Writing for Film, Filming for Writing: 1st Week Prose

For our first session, we were given a simple exercise: using some simple character and action information, write a paragraph of prose in 10 minutes. My character was Boris, a 42-year-old sculptor, unfaithful to his wife, dripping with perspiration. Boris’s action was to panic about a presentation. Here is my result:

1:47. Two minutes late, and yet somehow Boris couldn’t quite find the strength to wrench himself away from the rim of the porcelain bowl. He found himself lost in the swirling maelstrom of bile and last night’s dinner that he’d just expelled. Corn. He hadn’t had corn, had he? Another wave of nausea shuddered through him, and Boris gripped the edge of the bowl as he let loose another stream of spew. Why? The most important presentation of his career, that one that would guarantee him the promotion he’d been working for all year, and he’d thrown it all away on a night with the girl from Apartment 2B. What was her name? Lisa? Linda? Definitely an L, but that was beside the point. Focus, he commanded himself. What was his opening line? Something about profit margins. Expenditure decreases. But when Boris tried to shut out everything else, to just desperately recall the carefully written speech which sat securely in his home office, all he could see was Lisa/Linda, standing in the doorway of Apartment 2B, beckoning him inside. Jesus Christ, what would Mary say? Married for twelve years – unhappily married, sure – but twelve was a big number. After the last time, she’d let him know, in no uncertain terms, that one more fuck-up would land him on the street. He couldn’t live on his salary alone – what would he do, sell the sad little sculptures he made in his spare time? No, he already turned up to work each day stinking of clay. Fat beads of perspiration dripped into the toilet bowl, dragging Boris out of his meanderings. He tore his head away from the rim, desperately wiped his chin with the back of his sleeve and checked his watch. 1.52. Slowly, steadily, he managed to stand, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head that told him to find a quiet, dark room and sleep for thirty straight hours. If he was going to fuck this up, he’d do it with his head held high.

Following this, we had to split into groups, compare work, and discuss which paragraph would be best suited to become a two-page screenplay. This was actually an eye-opening experience for me, in regards to what makes a good screenplay work. While I’m happy with my paragraph, and I think I did a decent job with it, it became apparent pretty quickly that it wouldn’t work in the confines of the exercise. Everything in my paragraph existed within Boris’s head – his memories and imagination, his anxieties and terror at his upcoming presentation, all rattling around his skull, unable to physically manifest themself within two pages of script. We ended up choosing a paragraph that incorporated a few different characters, and utilized dialogue between them. Bit of a lesson for me there, to take into account what’s interesting to watch, rather than what’s interesting for me to write. Show, not tell, and other basic writing tips that I’m clearly yet to learn.