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Day 10 NaBloPoMo at yeah write guest blogger: Deb Quinn

Ten or so years ago, I wrote a screenplay. I had an idea, I had a sabbatical from teaching, I had a babysitter for my then only child. Every day, four or so hours a day, I worked on that damn movie idea.

There was only one small problem.

I had no idea how to write a screenplay. No idea how to write it structurally (you mean people have to do stuff, not just stand around and talk?) and no idea how to write it formally (what’s a fade in?).  

And frankly, I think if I’d known how complicated and hard it would be to write a screenplay, I wouldn’t have done it. Instead, I was about four drafts into the thing before I figured out that I didn’t really know what I was doing.   So I got myself that bible of screenwriting, Sid Field’s screenplay book, and I started showing my drafts to people, asking for help.

It’s a weird thing, writing: we sit alone with our ideas and our words and our hopes, but ultimately we’re trying to communicate with other people.  I’m always amazed when people say that they never share their drafts with anyone: if you don’t let anyone else read your stuff, how do you know if your words have hit their mark? 

That’s the great thing about blog writing, isn’t it? The comments, the (we hope) immediate feedback, the person on the other end of the internet saying that you’ve articulated something for them. It’s sort of addicting, those moments of recognition and praise, aren’t they?

I went even further with my screenplay, of course: by the time I’d really written that puppy, really gotten it where it needed to be, let me tell you, I’d already picked out what I’d wear to the Oscars and decided on who my “plus one” would be.  I was going to be the next big thing, the overnight sensation, the cover story on Entertainment Weekly: “literature professor goes to Hollywood,” or words to that effect.

Yeah. Well. The script was optioned omigod so exciting omigod; I “took meetings;” I had coffee with a reasonably well-known actress–well-known enough that the New Yorkers in the coffee shop where we met did the “look-at-us-not-noticing-the-famous-person” double-take.  And then there were more meetings, and then there were, quite literally, years of this person wants to do it, or that person, or this other person. I got paid (an amount that would barely cover the lipstick budget on “Mad Men”) … but nothing happened. 

But in the meantime, I got another idea and I started working on that one, and then that idea opened the doors to another idea, and then another.  That’s ultimately the addiction, I think: turning inchoate ideas into words and images that others can understand and think about. The response is important, sure, but so is the process, the act of solving problems about character and plot and structure and detail, finding ways to do that whole “show don’t tell” thing.

Am I an expert screenwriter now? Oh, good lord, no. But I never would’ve learned anything at all if I hadn’t just started.  There’s something to be said, I think, for rushing in, for taking the leap and trusting that you won’t land on anything too sharp. And then one day I started a novel . . .

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It’s badge day here at yeah write weekly writing challenge. In addition to 30 days of blogging with NaBloPoMo, we are running our bread-and-butter writing challenge. If you will be joining us on Tuesday for a friendly competition pitting your personal essay against your rowmie’s traditional blog anecdote, please grab the yeah write #135 challenge grid badge from the sidebar, review our submission guidelines, then get ready for Tuesday’s open submissions. We would love to have you.

Don’t forget it’s random rownie weekend. Visit some new-to-you blogs and leave a few thoughtful comments. It’s getting rough out there for some of us, and everyone could use a little encouragement.

Did you know we’ve handed out Week 1 prizes? They were announced in Friday’s moonshine grid (hey, link up a fun post over there, the weekend crew is most awesome) so check out who won what, then cross your fingers for next week.

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