Tweetstorm: On Losing the Love for a Story

If you are an aspiring screenwriter, Twitter is an amazing resource. Eric Heisserer (Arrival, Lights Out, Hours, A Nightmare on Elm Street, Final Destination 5, The Thing) is probably the Hollywood screenwriter most willing to go online and provide a tweetstorm on a specific subject related to the craft.

Today: In June 2015, Eric took to the Twitter-verse to discuss a problem that vexes all writers from time to time: Falling out of love with a story. Reprinted in its entirety by permission.

TONIGHT: I wanna talk about something a little different. Let’s get into a problem in just about any creative endeavor: Losing the love.

Burnout. Stress. Overthinking. All manner of culprits can get you to a point where you don’t know why you’re writing a thing anymore.

It’s a trap I have faced time and again. I get into the weeds on a script and forget why I wanted to write it in the first place.

Or somewhere along the way, I start writing to manage producer notes and I lose personal agency in the story. And that stops the love.

Or even worse, I’m all on my own, tinkering on something, and I begin writing in anticipation of notes I haven’t even gotten. Love = gone.

This line of work is taxing, and in insidious ways not as noticeable as an athlete’s injuries. It will drain you if you’re not careful.

You have to reclaim your passion for a story the way you would a relationship. You have to want to make it work; make it great.

And once in a while you have to realize that you have nothing else to give to a project, and must part ways. But let’s talk inspiration.

I’ll start by focusing on writing for a producer/studio, but for those not in that place yet, it can apply to your trusted review circle.

I’ve noticed I can fall into a rut where I have stopped being inventive with a story because I’m too busy addressing notes; a worker bee.

I can fall out of love with a script when I’m trying to fix something on page 57 and nothing clicks. I’m just moving furniture for them.

More often than not, the only remedy is for me to get out of furniture-mover mode and look at stuff with NO notes, like page 32 here.

I get afraid to kill some darling that works, is a solid 7/10 somewhere, when I need to replace it with a 9/10 in order to fix other stuff.

Or I get too low to the ground on a script, fussing with minutiae, when what I need is a new Big Idea to shake the cobwebs loose.

Having worked for a non-Hwood corporation, there’s a period early on where you can clearly see what’s weird about company policy.

But the people there have been in it for too long to notice that it’s strange some manager goes through their mail first, or whatever.

And after a few months — usually about six — you will also become indoctrinated into the culture without knowing it.

Same applies to working on a script. At the start, what you want to do is so clear. But farther down the road, it gets murky.

And producers who’ve been on a project longer than you will be even more blind to it. They’ll clutch broken things because it’s familiar.

And often, for me, that loss of love on those projects happens when I’ve started ignoring what’s ‘off’ to fix smaller things.

Or hell, sometimes all you need is to reclaim your authorial voice and write a short story. A poem. Make a music video. Paint.

We writers are different from every other guild in this business. How? WE are the purveyors of intellectual property. It’s ours first.

Don’t forget that — we can stand on our chairs and say, “The story goes this way!” That’s what we’re paid to do, ostensibly.

So feel free to trick yourself into having fun again. To love again.

My buddy @wilzmak does a cool thing by imagining a wildly different actor/actress for a role. That can shake things loose like whoa.

Sometimes I just add in a brand new ingredient into my story and mix it up that way. Lots of talking? Action sequence! Chaos! Reactions!

Is the problem that you don’t love a character in a story? Follow them outside the scripted pages, make them the coolest one in the movie.

I’ve also had troubles with a scene in my second act, always slogging things down — so I cut it entirely. Just referenced it later. Bam!

Try that out at times with your other readers/producers/execs. How many notice? How many miss something you improved by omitting?

Or maybe everything just feels like shit. Maybe you can’t write. The well is dry. Thinking hurts. Refill the well! Sharpen your saw.

Watch your favorite movies/TV. Read a book you’ve been meaning to read. Or spend a weekend doing nothing approximating work. Recharge.

If you love writing, set it free. If you come back refreshed, writing is your true love. If not, for fuck’s sake find another love.

We all get this. I know it’s not much of a concession to tell you, but you are absolutely not alone in that miasma of loveless doubt.

It’s even part of the process, really. You have to fall out of love in order to fall deeper the next time; to make it better. Smarter.

So, try to treat your material like you would want your spouse to treat you. Have your script drive you to the airport — wait, not that.

I mean to say — try not to take your frustrations out on the script, or the person who’s given you the note that something doesn’t work.

It’s reflexive to do that, and I still do it a lot. But really, that just breeds more negativity to the project. And you want passion.

Something I’ve started doing since I directed is: See the project from the eyes of an actor. Or a cinematographer. Make that person excited.

If you read a script of mine and you find some specific sound design, or scoring, or an odd camera move, that’s me falling in love again.

And on that note, I’m gonna finish this glass and read some Ted Chiang. Because damn does he get my imagination jump-started.

As usual, when Eric tipples the Scotch and dons his Mentor mask, he delivers wisdom from on high.

If I may add a coda: When you begin a writing project, take a few minutes to write down what draws you to it, what your emotional connection to the story is, why you’re passionate to write it. Then set that document in a safe place.

Later on, if you find yourself cursing the heavens and gnashing your teeth — not an easy double to pull off! — go back to that document. Read your words. Remind yourself what it was that excited you about it in the first place.

That may provide a conduit for you back to a happy place.

You may follow Eric on Twitter: @HIGHzurrer.

You may read my April 2013 interview with Eric here.