by John Scalzi
I have to write stuff that’s actually like what gets written for our show, basically. If I don’t, I’ll get canned. I don’t want to get canned.
You understand that if what you’re saying is actually true, then the existential ramifications are astounding!
Yeah, it’s pretty weird shit. I could go on for hours about it—that is, if it wasn’t also messing with my day-to-day life in a pretty substantial way. You know what it’s like? It’s like waking up one morning, going outside and finding a Tyrannosaurus rex in your front yard, staring at you. For the first five seconds, you’re completely amazed that a real live dinosaur is standing in front of you. And then you run like hell, because to a T. rex, you’re a chewy, crunchy bite-sized snack.
Is there a T. rex in your front yard?
No.
Damn.
You’re not helping.
For someone who says they’re having writing block, aren’t you writing a lot?
Yeah, but this isn’t real writing, is it? I’m not doing anything creative here, I’m just answering comments and asking for help. Blogs are nice and all, but what I really need to be doing is writing scripts. And I can’t do that right now. The creative lobe of my brain is completely blown out. That’s where the blockage is.
You mentioned that you were using Final Draft. Have you considered that maybe your software is the problem? I use Scrivener myself. You should try it!
Wow, really? Dude, if someone’s having a heart attack in front of you, do you take that opportunity to talk about your amazing low-cholesterol diet, too? Because that would be awesome.
The software is not the problem. The problem is that every time I write I kill someone. If you’re going to try to help, don’t suggest a particular brand of sprinkler after the house is already on fire. Grab a hose.
Related to this:
I believe everything you say and I think we should meet so we can discuss this in detail possibly in my SECRET BASEMENT LAIR AT MY MOM’S HOUSE WHERE I LIVE.
Oooooh, man. That’s another reason to remain safely anonymous, isn’t it.
So now that the Q&A session is done, does anyone actually have help for me? Please?
AW
* * *
Finally! An actual good idea from a comment, which I will now replicate in full:
In your last post you mentioned some movies and books in which the line between the creator and the created had been broken (or at least smudged) in some way. Have you considered that perhaps the people who wrote those movies and books might have had experiences similar to yours? It’s possible that they have, and just haven’t ever talked about it for the same reason you’re trying to stay anonymous, which is, it sounds completely crazy. But if you approached them and your experience is similar to theirs, maybe they would talk to you in confidence. The fact you actually are a screenwriter of some note might keep them from fleeing in terror, at least at first.
The “at least at first” bit is a nice touch, thank you. And I’m glad you have the delusion that a scriptwriter on a weekly basic cable series has any sort of credibility. It warms my heart.
But to answer your question, no, it didn’t occur to me at all, because, well, it’s nuts, isn’t it. And we live in the really real world, where stuff like this doesn’t happen. But on the other hand, it happened to me, and—no offense to me—I’m not all that special, either as a writer or a human being.
So: I have to admit that it’s entirely possible that what’s happened to me has happened to others. And if it has happened to others, then it’s entirely possible they’ve found some way to deal with it that doesn’t involve not writing anymore. And that’s the goal here. And now I have a plan: Contact those writers and find out if they’ve got a secret experience like mine.
Which sounds perfectly reasonable until you think about what that actually means. To give you an idea, let me present to you a quick, one-act play entitled Anon-a-Writer Presents His Conundrum to Someone Who Is Not the Internet:
ANON-A-WRITER
Hello! I have been visited by characters from my scripts who inform me that I kill them whenever I write an action scene. Does this happen to you too?
OTHER WRITER
Hello, Anon-a-Writer! In one hand I have a restraining order, and in the other I have a Taser. Which would you like to meet first?
Yes, I see no way that this perfect plan could ever go wrong.
But on the other hand I don’t have a better plan, do I. So here’s what I’m going to do:
Make a list of writers whose characters break the reality wall one way or another.
Contact them and find out if it’s based on their actual real-world experience, without coming across like a psychotic freakbag.
Profit! Okay, not profit, but if their work is based on their real-life experiences, find out from them a way to keep writing.
Off to craft introductions that don’t sound too creepy. Wish me luck.
AW
* * *
Guys, seriously now: Stop trying to guess which show I work for. I’m just not going to tell you. Because I don’t want to get fired. Which is what happens when people like me talk about their jobs to people like you, i.e., the Internet. And especially when people like me are claiming their characters are coming to life and talking to them. I know it’s good fun for you to be guessing, but, come on. A little charity, please. I promise you that after this is all done, if everything works out, I’ll tell you. Say, in five years. Or after I win an Emmy. Whichever comes first (bet on five years).
Okay? Okay. Thank you.
* * *
Hello, Internet. You’re wanting updates. Well, here we go. I’ve identified some creative types who have written stories similar to my situation, including those we mentioned here earlier: Woody Allen, for Purple Rose of Cairo, Jasper Fforde, Zak Penn and Adam Leff (Last Action Hero), Zach Helm (Stranger than Fiction) and Denise Hogan. The plan here is to approach them credits first—to at least suggest I’m not completely insane—and then to ask them in a very subtle way about whether what they’ve written has any connection to their real-life experiences. Then off they go to the writers. And we’ll see if anyone nibbles.
And, to anticipate some of you raising your hands out there in the audience, yes, I’ll share with you the responses—after I snip out major identifying details. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Remember that anonymity thing I’m striving for? Yeah. Too many details and I’m out of my very peculiar little closet (it’s a lovely closet; it smells of pine and desperation). But on the other hand, as you’ve been helpful, I figure I owe you continuing updates on this thing.
Also, to make no mistake about it, I fully expect that the responses will be, “Wow, you’re even crazier than most random people who write me, would you like my suggestion for antipsychotic pharmaceuticals.” Because that’s how I would respond to this showing up randomly in my inbox. It’s how I have responded, in fact. You wouldn’t believe the sort of random crazy gets sent to you when you’re a writer on a successful television series. Or maybe you would. Crazy is highly distributed these days.
(insert pause to send off e-mails)
And they’re off. Now we get to see how long it takes before anyone responds. Want to start a betting pool?
AW
* * *
Wow, so that didn’t take long at all. The first response. E-mail posted below:
XXX XXXXX via gmail.com show details 4:33 PM (0 minutes ago)
Dear ANON-A-WRITER:
Hello, I’m XXX XXXXXX, assistant for XXXXX XXXXX. We received your query and wanted to know whether it was some sort of creative or interview project you’re doing for a major magazine or newspaper. Please let us know.
My response:
Hello, XXX XXXXXX. No, it’s not for any newspaper or magazine or blog (well, it might be for my own personal blog). It’s more of something I’m asking for my own information. Thank you and let me know if XXXXX XXXXX has time for a chat. It would be very useful to me.
The assistant’s response:
Unfortunately XXXXX XXXXX doesn’t have any availability at this time. Thanks for your interest and good luck on your project.
Translation: Your crazy would be fine if it was for People magazine, or maybe even Us, but if it’s freelance crazy, we don’t want anything to do with you.
Sigh. There was a time when freelance crazy was respected in this town! I think it was the early 80s. David Lee Roth was hanging out at the Whisky then. Or so I have heard. I was, like, six at the time.
One down, five to go.…
AW
* * *
New response. This is kind of awesome, actually.
To: ANON-A-WRITER
From: XXXXX X XXXX, Esq., partner, XXXX, XXXXX, XXX and XXXXX
Dear Mr. Writer:
Your e-mail query to XXXXX XXXXXX was forwarded to us by his assistant, as is every letter for which they feel there is some concern about. Mr. XXXXXX values his privacy considerably and was greatly unsettled by your e-mail, both for its content and because it arrived in an unsolicited manner at a private e-mail.
At this time our client has decided not to escalate the matter by asking the XXXXXXX Police Department to investigate you and your e-mail. However, we request that you do not ever again attempt to contact our client in any way. If you attempt to do so, we will forward all correspondence both to the XXXXXXX Police Department and to the FBI and file for a restraining order against you. I do not need to tell you that such a request would instantly become news, severely impacting your career as a staff writer on XXXXXXXXXX.
We trust that this is the last we will hear from you.
Yours,
XXXXX X XXXX, Esq., partner, XXXX, XXXXX, XXX and XXXXX
Whoa.
Just for the record, the e-mail I sent did not begin: “Dear XXXXX, as I happened to be standing over your bed last night, watching you sleep…” It really didn’t. I swear.
Either this person gets more crazy e-mails than usual from people who dress up as their cat and then stand outside their house, or this person got spooked by this e-mail for an entirely other reason. Hmmmm.
Is it worth getting the FBI involved to find out?
No. No, it is not.
Not yet, anyway. Still curious.
And now I’m fighting off an urge to dress up as this person’s cat and stand outside their house. But it’s early yet, and it’s a weeknight. Maybe after a few more gin rickeys.
AW
* * *
From the comments:
I’m not entirely convinced you’ve seen your characters come alive, but as someone who suffers from writer’s block all the time, it’s amazing to me that you can joke about your situation as much as you do on this site, especially when your actual job is on the line. If I were you, I would be wetting my pants right about now.
Oh, trust me. I am. I so very am. My local Pavilions is entirely out of Depends right about now. I shop for them at night, so my neighbors won’t see me. And when I’m done with them I put them in my next door neighbor’s trash can so they can’t be traced back to me. I’m not proud. Or dry.
I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Internet: Part of the reason I’m writing this blog right now is in fact to keep from shitting myself in abject fear. The last time I went a week without writing something creative was when I was in college and I spent six days in the hospital for a truly epic case of food poisoning. (Dorm food. Not always the freshest. I wasn’t the only one. For the rest of the year my dorm was known as the Puke Palace. I digress.) And even then, when I thought I was going to retch my lower intestine right out past my tongue, I was plotting stories and trying out dialogue in my head. Right now, I try plotting a story or thinking about dialogue for a script and a big wall comes down in my brain. I. Just. Cannot. Write.
This has never happened to me before. I am absolutely terrified that this is it, that the creative tank is all out of gas and that from here on out there’s nothing for me but residuals and occasional teaching gigs at the Learning Annex. I mean, fuck, kill me now. It terrifies me so much that there’s only two things I can think to do at the moment:
1. Make a special cocktail of antifreeze and OxyContin and then take a long, luxurious bath with my toaster.
2. Write on this blog like it’s a methadone treatment.
One of these options doesn’t have me found as a bloated corpse a week later. Guess which one.
As for the joking, well, look. When I was twelve, my appendix burst, and as they were wheeling my ass into the operating room, I asked the doctor, “How will this affect my piano playing?” and he said, “Don’t worry, you’ll still be able to play the piano,” and I said, “Wow! I wasn’t able to before!”
And then they gassed me.
My point is that even when I was about to die of imminent peritonitis I was still going for the joke. Failing, but going for it. (Actually, as my father said in the recovery room, “All the jokes in the world you could have made at that moment, and that’s the one you go for. You are no son of mine.” Dad took his jokes seriously.)
Shorter version of all of the above: If I actually wrote in a way that indicated how bowel-voidingly scared I am at the moment, you would have all fled by now. And I probably would have gone to play in traffic. It’s better to joke, I think.
Don’t you?
AW
* * *
Hey, now we’re getting somewhere. The following e-mail from the next person on my list:
Dear Anon-a-Writer:
Your e-mail intrigues me on several levels. In fact, there is some crossover between what happens in my books and what happens in my real life. Your canny ambiguity in asking the question suggests to me you might have some of that same crossover.
As it happens, I’ll be coming to LA tomorrow to meet with my film agent about a project we’re pitching at XXXXXXXXX Studios. After I’m done with the industry glad-handing, I’d be happy to meet and chat. I’m staying at XXX XXXX XXXXXXX; let’s meet in the bar there about 5, if you have the time.
Yours,
XXXXXX XXXXXX
So that sounds wildly promising. Now all I have to do is keep myself from exploding with anxiety for the next 24 hours or so. Fortunately I have meetings all day tomorrow. And yes, I said fortunately—the more meetings I have to sit in at work, the less anyone asks about the scripts I’m supposed to be working on. This is getting harder to keep up. I did suggest to one of the other staff writers that he and I collaborate on a script, and that he bang out the story outline and maybe the first draft. I can make him do the first draft because I’m senior. I can do it without guilt because he owes me money. I question my moral grounding. But at the moment, not as much as I would otherwise.
Hopefully the writer I’m meeting tomorrow will have something useful for me. Meetings and taking advantage of underlings only goes so far.
AW
* * *
Okay. I’ve met with the other writer. She’s Denise Hogan. And in order to describe our “conversation,” I’m going to use a format I’m used to.
INT. COFFEE SHOP — CORNER TABLE — DAY
Two people are sitting at the table, coffees in hand, the remains of muffins on the table. They are ANON-A-WRITER and DENISE HOGAN. They have been talking for an hour as ANON-A-WRITER has described his crisis to DENISE in detail.
DENISE
That’s really a very interesting situation you’ve gotten yourself into.
ANON-A-WRITER
“Interesting” isn’t the word I would use for it. “Magnificently screwed” is the phrase I would use.
DENISE
Yes, that would work, too.
AW
But this has happened to you too, right?
When you write the characters in your novels, they are always arguing with you and ignoring how you want the plot to go and running off and doing their own thing. It’s your trademark. You write it like it actually happens.
DENISE
&nb
sp; (gently)
Well, I think we need to have some definition of terms on this.
AW
(draws back)
Definition of terms? That sounds like code for “No, it doesn’t actually happen to me that way, you crazy crazy person.”
DENISE
(beat)
AW, may I be honest with you?
AW
Considering what I just splashed out to you over the last hour? Yes, would you, please.
DENISE
I’m here because I read your blog.
AW
I don’t have a blog.
DENISE
You don’t have one under your actual name. You have one as Anon-a-Writer.
AW
(beat)
Oh. Oh, shit.
DENISE
(holds up hands)
Relax, I’m not here to out you.
AW
Fuck!
(gets up, thinks about leaving, shuffles back and forth for a moment, sits back down)
How did you find it?
DENISE
How anyone with an ego finds anything on the Internet. I have a Google alert tied to my name.
AW
(runs hands through hair)
Fucking Google, man.
DENISE
I clicked through to see if it was some sort of feature piece on writers who break the fourth wall and then I saw what your blog was really about, and I put it into my RSS feed. I knew you were going to contact me before you sent your e-mail.
AW
You’re not actually in town to see your film agent.
DENISE
Well, no. I had lunch with him today, and we did talk about that Paramount thing. But I called him after I got your e-mail and told him I was going to be in town. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him why else I was here.
AW
So your characters aren’t actually alive and talking to you.
DENISE
Other than the usual thing writers mean about making their characters come alive, no.
