Reader Question: What to do if I’m reluctant to submit my finished script?
A question from Courtney:
What is it, that tells you to, “let it go.”
My first draft could have cleared a room. It really did stink.
But a year later, I’m beginning to wonder if all of these rewrites are evolving into nitpicking. I’m at the point where I’m just about ready to sit in a quiet room, alone, and ask myself if anything needs to be changed…if there is that “one thing,” that just doesn’t feel right.
Right now I think the answer would be, “no.”
But I can’t let it go.
I’m happy with the story.
I’m happy with the prose.
I’m happy with the flow.
I’m happy with the dialog.
I’m happy with it all…
But I can’t let it go.
Could it be a fear of throwing this thing out to the sharks…being swallowed…then spat out?
Or am I just not listening close enough for that little voice to say, “let it go.”
There’s a lot going on with this question, Courtney, and it speaks directly to a fundamental aspect of the writer’s life: our connection to our stories.
In the purest form, the writer and the story exist in an authentic dynamic, what I have described (per philosopher Martin Buber) as an I-You relationship. In large part what this means is that we recognize the organic nature of the story, that in some very real way, it ‘exists,’ in its own way like we, as humans, exist. From this viewpoint, we aren’t trying to own it, control it, and bend it to our will as much as we are engaging in an ongoing dialog with the story — curious about it, living with it, or as I say — go into the story.
I find as long as I’m in that psychological / spiritual place with the stories I write, I’m okay. And like in any relationship, it frees me up to be honest with the story, angry with it, delight in it, and so on. But when it becomes an “I-It” dynamic, the story morphs into an object. And that’s when problems emerge. That’s when we start to see a story not on its own terms, but through lens of our own expectations:
If I write the hell out of this story, hopefully I can get an agent or manager. Then maybe they can sell the story. And then I can start a career as a screenwriter. Get writing assignments. Movies made. Write story after story. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?
Yes, it would! But going down the route of expectations, it’s so easy to lose connection with the story… and eventually even our creativity. Because we’re no longer telling stories because they are stories to be told; we’re telling stories to make money.
Don’t get me wrong. There is nothing inherently wrong with money. And much of a professional screenwriter’s life is about landing gigs and making money. In that scenario, each writer needs to figure out a working balance between the practicalities of life (i.e., the need for income) and the creative life.
That’s a whole other issue. My point here is specifically for people such as yourself, Courtney. You’ve yet to make that leap from aspiring screenwriter to working screenwriter. And your question speaks to both aspects of what I’m talking about:
I’m happy with the story.
I’m happy with the prose.
I’m happy with the flow.
I’m happy with the dialog.
I’m happy with it all…
That’s Courtney in an “I-You” relationship with your story.
But I can’t let it go.
Could it be a fear of throwing this thing out to the sharks…being swallowed…then spat out?
Or am I just not listening close enough for that little voice to say, “let it go.”
That’s Courtney struggling with an “I-It” impulse. In other words, it feels to me as if the issue is you slipping out of the ‘happy’ state you’re in when it’s just you and your story in a direct ‘relationship’ — no expectations — then into a fearful and insecure state when you consider your story out ‘there’ in the ‘real’ world, a perception layered with your expectations.
My advice: Listen to that little voice. Why? Because I would suggest that this little voice is none other than your story speaking to you. And I believe it’s saying, “I’m ready to go.”
You may not be ready when you get wrapped up in your expectations and fears… but your story is ready. You have to understand that the odds against success — if you define that as selling a spec script — are stacked against you. But you will never have any chance of success if you don’t let go and send your story on its way.
Your story knows this. And its little voice is telling you.
At the very least, do this: Get some knowledgeable people to read your script. That’s not only a sensible thing to do, if you haven’t already, but also represents moving forward on behalf of your story. If the feedback comes back positive, then it’s time to take off the training wheels, and let your story go at it on its own.
I doubt there’s a writer alive who doesn’t have at least a momentary flash of panic just before they hit “Send” with the final draft of their most recent writing project. But stories are meant to be read, heard, and seen. They have an impulse to be told. That’s how you found the story (or it found you) in the first place.
So heed your little voice. Let your story go.
Does anybody else have an issue with letting go of their stories? How do you handle that?
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