arc of the protagonist is tied closely to the
arc of the story action. Some writers liken it to the ‘Hero’s Journey’ described in
mythologist Joseph Campbell’s influential work, The Hero With A Thousand Faces.
Others go on to describe a protagonist that must begin the story with a flaw, a defect or
‘psychic wound’ that needs to be corrected, healed, or redeemed before the story can
end. This narrative structure can be a very satisfying aspect of many stories, providing
the great emotional catharsis that Aristotle described so long ago.

While this approach can be effective in many films, it can be burdensome or clunky in
others. And some film franchises would be ruined if the lead character conquers his or
her inner demons. (Are we interested in the Hulk if he learns to control his temper?) At
any rate, it’s important to match the type and degree of character development to the
style and content of the story.
Alternate story structures

In the last discussion of story structure, we looked at the dominant form in theatrical
films, the character-based causal Three Act Structure. Now we’ll look at other
approaches to story organisation.

There is little reason why films must be told in this particular arrangement of three acts,
with its 25-50-25 rhythm. Some sort of beginning, middle and end is helpful, but we
have no trouble following other formal configurations. Modern stage plays seldom
feature more than two acts; television drama is often constructed in four acts, to
accommodate the adverts; and “serial” television films often break a single story into
many parts, each functioning as an act.

Some filmmakers work in a causal three-act structure, yet provide surprise or

uncertainty by subverting our expectations of the form. The story may begin with what
appears to be a protagonist, who is then killed off well before the end of the story. You
see this most famously in Hitchcock’s Psycho, but also in more recent films, e.g., No
Country For Old Men or The Homesman. The effect can be momentarily disorientating
for the audience, who must search for a new point of view on the story, a new home for
their empathy. It produces an unsettling effect that may enhance the suspense in a film.

Some stories may find a different rhythm or a different act structure. For example,
Enough Said which appears to have a first act that poses a clear dramatic question, only
to introduce a another major element almost forty minutes into the film. The change is
very effective, re-energising the plot and adding more complexity to the themes.

Other filmmakers, e.g., Abbas Kiarostami or Michael Haneke, may intentionally subvert
our expectations of the story by refusing to reveal the dramatic question or avoiding a
clear resolution.

There are also entirely different ways to approach story structure. We’ve been
discussing a model that follows one major storyline that most often follows a single
protagonist with clearly defined goals. Some movies, however, feature multiple
storylines.

In most cases, the multiple storylines are joined by a common event, place or theme.
Each of the storylines may have a plot of its own, the story’s overall coherence comes
from the relationship between the storylines. Some recent films, such as Crash or
Traffic, use this technique to make social commentary. Love, Actually takes on
romance with ten mostly-interlinked stories. Max Ophuls’ 1950 adaptation of La Ronde
featured a chain or “round-dance” of ten stories: “A” falls in love with “B”, who falls in
love with “C”, and so on.

Robert Altman’s Short Cuts was adapted from Raymond Carver stories into a film
featuring twenty-two principal characters and ten storylines. The final film has been
described as a “mosaic”, because its stories come together to form a larger picture that
can only be understood in its totality. The movie’s theme denies the causality at the
heart of a three-act structure, taking a rather more pessimistic look at the human
condition.
There are still other ways to organise a screen story, some intended to break the
emotional hold of the immersive three-act structure. These stories want to make us
think, as well as feel. These films may employ “alienation” techniques akin to Brecht’s
“Epic” theatre.

We haven’t the time to discuss all of the possible approaches to story, but it’s important
to note that the overwhelming majority of films use the character-driven three act
structure. Other forms demand more of the audience and, as a group, tend to be less
popular than movies constructed in the familiar structure. These movies may play at the
local speciality or art house theatre, rather than the multiplex.

Commercial considerations aside, it’s important to choose the approach that best tells
your story, rather than trying to force every story into the same mould.

Expanding the Five Finger Pitch

In this second week, let’s continue to work with the story we developed for our Five
Finger Pitch, which should loosely conform to the model for the character-driven three
act screenplay.

In this exercise, let’s fill it out to a full Ten Finger or Two Handed Pitch. The first five
fingers remain the same. That part of the pitch focuses on the story’s lead character, the
setup and your approach to the material. To fill out the story in more detail, let’s use the
other hand. These five points will focus on the details of our story’s “Has Trouble
Getting it” and follows through to a resolution.

If you used your own story for the Five Finger Pitch but are finding it too challenging,
in the time frame of this course, to complete this extension exercise with that story, do
feel free to switch to a film you already know.

The first three fingers cover what would be a second act:

 The Thumb will summarise the first half of the second act. It’s all about the
protagonist heading off with the original plan. At this point, the action may go
more or less to plan, despite the obstacles.
 The Index Finger will address the story’s midpoint. Events at a story’s midpoint
often address the changes that occur within the protagonist(s). Until this point,
the audience may see the characters more clearly than they see themselves.
Midpoint action often forces the characters to recognise their own changes,
bringing some of the internal wants and desires to the surface. It may be falling
in love, growing to trust another character, or perhaps seeing someone else as a
fraud or bad influence. At this point, the characters often must take note of their
inner needs, as well as the external goal that drives the plot.
 The Middle Finger will summarise the second half of the story, right up to the
crisis moment, when everything goes wrong. As the story moves toward a
conclusion the range of options narrows and the obstacles or opponents begin to
 close in on the character. If it leads up to a victory, it will be a false victory. In
most cases, it leads to near disaster.

The last two fingers cover what would be a third act, the resolution.

 The Fourth Finger covers the character’s moment of doubt and change, which
sets him or her off to the final confrontation.
 The Pinky Finger describes the story’s climax, the final events, confrontation or
action that will, once and for all, resolve the story question.

The process for this expanded pitch remains the same: each entry must be short enough
to write inside a finger. Brevity is your friend, as it will force you to summarise
effectively. You can always fill in more details later, but a simple, clear summary will
keep you on track and your listener engaged.

Thoughts on character

In this article, we’ll take a quick look at how cinematic characters are constructed, and
then see if we can come up with broad approaches to creating our own characters.

As we’ve already discussed, film is a dramatic form, an external form. We’re

performing the story - literally physicalising the story - in contrast to the novel, where
we depend on the writer’s description to stimulate the imagination of the reader. Our
script is a set of directions – composed of dialogue and description of places and
physical action – that instructs the performers and filmmakers. So, by its very nature, a
script is incomplete until the film is made. When we’re thinking about character, it
means that we’re creating roles to be performed, not finished characters. As writers, we
must leave space for the performer, so it helps to imply, suggest and insinuate, rather
than define. For many of us, this will be a new way of thinking about character.

In a drama, it’s all about behaviour: characters are what they do. Full stop. Each
character will make different choices and act on them in a distinct way. The story will
be driven by the consequences of these choices. If the novel is concerned with the flow
of thoughts and feelings, then the screenplay will be concerned with the flow of
dramatic action, of change within characters.

When we develop stories, we may begin with a character or we may begin with a
situation or we may start with a theme. In all cases, it soon comes back to whose story is
this? What does this character want? What will they do to get it? We’re back to,
“Somebody wants something and has trouble getting it.”

For most films, the major “wants something” is clearly stated, as it drives the main
storyline. Win the game. Escape the killer. Care for a parent with dementia. Lose fifty
pounds before Christmas… But if the character is no more than this one goal, then the
story can quickly become simplistic or trite.
In fact, each of us wants many things, and we’re not always aware of these desires. And
sometimes these desires are in conflict with each other, or represent opposing values.
It’s the mix of these desires that will create complexity in our characters.

It needn’t involve psychoanalysis; in fact, this can be very simple. For example, each of
us balances a love of adventure and excitement with an instinct for caution and self-
preservation. A trip to Grand Canyon may see one character cautiously inch toward the
lip, while another character may race forward and slide the last two metres to end up
with toes hanging over the chasm.

And we see a slightly more complex drama play out in pubs and bars every Saturday
night. Our twentysomething character is a little tipsy, all alone, and he or she hasn’t
been in a relationship for a long time – years, months, weeks, days, hours – whatever is
a long time for this person. The character locks eyes with someone else down the bar…
and the drama begins. Rationally, the character knows that pulling people in a bar is
seldom the road to long-term happiness. But emotionally, the character hasn’t been in a
satisfying relationship in – months, weeks, days. A long time… And at an instinctual,
unconscious level, our character happens to be in prime reproductive condition, so the
hormones are screaming, “Reproduce. Now!” Throw in a little alcohol, and things
sometimes happen…

The same sort of drama plays out in a soldier waiting in a trench moments before the
attack. Rationally, the character knows his duty; emotionally, he’s terrified; instinct tells
him to run for this life.

The action that comes out of these encounters - whether it’s the Grand Canyon, the bar
or a foxhole –will define our character. And in each case, the decision will take the
characters to new situations, where they will be presented with still more choices. The
story will be built from the responses to this chain of questions.

Of course, it’s more than mere desire that defines a character. At the start of the race,
each competitor wants to win. But each character will exhibit a mix of strengths and
flaws; all will have different mental processes; and each will have a variety of physical
characteristics. All of these considerations go into the mix that defines our characters.

The process is never static. This is how the character and story structure work together.
The story begins because “Somebody Wants Something”, but it’s the “Has Trouble
Getting It” that will define the character. It’s the writer’s job to construct a story that
keeps testing our characters, asking new questions and forcing hard decisions.

Over the course of the story, the response to these challenges will trigger the internal
changes commonly known as a “character arc.” In most cases, this will see the character
change in a beneficial way. They may grow, heal, or perhaps find redemption for past
misdeeds. This is most common story approach, and it can be very satisfying for an
audience that is emotionally invested in a character.

But we also see films that feature an anti-hero or a character who undergoes some sort
of shadowy transformation. This is famously seen in The Godfather, where Al Pacino’s
Michael Corleone begins the story as a war-hero with no interest in the family
‘business’, and then gradually develops into a murderous crime boss.
There are films that feature little or no character change, but it’s become rare.
Sometimes it is done in satire, for comic effect, or in some genres, e.g., Horror, that aim
to suspend or thrill. And sometimes it’s done to carry a specific theme or make a
statement about a particular aspect of the human condition. There is no one right or
wrong way to construct the character arc, as it will be determined by the needs of each
story.

An exercise to develop character outlines

When we start the process of character development it helps to create character outlines.
Drawing on Michael’s article and the panel discussion, create an outline for a character
from a film that you’ve recently seen or use it as an opportunity to develop a character
of your own.

 List the character’s major actions. Start from the end and work backwards.
(Don’t analyse how or why; just create a list of actions.)
 Analyse the list to reveal the character’s wants and needs. Is the character aware
of what they want?
 Describe how the character thinks and look at his or her basic psychology.
Intelligent? Intellectually engaged? Cognitive Biases? Impulsive? Cautious?
 Describe the character’s superficial affect. How might a casual acquaintance
describe them?
 List any important physical characteristics

This is just an outline, so stick to that format and make lists; avoid long prose
descriptions.

Constructing scenes to tell our story

Most screenwriters create a complete outline (referred to as a ‘step outline’ or ‘beat

sheet’) before writing the script. This gives the writer a list of clear story ‘tasks’ to
accomplish, tasks that will almost always unfold in the dramatic context of a scene or
sequence. (A sequence is a group of scenes working together to carry a story point.)

The primary function of a scene is to push the story forward, one step at a time. Early in
the story, we might want to introduce a character or characters. We do this by creating a
scene or scenes that show the characters actually doing something that reveals who they
are and how they operate in their world. Action movies often begin by showing the hero
in a thrilling chase sequence – think about the opening to any James Bond film. A
domestic drama may show a different sort of action, with harried parents struggling to
get kids off to school and themselves to work, say in Blue Valentine. This type of
material will tell us about character, but it will also establish the genre, the world of the
story and the filmmakers’ visual style.
As we move deeper into the story, the scenes will have less obligation to introduce story
elements, so the scenes may find a leaner style that focuses more on character change
and thematic development. As we near the story’s conclusion scene length may shorten
to quicken the pace, as we gather momentum to send us into a climax that must resolve
our story’s question, once and for all.

To begin writing the script, we begin with a single dramatic task, but it’s always
considered in the context of the entire story. It may be a small transition or major
confrontation, but we’ll have a pretty clear idea of what it needs to accomplish.

We usually tell our story from a character’s perspective, so we consider the specific
circumstances by asking questions. What has just happened to the character? What does
that mean in relation to his/her goals? What does he/she want to happen now? What
does he/she fear might happen? What might stand in the way? These last two
considerations determine the ‘has trouble getting it’ of the scene and will naturally
create conflict. We like this collision of goals to force the characters to face hard
choices and make clear decisions that determine the direction of the story.

Once we establish these character considerations, we ask the most important question:
what does he/she try to do now? In a drama, the scenes happen because someone is
doing something; we can’t begin to write until we identify that ‘something’. At this
point we will know the ‘who’, the ‘what’ and the ‘why’ of the scene. Then we can
determine the ‘where’, the ‘when’ and the ‘how’. These final elements may be fixed by
the story, or the writer may have flexibility, but it pays to consider what ‘place’ can
bring to a scene. Material that’s dull in private may come to life when moved to a public
setting.

The nature of the conflict is a very important consideration. It may come from within
the character; it may be conflict with another person; it may be conflict with societal
groups (armies, the police, the cool kids in school); or it may be a conflict against nature
or the cosmos (a mountain, a hurricane, space). In most cases, the character must face
internal conflicts, as well as at least one form of external conflict. In common practice,
scenes with little conflict will be short, while the story’s major turning points will be
situations fraught with difficulty.

Once we’re clear on our dramatic approach and the basic details, we can begin to write
the scene, proper. As we’ve stated earlier, the screenplay is not ‘written’ in the way that
a novel may be written. Instead, we’re going to ‘construct’ it from the dramatic action
and whatever expository details we need to make clear to the actors and crew. The
screenplay cannot contain every element of the final film, nor should it try.

Question: What we do we actually include in the script?

Answer: The dramatic action.

We describe what the characters are doing, where they’re doing it, and under what
conditions. We’re limited to what we can see and what we can hear, and that’s it. The
characters’ speech and physical movements are there to help the characters succeed in
achieving their goal in this particular situation.
We don’t describe thoughts in the characters’ minds, or what lens the cameraman
should use, or where the camera will be; those decisions will be made by other
filmmakers. The screenwriter describes the flow of action and provides enough
expository detail to make it clear. The screenwriter may suggest a direction for the
director and other members of the crew, but the script does not pre-visualise every
detail.

The script is a very slim form. The art comes in using these few tools to capture the full
emotional flow of the story.

Dialogue and character voice

Great dialogue is one of the great pleasures of the movies, and it’s often one of the most
memorable elements of a film.

While film dialogue carries less story weight than theatre dialogue, it’s still a major part
of scene construction. Some writers are known for their great dialogue, e.g., Aaron
Sorkin, screenwriter of The Social Network, but all screenwriters must be able to deliver
good, natural sounding dialogue. This article will look at some of the considerations that
go into creating good dialogue.

Like the scene itself, dialogue has several specific functions in the screenplay. Its
primary function is dramatic, that is, to carry the story forward. Characters speak
because they need something and saying something will help them get it. In practice
that’s never as simple as it seems. It may seem counterintuitive, but the actual purpose
or goal of the scene is frequently the one thing that cannot be said aloud. The character
pursues the many steps that lead to that goal, rather than stating his or her intentions.
The character needn’t say any more than necessary, as we frequently talk around
important issues that are too sensitive to discuss. As in real life, language is often a way
to displace or deflect the emotion of a scene. And what’s not said is often as important
as what is.

Dialogue will reveal character, both in what is said and how it’s said. The dialogue will
reveal immediate needs and desires, but it also reveals background, education, social
class and a host of other attributes. The interplay between the characters will reveal their
relationship and power balance.

Dialogue can also illuminate the screenplay’s themes. They might be revealed in the
point-of-view or intellectual context, or the dialogue might address directly the ideas.

Dialogue can be used to carry expository information necessary for the audience to
understand the story.

And it all must happen in a dramatic context. These last two functions can be especially
tricky, as the story cannot stop to allow the writer to expound on his themes or explain
details of the story. We notice immediately if the writer is speaking, rather than the
character.
Good dialogue can do all of these things simultaneously. It will sound natural and give
distinct voice to each of the characters.

Great dialogue makes it seem effortless and memorable. It will be surprising, insightful,
and original. And it will reveal the unique voice of its characters.

These qualities are easy enough to describe, but much harder to produce. For most
writers, creating effective dialogue is a by-product of the character development
process. The way that a character speaks is determined by factors from the character’s
background and their individual make-up, the type of traits we explored in the article on
character development.

Relationships are very important, as some believe that all speech is driven by the desire
to raise status. Seen from that perspective, the character’s background, the balance of
power and the attempt to attain a goal combine to produce speech that’s natural and
appropriate to the dramatic situation. When we do it right, it produces dialogue that only
the one character could have spoken.

When we do it right, the lines can live for decades.

An exercise for developing character voice

Drawing on everything we’ve discussed so far, let’s consider concrete ways to develop
character voice.

To begin, it helps to practice with sketches designed to develop your sense of the
character and how he or she speaks. Try to use material that does not appear in the final
story, which frees the action to go in any direction it leads.

Character ‘questionnaires’ can help, but only when answered in the first person. The
exercise forces the character to describe themselves. If the character is bland or
unresponsive, change the person asking the questions and give them a clear reason to
answer. Allowing the character to elaborate will produce a short monologue.

Creating full dramatic scenes takes the idea even further. Every character must eat:
some will eat at The Ritz, while others will scavenge from dumpsters. Some will select
only organic produce to take home and cook. And just maybe they shoplift it. What
happens when they get caught?

Let’s try this with a character of your own: explore your character’s eating patterns, and
then stress them. Rob them, arrest them, or make sure that their credit card is refused.
Whatever it is, make sure that the character will have to struggle to extricate themselves
from the situation. The character’s dialogue and action will combine to create the basic
elements of voice.
A workflow for writing your first draft of a feature-film screenplay

This article explores a common approach to screenwriting process.

Writers Guild contracts specify that screenwriters have a minimum of three months to
produce the first draft of a script. That’s not a lot of time, so it helps to work in a clear,
organised way. The method may differ from approaches to writing in other forms,
because in screenwriting much of the creative work occurs before we begin to write the
script.

This is important for a variety of reasons, but it helps to remember that screenwriting is
a quasi-closed form. Novels can be just about any length, from one hundred pages to
over a thousand, but feature films run between ninety minutes and two hours. While we
do see longer films each year, there are not many, and they make theatrical exhibition
more difficult. Television is even more restrictive, often timed to the second.
Professional writers must have the craft to reliably create complete stories in these
relatively narrow time frames.

Let’s take a look at a workflow that can help to produce a script in this timeframe.
First…

DEVELOP THE STORY IDEA:

We may find our story ideas from any number of sources - a character, an incident or
situation, or a theme – but it soon comes to back to basic questions: Whose story is it?
What does he/she want? What’s keeping her/him from getting it? If we’re employing
multiple storylines, what unifies the individual stories?

CREATE THE PITCH:

We ‘test’ our story by developing it, building on the base idea to see if it has the heft to
carry a ninety-minute film. A good next step might be to create a Five Finger Pitch.
This will force some clear questions about your intentions. If you like what comes out
of this step, then you go forward; if not, then you go back and rethink elements of the
pitch. When the Five Finger Pitch flows correctly, develop the Ten Finger/Two Handed
Pitch that covers the whole story in a broad fashion.

GIVE IT STRUCTURE:

Once you have a satisfactory pitch, you might try to take it further, perhaps by thinking
about the key turning points in the story. There are many books and websites devoted to
codifying the three-act structure, so you may take a look at one of these structure
outlines or paradigms. This may help you, but it’s important to use the paradigm to
develop your story; don’t write the story to fit the paradigm.

BUILD A FULL STORY:

By now you should be close to filling out a whole story, so produce a synopsis or
‘treatment’. A one page synopsis can put your ideas together in a more story-like form,
but it will remain relatively general. A longer treatment will explore the story in more
detail. Many writers dislike creating the treatment, but it’s an important step in
professional story development in the United Kingdom.

CREATE A BEAT SHEET:

This is the most important step in the process, but it can be tedious. To make an
effective “Beat Sheet”, also called a “Step Outline”, you must list each dramatic step in
the story. It needn’t contain great detail, but it helps to see the steps from start to finish.
There are many approaches to outlining: employ the common three acts; you might
break up the long second act to create four or five acts; or build the story in eight
sequences. One way or the other, work through the entire story and plug all story holes.
And, yes, the first attempt always reveals holes in your story.

WRITE THE SCRIPT (Finally):

Once we have a complete outline, we begin to write the script. Script formatting
software is very useful here, as it automates the otherwise time-consuming task of
creating the correct format. (A later step will discuss formatting and recommend
formatting software.)

There are several ways to approach the script. Some people start with the major scenes
first, while others start at the end and work backwards. We recommend that you start at
the beginning and work straight through the outline: no stopping; no editing; no going
back.

As you create the first draft the story may change in a way that requires tweaks to
previously written material, but hold your adjustments until the end. Keep a ‘punch list’
of changes or additions. And some writers find it useful to keep a file for the material
that’s been cut along the way, a technique that removes some of the angst by ensuring
that original material is not truly ‘deleted’.

We recommend writing little and often, working through the entire draft. After you’ve
finished that first rough draft, go back and bung in the material from your punch list.
And then give yourself a pat on the back. You’ve done it.

NEXT STEPS:

Don’t show this version to anyone. After you finish the draft, take a couple weeks away
from the story to gain some critical distance. Then you begin the rewrite…

Screenplay formatting

Screenplay Form and Style

It helps to use professional scripts as a guide, so read lots of scripts.

The BBC Writers Room offers a wide selection of sample scripts. Check often, as the
list is frequently updated.

BAFTA/The British Academy of Film and Television Arts offers a wide range of
resources for writers. You can access the Screenwriter’s Lecture Series, Guru Podcasts
and many other services.

The Writers Guild of Great Britain and The Writers Guild of America, West offer a host
of resources on their websites.

The Black List library of award-winning screenplays is a terrific resource, so give that a
look. These scripts are free and legal for download, so read as many as you can.

Screenplay Format

Your scripts must be submitted in proper format.

If you’re working in the UK, take a look at the The BBC Format Guide for Screenplays.
The guide tells you all that you need to properly format a screenplay, written in
screenplay format.

Screen Australia offers an article on creating loglines, synopses and treatments. Follow
the examples in their Story Docs: And Info Guide to learn a very useful approach to
presenting your ideas.

The Academy Of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences - the folks who give us the Oscars,
offers a concise guide to screenplay format Do’s and Don’ts. The site also offers
downloads of scripts the won their prestigious Nicholl Fellowship.

Script Formatting Software

You’ll need a dedicated script formatter as a word processor for your screenplays.
Commercial software is readily available, but there are many free choices, too.

Adobe Script offers free online script formatting. Online formatters are accessible from
most internet-enabled devices, but that can be a problem if your internet access is
limited. Adobe Script does much of what the others do, offers collaborative editing and
can save in Final Draft .FDX format.

Trelby is another free formatting program that’s worth consideration. It lacks some of
the bells and whistles offered by other programs, but it’s free and won’t nag you to
upgrade. In addition, it’s a program that you can download and use offline.

You may want to purchase Final Draft, the industry standard software. Fade In Pro is
excellent software that is much less expensive than Final Draft, and it uses the same
templates and saves in the same .FDX format.
Screen formatting animation

Many of you will already be familiar with the mechanics of formatting a screenplay, but
for those yet to write their first script, Michael Lengsfield guides you through an
explanation of the formatting used in scripts.

Okay, let's take a look at screenplay formatting. As we noted earlier, a script is akin to a
set of instructions for a film, like blueprints, it's intended for the workers, not the final
audience. So it's a pretty businesslike affair. But, unlike blueprints, a script is designed
to be interpreted by the actors and other filmmakers. The script is formatted in a
particular way with this font twelve-point Courier, with the spacing and margins that
you see here. That's important because scripts are timed at roughly one minute of screen
time per page. Changing font size, margins, or format would destroy this relationship.
By tradition, every screenplay begins with fade in and will end with fade out.

They're both types of visual transition which usually appear flush right but this one - the
first one in every script always begins on the top left. A "scene heading", also called a
"slug line" begins each scene. A scene is a unit of action which takes place at one time
and at one location. The slug line includes the most basic expository information and is
always set up in this way, interior or exterior are abbreviated to INT or EXT. That's
followed by the location, which may include a specific room, for example. And finally,
the time.

There are only four times of day: day, night, dawn and dusk. Now this is important
because the film will usually be shot out of sequence, with the schedule organised for
efficiency, so all the scenes in a particular location and the same time of day will be shot
together. The action describes the visual and sound elements of the scene. The
descriptions tend to be concise and formatted in very short paragraphs. They're limited
to what can be seen or heard so, they can't include a character's internal thoughts. All
descriptions appear in the present tense and it helps to use clear simple, verbs. Instead of
saying businesswoman is walking hurriedly, try businesswoman hurries. It's much
clearer and it saves space and time.

A sub-header, or shot-designation, notes changes of location within the scene, and it can
help to manage the geography of a larger complex scene. You'll see when characters
appear for the first time, the name is capitalised. This is important because someone has
to go through this script and determine how many different characters are in that, and
cast each one. Now, you'll see that recurring characters will receive a brief description.
Character names appear above each block of dialogue - the O.S. is an abbreviation for
off-screen, because we hear the dialogue before we see the character. The actual
dialogue is always indented in this fashion, and sometimes we use parenthetical
dialogue notes.

They're best used to manage the flow of conversation, for example, when a character
speaks first to one person and then to another. Some writers try to use this area to give
notes to the actors but it's usually a bad idea. It's best to leave the acting to the actors.
Transitions describes special segue-ways between scenes. In a final Production Script,
we may put a "cut to" after most scenes.
For early drafts however, we'd like to make something that's a good reading experience,
so we skip the "cut to's" and add only the unusual transitions: fades, dissolves, and so
on. Take a second to notice what's not in the script. We can show behavior but we can't
describe a character's history, for example, or describe the exact thoughts or feelings.
We do not try to tell the director where to put the camera, or suggest which lens to use.
We may signify a certain style of dress but we do not costume our characters. We do not
design the soundtrack. All of these story elements will be added by other professionals
on the filmmaking team, and they're really not our responsibility.

Now, this should cover most of the basic elements of screenplay formatting. To learn
more, take a look at the BBC Guide to Screenplay Formatting, which can be found in
the BBC Writers' Room. There are many software programs that make it easy to write
in this format, including free programs that allow you to work online.

Four ways to learn more

We hope you have enjoyed the course, there’s lots more you can learn and do, here are
some of our suggestions.

1. Dive Deeper

We know that many of you who take online courses by UEA are interested in how you
can take your learning further with us so take a look at the UEA Creative Writing
website.

Postgrads might want to look at the MA Creative Writing Scriptwriting course or the
Creative and Critical Writing PhD.

Prospective undergrads might consider the BA English Literature With Creative

Writing or the BA Scriptwriting and Performance.

Everyone should go to #NewWriting, which covers a range of issues of interest to

writers.

2. Read, then read some more

It helps to use professional scripts as a guide, so read lots of scripts.

The BBC Writers Room offers a wide selection of sample scripts. Check often, as the
list is frequently updated.

BAFTA/The British Academy of Film and Television Arts provides a wide range of
resources for writers. You can access the Screenwriter’s Lecture Series, Guru Podcasts
and many other services.
Websites for The Writers Guild of Great Britain and The Writers Guild of America,
West include material that covers contracts and professional issues, as well as articles
on writing.

The Black List library of award-winning screenplays is a terrific resource, so give that a
look. These scripts are free and legal for download, so read as many as you can.

3. Join a Screenwriting Group

If you can’t find one, then form your own. You can use the comment board on this
course to find other writers for an online group. Many countries have national and local
screen development agencies, so find their website and join in their activities, courses
and workshops. It helps to build a community you trust to read your work.

4. Follow us

There is always good new thinking at UEA and at Creative Skillset.

You can follow Twitter feeds from Michael Lengsfield, Molly Naylor, Tom Benn,
Christabelle Dilks, UEA, UEA MOOCs and Creative Skillset.

Follow other writers too, including people you’ve interacted with during this course,
and connect with local writers’ groups.

World Class Creative Writing at UEA

The UK’s first MA in Creative Writing was established at the University of East Anglia
by the novelists Malcolm Bradbury and Angus Wilson in 1970. The UK’s first PhD in
Creative and Critical Writing followed in 1987. Creative Writing at undergraduate level
has been taught informally since the 1960s and formally since 1995.

Situated in Norwich, England’s first UNESCO City of Literature, each of our Creative
Writing courses offers an opportunity to develop as a writer in relation to the wider
social and literary context, to work under pressure of deadlines, to share the experience
of writing with colleagues in a supportive creative and critical atmosphere, and to be
taught by writers of established reputation.

Three graduates of the UEA Creative Writing MA have won the Booker Prize for
Fiction:

 Kazuo Ishiguro in 1989

 Ian McEwan in 1998
 Anne Enright in 2007

Eight graduates have also been shortlisted:

 McEwan in 1981, 1992, 2001, 2005 and 2007

  Ishiguro in 1986, 2000, and 2005
 Rose Tremain in 1990
 Mick Jackson in 1997
 Trezza Azzopardi in 2000
 Andrew Miller in 2001
 Tash Aw in 2005
 Adam Foulds in 2009.

Numerous others have been longlisted, including most recently: Neel Mukherjee in
2014; Tash Aw and Richard House in 2013; Paul Murray and Rose Tremain in 2010;
James Scudamore in 2009; and Mohammed Hanif in 2008.

In addition to these successes, graduates of the programme have won or been shortlisted
for every other major literary award in the UK, including The Orange Prize, The
Whitbread / Costa Award, The Sunday Times Young Writer of the Year Award, The
Commonwealth Writers’ Award, The Forward Prize, The T.S. Eliot Award, The John
Llewellyn Rhys Prize, The Guardian First Book Award, The Walter Scott Prize, The
James Tait Black Memorial Prize, The Dylan Thomas Prize, The Betty Trask Award,
The Encore Award, The Somerset Maugham Award, The Desmond Elliott Prize, The
Ondaatje Prize, The Saltire Award, The Desmond Elliot Prize, The Authors’ Club
Award, The Eric Gregory Award, The Bollinger Everyman Wodehouse Prize, and the
BBC National Short Story Award.

Read more about our prizewinners of major literary awards.

A look at the roll call of our alumni will suggest something of the spirit and direction of
Creative Writing at UEA, as well as its diversity.

The work of our students, alumni, faculty and visiting writers can be found on
#newwriting.net, published in partnership with Writers’ Centre Norwich.

In 2011 UEA’s Creative Writing programme was awarded a Queen’s Anniversary Prize
for Higher and Further Education, the UK’s most prestigious higher education award, in
recognition of its continuing excellence in delivering innovative courses at a world-class
level.

See yourself at UEA?

Explore the scriptwriting degree programmes offered by the School of Literature,

Drama and Creative Writing at the University of East Anglia.

 MA Creative Writing Scriptwriting

 Creative and Critical Writing PhD
 BA English Literature With Creative Writing
 BA Scriptwriting and Performance

There are a range of UEA scholarship and funding opportunities that you might be
eligible for. Ensure you explore these opportunities to further support your creative
studies.
Small city: International impact

The University of East Anglia campus is located in a lush, green area of Norwich. As a
student here, this unique part of the UK can easily become your home away from home.
Norwich has all the characteristics of a ‘university city’; a major commercial and
thriving cultural centre, steeped in medieval history, yet still a vibrant place to live,
shop, and study. Norwich has good bus and rail connections to the rest of the UK, plus
its own international airport that ensures easy access to Europe with connections to 200
cities worldwide.

With a progressive attitude toward the world, UEA has earned its position as a premier
research institution in the latest Research Excellent Framework (REF2014) and is
committed to making a substantial impact on the global challenges facing society. As a
graduate of UEA, you will be equipped with this same, highly employable commitment
to creating the changes you want to see in the world.

What could your UEA be about?

UEA is an internationally renowned, campus-based university that delivers top quality

academic, social and cultural facilities to over 15,000 students. The postgraduate
community is around 3,500 students, forming one of its central strengths, especially
when it comes to producing world-leading research.

UEA has four Faculties that provide research-led teaching with academic rigor in a
range of subjects across the Sciences, Arts and Humanities, Social Sciences and
Medicine and Health Sciences. Degrees are available in full-time and part-time options,
and also include professional studies such as teaching, medicine, law and business, as
well as a number of short course professional development opportunities.

If you want to change the world with your degree, make an impact on your industry and
reach your full potential - the University of East Anglia could be a brilliant next step.
Discover the brilliant work happening every day at UEA.