Screenwriting

Don’t rush your judgments, David. We always view your world as an oasis of democracy and acceptance of differing perspectives. That being said, I truly respect your courage. I wish you nothing but success in your journey as well, and I am always open to exchanging professional insights."

Sabri Saada You have completely missed the point. I read written pitches, as I said. You are posting here, so you have access to electricity to send messages. I'm sorry but I have answered the question, you just don't like the answer.

Spencer Robinson thank you for taking the time to write this out. I am somewhat relieved to hear query letters are a waste of time because I have struggled to mine for emails (and putting RE: in a subject sounds deceptive and unethical).

I also like that written pitches are a good avenue, because I've seen some modicum of success with written pitches here on Stage 32 over the last two years, with script requests across multiple projects of mine and various execs (managers/agents/producers).

One quick follow up question, if I may: Assuming I'm networking (here in the lounges, attending local Austin-based festivals, etc.), submitting written pitches, and writing my seventh project, is there any other tactic I should be prioritizing? Reputable contests/fellowships, for example? I've done respectably well here, but also spent more money than I admit I should have learning that only a handful of festivals "matter" to my momentum.

Or other platforms or script coverage? (By the way, "double recommend" is a Stage32 badge that a screenwriter can get if they pitch an exec who ultimately recommends both the project being pitched/reviewed and the writer themselves.)

I appreciate the wisdom above and any additional guidance if you reply.

Best - PK

"Spencer, it is unfortunate to see a structured debate about systemic and geographical barriers in the film industry devolve into a petty argument about how I charge my phone. Turning a blind eye to the blatant contradiction between championing digital apps while openly dismissing digital queries only confirms the institutional gaslighting indie writers face. I will leave you with your contradictions. Good night."

Thank you so much Spencer, you're always realistic. And to be honest, I have never gotten a reply from all my cold queries before. even small boutique independent producers barely replies currently.

Sandra, you're so very welcome!

David Veal, I love Killing Eve too. And I agree, at the top level, AI isn’t part of the real writing process. It’s all voice and lived experience. The problem is more in the middle and lower tiers, where shortcuts can flood the space with work that looks fine but has no real feeling behind it. Your wall-art comparison is spot on.

Jim Boston, <3

Sandra Correia What makes writing feel human to me is contradiction.

The uncomfortable emotional truths people carry. The way someone can deeply love another person and still fail them. The silence after an argument. The things characters cannot explain even to themselves.

AI can imitate structure, rhythm, even tone to a degree. But truly personal writing usually comes from lived emotional observation the strange details, unresolved feelings, contradictions, regrets, timing, guilt, longing. The things that don’t fit neatly into formulas.

I think that’s why certain characters stay with us. They don’t feel designed. They feel discovered.

And honestly, some of the most memorable moments in storytelling are the ones that almost shouldn’t work logically, but feel emotionally undeniable anyway. That’s the part that still feels deeply human to me.

Hi Sandra,

This may be one of the most important conversations writers need to have right now — not from a place of panic, but from a place of brutal creative honesty.

Because I honestly think Luke Jennings is correct.

AI is not truly exposing great writing.

It’s exposing generic writing.

And those are very different things.

What AI reproduces extremely well is:

* familiarity,

* structure mimicry,

* genre rhythm,

* competent dialogue patterns,

* recognizable emotional simulations,

* and statistically predictable storytelling behavior.

What it struggles to reproduce is the thing that makes certain stories feel psychologically alive rather than merely assembled.

That strange human electricity underneath the work.

The contradiction.

The wound.

The irrationality.

The emotional asymmetry.

The part of the writer that doesn’t fully make sense even to themselves yet.

That’s where memorable storytelling usually lives.

As someone deeply involved in screenplay development and script doctoring, I’ve noticed that audiences rarely become obsessed with stories because they are “technically flawless.”

They become obsessed because something inside the material feels:

dangerously specific,

emotionally truthful,

slightly uncontrollable,

or intimately human.

Villanelle is actually a perfect example.

On paper, many of her characteristics are recognizable:

assassin,

charisma,

humor,

violence,

seduction,

instability.

But what made her unforgettable was not the ingredients.

It was the psychological unpredictability and emotional specificity in the execution.

That’s the part algorithms still struggle to authentically generate:

the feeling that a character possesses an inner life extending beyond the screenplay itself.

And honestly, I think many writers misunderstand originality.

Originality is rarely:

“no one has ever seen this before.”

Most stories are built from ancient emotional patterns.

What feels original is:

a unique psychological lens,

a distinct emotional rhythm,

unexpected moral tension,

or a writer brave enough to reveal uncomfortable truths about being human.

AI can imitate style surprisingly well.

But it still struggles with existential texture.

It struggles with:

grief shaped by personal memory,

contradictory desire,

spiritual longing,

self-deception,

emotional shame,

moral ambiguity,

trauma logic,

and the strange irrational ways humans sabotage themselves while simultaneously craving love and connection.

Those things are messy.

Nonlinear.

Emotionally inconsistent.

In other words:

human.

And honestly, I suspect the writers who survive and thrive in the AI era will not simply be:

the most efficient,

the most formulaic,

or even the most structurally correct.

They’ll be the ones whose voices feel psychologically impossible to fully replicate because their work emerges from lived emotional complexity rather than content optimization.

The future may belong less to writers who can produce faster…

and more to writers who can reveal deeper.

Excellent post.

Patrick Koepke, this is a great inspiring share for all of us. You are right. Laurels are good, but they don't do the work for us. We need to follow a path as you did. And Stage 32 has so much to offer us that it's the real deal. For me :) I am cheering for you.

Hi Patrick,

This is one of the most honest and strategically useful posts I’ve seen about the early screenwriting journey in a long time.

Especially this line:

“Investing in validation instead of access.”

That distinction is incredibly important, and many writers unfortunately realize it only after spending years collecting external approval that never actually changes their professional trajectory.

Laurels can absolutely serve a psychological purpose early on. They help emerging writers build confidence, resilience, and momentum. But eventually every writer reaches the same uncomfortable crossroads:

“Am I building a résumé of recognition… or am I building relationships, access, and undeniable material?”

Those are very different paths.

As someone who works heavily in screenplay development and story analysis, I’ve noticed something interesting over the years:

Industry professionals rarely respond most strongly to “winning scripts.”

They respond to:

* emotionally inevitable storytelling,

* psychologically alive characters,

* clear authorial voice,

* cinematic tension,

* and material that feels difficult to ignore after reading.

A screenplay can technically win contests and still lack market gravity.

At the same time, I’ve seen imperfect scripts generate real momentum because they contained:

* emotional truth,

* thematic identity,

* and a writer whose voice felt distinct from the noise.

That’s usually the real currency.

And honestly, I think another hidden trap of excessive contest-chasing is that some writers unconsciously begin writing toward validation systems instead of writing toward human emotional impact.

The script slowly becomes optimized for:

* “judge-friendly structure,”

* expected beats,

* familiar prestige rhythms,

* or conceptual packaging…

while losing some of its unpredictability, danger, emotional texture, and creative soul in the process.

The irony is that the industry itself often remembers projects precisely because they break emotional pattern recognition in some way.

I also completely agree with your point about feedback from real executives becoming “actual data.” That’s a very mature way of framing it.

Because once writers begin receiving responses from:

* producers,

* development executives,

* actors,

* managers,

* or directors,

they finally start learning the difference between:

“contest success”

and

“market readiness.”

And those are not always the same thing.

One thing I’d add for newer writers reading this:

Momentum in this industry is rarely linear.

Sometimes a single:

* relationship,

* rewrite,

* strategic pitch,

* emotional breakthrough,

* or psychologically sharper draft

creates more career movement than twenty festival laurels combined.

The goal is not simply to be “recognized.”

The goal is to become professionally unforgettable.

Excellent post.

Patrick Koepke This is a really valuable perspective, especially for newer writers who often assume laurels automatically create momentum.

I think contests can absolutely help with confidence, discipline, and sometimes visibility but there’s a huge difference between recognition and access. That distinction took me time to understand too.

What you said about getting “real data” from pitches, requests, and professional feedback is important. Even passes become useful when they come from people actually operating within the industry, because they start revealing where the material stands commercially and creatively.

And honestly, learning the business side changes everything. A lot of writers focus entirely on the screenplay itself without realizing how much strategy, positioning, networking, and timing affect whether a project moves forward.

“Investing in momentum, not just validation” is a great way to put it.

Great post Geoffroy Faugerolas. I love making decks, so this was a really good reminder to stay focused on the actual story first. Quick question: when it comes to character descriptions in a pitch deck, how long do you think they should realistically be? Around 3–5 sentences? And at what point does a character description become too much information for executives reading the deck?

Geoffroy Faugerolas - That is an interesting point. The compression discipline does transfer upward. I have seen writers who spent time in vertical come back to longer formats with a sharper instinct for scene economy. When you have trained yourself to make every line carry pacing function, emotional function, and hook function simultaneously, you start noticing how much dead weight exists in a 90-minute or three-hour script that you never would have questioned before. The craft sharpens in both directions.

Hi Geoffroy Faugerolas, thank you for sharing this topic. Pitch decks are always a challenge, especially for screenwriters who want to package or be optioned. Recently, I did a 6-part advanced level lab: Build Your Feature Film Package with Tifanny Boyle, and she's so good that you learn everything you need about pitch decks and packaging because, at the end, we are entrepreneurs. Here's the lab's link if anyone is interested in learning more: https://www.stage32.com/education/products/6-part-advanced-level-lab-bui...

Hi Geoffroy,

This is one of the most important conversations writers can have right now because I think many emerging screenwriters are unconsciously trying to compensate visually for what they don’t yet trust dramatically.

And executives can feel that immediately.

A pitch deck should not function as camouflage for uncertainty.

It should function as a clarity amplifier.

What I’ve noticed while working in screenplay development is that strong projects almost always communicate their identity before the mood board even appears.

You can usually feel within:

* the logline,

* the protagonist,

* the dramatic engine,

* and the emotional contradiction at the center of the story

whether the writer truly understands the material or is still decorating around it.

And honestly, I think one of the biggest misunderstandings newer writers have is confusing:

“cinematic aesthetic”

with

“cinematic storytelling.”

They are not the same thing.

A beautiful deck can create momentary attention.

But only dramatic inevitability creates emotional investment.

Executives are ultimately asking very primal story questions:

Why this character?

Why now?

Why does this conflict emotionally matter?

Why can’t this protagonist simply walk away?

Why will audiences stay psychologically attached for two hours — or five seasons?

If the deck cannot answer those questions clearly, no amount of typography or atmospheric photography can rescue it.

I also strongly agree with your point about posters.

In fact, sometimes overly polished fake posters accidentally signal anxiety rather than confidence because they imply the writer is already trying to market a finished product before fully solving the emotional architecture underneath it.

And ironically, the strongest pitch decks I’ve personally seen are often the simplest.

Because simplicity usually indicates:

clarity,

confidence,

and thematic control.

One thing I would add from a script doctor perspective is this:

A pitch deck should not merely explain plot mechanics.

It should communicate:

* emotional identity,

* tonal promise,

* psychological tension,

* thematic DNA,

* and the unique narrative experience the audience will emotionally live through.

That’s what makes executives lean forward.

Not because they’re imagining a poster.

Because they’re imagining audience attachment.

And honestly, I think one of the best tests for any pitch deck is this:

“If all the images disappeared tomorrow, would the story still feel compelling on the page?”

If the answer is yes, the visuals become enhancement.

If the answer is no, the visuals were probably functioning as distraction.

Excellent post.

Geoffroy Faugerolas This is such an important point, especially now when so many emerging writers feel pressure to “package” themselves visually before the story itself is fully working.

A strong deck should make me understand the dramatic core of the project — who this is about, what they want, what stands in their way, and why this story emotionally matters.

I think visuals are most effective when they support clarity of tone rather than trying to simulate a finished marketing campaign. Sometimes a simple, confident deck with a compelling concept is far more persuasive than 30 pages of aesthetics.

And honestly, for television especially, the engine is everything. You can have a brilliant pilot premise, but if the reader can’t immediately sense where the story continues, the excitement fades quickly.

“Trust the page” is probably the strongest advice in this entire post.

Elle Bolan For me, it’s usually not the big dramatic traits it’s the contradictions.

A character suddenly starts feeling real when they do something small that doesn’t “serve the plot” but reveals who they are underneath it.

Like someone rehearsing a difficult conversation alone before making a phone call… or straightening objects on a table while trying to hide panic. Tiny behaviors that come from emotional instinct rather than story mechanics.

In one project I’m developing, a character keeps making coffee for two people even after the relationship has emotionally ended. That small habit told me more about him than pages of dialogue ever could.

AJ McNamara Excellent point, AJ. Your theory is equivalent to addressing a toddler in the audience with a shiny new thing. “Hey, lookie here, little boy? We’re about to WOW you again with major plot points!! Try to stay focused!!”

Leonardo Ramirez Wow. Talk about desperation!!! Bringing back a female character who died in Part 7? Great. Another lazy idea. Good luck with that.

Hi Bill,

First of all, this post made me laugh because the phrase:

“additional copies of Story Time”

is painfully accurate.

And honestly, I do think you’re identifying a very real modern screenwriting phenomenon.

Not just repetition of plot information — but repetition driven by fear.

Fear that:

* the audience missed something,

* the viewer looked at their phone,

* the algorithm demands constant reorientation,

* or executives worry emotional attention spans have collapsed beyond repair.

So what happens?

Exposition begins looping instead of escalating.

Characters stop discovering information dramatically and start repeating information defensively.

And the audience unconsciously feels the difference.

I think one of the biggest problems in modern blockbuster writing is that many scripts now confuse:

clarity

with

redundancy.

Those are not the same thing.

Good clarity creates momentum.

Redundancy creates narrative drag.

Especially in thrillers, mysteries, sci-fi, and action films, exposition should ideally behave like oxygen:

present enough to sustain engagement,

invisible enough not to suffocate tension.

Once audiences feel the screenplay constantly stopping to remind them what the movie is about, something psychologically dangerous happens:

The viewer stops participating.

And participation is everything.

The audience no longer feels:

curiosity,

discovery,

pattern recognition,

or narrative trust.

Instead they begin passively waiting for the screenplay to explain itself again in twelve minutes.

That’s fatal for suspense.

Ironically, some older films trusted audiences far more aggressively:

* The Conversation

* Michael Clayton

* Heat

* Blade Runner

* The Fugitive

* even early Mission: Impossible entries

These films allowed viewers to occasionally feel:

slightly lost,

uncertain,

or intellectually ahead of certain characters.

That tension created engagement.

Modern studio notes, however, often push toward “continuous orientation,” where scripts repeatedly reassure audiences they are still inside the same movie.

The result is something strange:

massive narrative movement with decreasing dramatic momentum.

A lot happens.

Very little accumulates emotionally.

And honestly, I think your reaction to eventually watching the action scenes on mute says something important too.

Because spectacle without emotional propulsion eventually becomes geometry.

Movement alone is not tension.

Tension comes from:

meaning,

stakes,

psychological investment,

and unresolved emotional consequence.

Without those elements, even brilliantly executed action can begin feeling oddly weightless after a while.

One thing I’ve noticed while script doctoring is that writers sometimes treat exposition as:

information transfer.

But the strongest exposition scenes are actually:

conflict scenes,

seduction scenes,

power-shift scenes,

or psychological negotiation scenes disguised as exposition.

That’s why audiences tolerate them.

Not because information is being delivered —

but because emotional pressure is being generated simultaneously.

So yes…

I do think the “repeat the plot every 12 minutes” phenomenon is becoming increasingly common.

But I’m not convinced audiences truly want that.

I think audiences want emotional clarity.

That’s a very different thing.

Excellent post.

I really liked her as a character Bill Brock but I'm not keen on continuing this forever.

Bill Brock I think there’s definitely been a shift toward “reminder storytelling” in big studio films lately almost like scripts are written with the assumption that audiences may be checking their phones, walking in late, or half-processing information while watching.

And honestly, sometimes repetition can help clarity in complex plots. But there’s a difference between reinforcing tension and repeatedly restating the same objective.

For me, the strongest films trust the audience a little more. They allow viewers to lean in instead of constantly re-explaining the narrative every few scenes.

What’s interesting is that some slower, more character-driven films actually stay with me longer precisely because they don’t over-explain. They let subtext, silence, and implication do part of the work.

Also, watching the final stretch on mute and still understanding everything might actually be the funniest accidental critique of modern blockbuster exposition I’ve heard in a while.

Here is where we differ, you think a structure summary can replace experience - in essence that’s what you mean - I disagree. A writer needs to go into the trenches, there is no quick fix.

David Taylor Ive always be very careful never to use the word "replace" as that is never the intention. The word is "inform". Leave the decision to the creator. In music, accidentals (notes that break the scale) are absolutely allowed, as long it is done with intention.

Vijay, at this point I must widen my eyes and say:

— My dear sir, I absolutely agree with you. If I actually said something that you're attributing to me, then I fundamentally disagree with myself. Categorically! :)

I'm referring to your message: "I have to disagree with you that any structure limits creativity though."

Creativity isn't limited by structure itself, but by its misapplication. I believe I stated exactly that when I wrote: "A framework like yours isn't useless, but as a tool, it can be just as limiting as it is helpful. Any such schema, while potentially useful, can actively narrow the vision and analysis of a film by creating the illusion of a single 'correct' reading."

And then I pointed to the consequences of that misapplication. In essence, I said the very thing David Taylor is pointing out to you: "The idea is, to become extremely familiar with structures, then ignore them/it and just write, letting the inherent experience and the story being told fall naturally into its own heartbeat and structure."

Let me put it as simply as possible:

Any flask is designed to contain the flow of liquid or gas within it. But a fly will still try to escape the flask (to break free of the structure). A human, however, may sit inside that flask indefinitely—if others are sitting there too—because humans are social creatures, and imitation is a basic instinct.

Disclaimer: This message does not represent my final, fixed viewpoint. It means I reserve the right to change my mind. It also means that in the future, no one can accuse me of having written something different in the past. Please also note that my opinion may have shifted even while I was writing this disclaimer.

Notice how this very disclaimer doesn't fit into any conventional messaging schema—and yet, it's precisely what makes my message interesting and brings it closer to how things actually are. Do you see what I mean?

REALITY (THE WORLD) IS ALWAYS MORE COMPLEX THAN ANY SCHEMA.

Whenever you try to force the immensely complex activity of filmmaking—a collective, human endeavor—into any rigid framework, you inevitably commit an act of VIOLENCE against that film.

I pointed out a limitation that you ought to acknowledge, and I offered a specific philosophical method of analysis that transcends your schema. I chose deconstruction, but I could just as easily have chosen Marxist analysis, anthropological, phenomenological, feminist, or any other lens.

This is the problem with any schema -- not just yours.

I think further elaboration would be redundant.

Now, let me reiterate what I appreciate: everything is full of structures, and we must notice them; otherwise, we wouldn't have science in the strict sense of the word. What resonated with me most in your work is its aspiration toward philosophical significance, its interdisciplinary reach (music and cinema), and above all, its cross-cultural dimension.

I'm cautious about repeating myself: my goal is by no means to devalue your work. As I stated, it is useful and methodologically sound. My aim, within the limits of my knowledge, is simply to hint at possible weaknesses and boundaries. After all, if I understand Stage32 correctly, this is a professional platform where we strive to improve our projects—not a Facebook feed where we only want to hear, "This is brilliant! Hegel or Sri Aurobindo himself must have risen from the dead to conceive this!" :)

Now, like Volkan Durakcay, I'd like to suggest a possible direction your thinking might take next.

I maintain that you cannot fit any film into your schema without doing it violence. Not a single one. And do you know why? Because you proceed from the assumption that a film is something static—and that is fundamentally incorrect. A film is a mutable duration (a literally Bergsonian approach to movement). Your schema is topographical (it uses "maps," "boxes"), not continuum-based ("a ruler"), and for objective reasons, it cannot capture duration.

Here's an idea I'd like to propose: you could distribute your positions along dichotomies, for example:

horror -1 - - - - - 0 - - - - - +1 comedy

I'm using "horror" and "comedy" just for clarity—you would, of course, substitute your own values.

Then, depending on runtime, as the film unfolds, you could track its movement along this scale.

A simple (conditional) example:

Get Out (2017)

15 min: -1 - - - - - 0 - - - * - +1 > leaning comedy

30 min: -1 - - * - - 0 - - - - - +1 > mild horror

60 min: -1 * - - - - 0 - - - - - +1 > intense horror

I trust the idea is clear. This adjustment would allow you to treat a film as a duration, with its position on the scale shifting over time. If you wished, you could later average the values. Again, keep in mind that this is still just a framework -- it doesn't capture the full complexity of something like cinema.

And one more thing.

You've inspired me to demonstrate the approach I use when analyzing cinema. I've chosen to unpack Bugonia (2025) and write an article about it. I've surrounded myself with books and am digging in. Soon you'll be able to read the article—and then I'll be the one reading your critique and advice.

I'm grateful to you for that.

Yves Dessenne Look forward to your article Yves!

Beautifully put!

Hey Ansh, this is Sandra from the Stage 32 team. I just wanted to let you know I moved your post from Producing to Screenwriting, as it fits much better there. Let me know if you have any questions, and all the best to you!

I couldn't help but notice Virginia Woolf's photo in the feed. She truly is one of the greatest writers in the world, and easily one of my personal favorites. In her novels, exquisite prose merges with profound psychological depth, offering a distinctly female perspective on the world. And in her essays, you find the incisive insights of a brilliant, deeply erudite mind.

And indeed, in her time, it took remarkable courage to articulate one's thoughts with such freedom.

I can say with confidence that her work has inspired not only women, but men as well -- myself certainly included.

Yes you should be bothered and worried about AI. AI is a comparison engine that runs on plagiarism. How can the voice be yours if AI is putting what you write through a plagiarism mincer. How can you improve your craft and your voice and your much needed depth of experience and determination if you press a button and AI gives you a counterfeit answer. Writing imagination is a gift and a hard won craft on delivering that imagination. It’s like cheating in an exam and runs a serious risk of you being unable to deliver when it really matters because you don’t know how. AI is soulless has no ethics is happy with lies and in extremis is psychopathic. All it will do is create a generation of fake writers the same as it is creating a generation of fake artists. This is my opinion, others are entitled to theirs.

All of the above methods and a few people have never mentioned. Depends on what it is. There is no wrong way, just what best suits you and the piece. When you are done, you do need all the bits and pieces - Script; Logline'; Tagline; Short Synopsis; Full Synopsys; Bibles - character outlines - - the whole nine yards. If you're writing for others, they dictate what gets provided and when.

I have a general idea in my head, but build the whole story scene by scene with a general idea of how it’ll end. Sometimes the ending actually changes too as I build the story. I do this so that each scene plays a role and isn’t just boring filler. Each scene has purpose and pushes the movie forwards.

Loving all of the comments! Curious- have you ever tried writing in a different way? What was your result?

I prefer writing the beats and building a full Bible first Libby Wright. I usually leave the dialogue for the end. I learned that when I write without planning, I struggle to finish the story or even complete the Bible. Once I started outlining and organizing the beats first, it became much easier for me to finish projects and keep the world consistent.

I prefer to gather a few strong scenes with my overall story structured then fly by my pants. let the story unfold as I write.