Everyone in LA Has a Screenplay, Right?

I’ve been a writer for a long time. A really long time. When I was in first grade I put out a neighborhood newspaper, printed on mimeograph sheets called the Sometimes Sun, which came out, well, occasionally.

Since all I’ve ever wanted to be is a writer.  It’s pretty lucky for me then, that except for a lengthy detour into publicity, where I continued to write on the side,  I’ve managed to write for a living. Or something akin to that.

I’ve written and been published in most formats: journalism, non-fiction, press releases, etc. Hell, I even took a painfully awful stab at fiction and poetry. Be glad you will never read them.  Unfortunately for me, I wrote them and therefore can never forget.  It’s sort of like viewing a train crash.

But strangely, considering that I live in Los Angeles, I never tried scriptwriting.  The common lore is that everyone here has a script under their desk. I thought that was just a nasty myth until I took a taxi home from the airport. When the driver found out I was a writer -he didn’t care that I was a journalist- he literally locked the doors and wouldn’t let me out until he told me about his script. It wasn’t good.

That experience scarred me deeply. I never considered scriptwriting. For one thing, it seemed like an insurmountable task.  Good scripts make you forget they were ever written. They just seem to exist.

But in my constant search to keep myself from becoming even stupider (see: grad school and GREs) I decided to give it a whirl. I may be dumb, but I’m smart enough to know what I don’t know, so I searched around and found a class. I figured I needed all the help I could get.

Since I am in Los Angeles, there was no shortage of possibilities. I could go to a Learning Annex or give some random guy money and do something online; there were a lot of choices. I ended up picking a new program that was affiliated with an acting and directing school under the auspices of a famous actor. For me, the teachers and the curriculum were the main draw.

The class was eight hours a week, divided between a lecture and a workshop.  The plan was to finish the program with a first draft of a script. It was a commitment with an end goal, which I love.

The classes were taught by two experienced, successful and talented writers who were also actors. This turned out to be important, at least for me. As useless as many actors think writers are, a lot of writers feel that actors are just dopes out to screw up their brilliant words and great ideas. I learned quickly that this is not true. Add in the fact that both teachers rock, the whole experience was pretty cool.

Mondays and Thursdays were class days, and became the absolute highlights of my week. Thursday was a workshop day, where the teacher and the other students would critique the pages I brought. Afterwards I’d drive home in a fog, busily plotting how I would work their suggestions into my script. It’s amazing I didn’t rack up the car; I don’t remember any of those rides. I hadn’t been this excited about writing since I sold a piece to Sports Illustrated.

Surprisingly, the most inspiring thing about this experience was the one that had worried me the most—age. Mine. I’m older than most of the people in my class. Going into the first session I was terrified that my classmates would dismiss me as the crazy old broad. They probably do think of me as a crazy old broad, but they don’t dismiss me.  And I’m glad, because I think they’re a remarkable group of people, and I feel like they’ve accepted me as an equal.

Some are actors trying to get a bead on what writers do, others are fiction writers looking to broaden their horizons. But there are many who are deadly serious about making screenwriting their careers. They work hard and leap at any opportunity to get ahead. I’m positive these folks are going to be successful. Several of them already have made short films. And they’re good.

Officially the class is over. But a group of us are determined to figure out a way to continue the workshops, which would be terrific.

I really hope that this new venture works out for me. I’m dedicated to following it through where ever it may take me—which hopefully will be to a theater near you.