by Paul Ashton
They too are an act of faith.
THE ‘TOOLBOX’
This book is a metaphorical box of tools to aid the inspired craftsman –
whether you are a first-timer, or new to a specific medium, or experienced
and look ing to refresh what you do. It assumes that you truly believe you
have a talent and an instinct for scripting drama, and that you are a writer
with something to say. It can’t and won’t teach you how to acquire that
intrinsic, inherent, inimitable talent; but it will help you build on it in order
to write a script that the right people will enjoy enough to want to talk to you.
‘Toolbox’ denotes a very specific image – a collection of tools, each of
which serves a very particular purpose in the daily work of the craftsman.
I won’t pretend that you can ever have a true scriptwriting toolbox from
which you simply apply a tool to a problem and fix it. The tools of the script -
writer’s trade are strangely shaped, they do not apply to inanimate objects
but to people, ideas, journeys, conflicts, resolutions, experiences, actions,
events, desire, love, hope, need, anger, despair, empathy, insight, instinct.
This book explores these strangely shaped tools of the storytelling trade.
If you think that simply kitting yourself out will solve every problem,
think again; a craftsman’s tools in the hands of a DIY disaster do not fix the
problem, they exacerbate it or leave it looking like shoddy workmanship.
This book is not just about using the tools, it is about acquiring the skill to
use them, learning the trade, thinking like a craftsman. Thinking like a
writer.
This book is not meant to be fully comprehensive – but essential. It is
designed to be useful, usable, readable, with information broken down into
INTRODUCTION
3
bite-sized chunks. But it’s not a crib or an easy way out. There are no easy
ways out. It’s not ‘for dummies’ or ‘made easy’. Writing great scripts is
always extremely hard. It is meant to be hard, otherwise it would not be a
vocation so coveted or so worth pursuing. And while this book is designed
to be user-friendly and not too dense, the material and ideas are complex,
and it is intended to be rigorous because nothing to do with the
scriptwriting process is easy. Everything that I expect you to ask of yourself
is extremely demanding. No cribs. No easy ways out.
Also, this book is about the script as a blueprint because writers write
scripts in order for them to be made; they are ‘literature’ in so far as we
read them in order to produce them. Scripts are a stage in a process. Every
dramatic medium is collaborative to a greater or lesser degree. Unless, that
is, you plan on directing, producing, editing, acting and writing the score
too. But we can’t all be Vincent Gallo. And most professional writers write
a script that other people will realise.
THE FORM OF THIS BOOK
The book is largely structured around the idea of beginnings, middles and
endings – both in the story itself and the process of developing and writing
it. But that shape is loose, not prescriptive. It’s a way of organising the
material, but it’s not the only way of reading it and using it. If you have an
idea and want to develop it into a script, the book will help you do that. If
you want to dip into sections about, say, the medium of radio or writing
scenes, you can do that too.
I offer no specific, overarching, all-encompassing or deceptively com -
forting theories. The problem with totalitarian theories is that if something
doesn’t fit then it either must be decried or ignored otherwise it is in danger
of corrupting the theory. In this book, there may well be parts that conflict
with one another and that’s (hopefully) not because I’m incoherent and hypo -
critical but because they just do conflict – because things disagree, because
nobody knows everything, because minds can be changed and developed
and work in different ways to tackle the different problems that arise at
different times. Like I say, it’s an imperfect science. In fact, it isn’t science
at all.
4 THE CALLING CARD SCRIPT
WHAT THIS BOOK DOES NOT DO
This book is not about creative writing tips or exercises, nor about sitcoms,
sketches, pitches, detailed treatments, the finer technicalities of script for -
matting, how to sell your idea, who to contact, how to get an agent, what
it’s like to work on a particular soap opera. There are plenty of other books
and websites that can steer writers seeking out such information (see the
Appendix); this one concentrates on writing the original script that tells a
dramatic story and gets you noticed.
AN INDUSTRY PERSPECTIVE
This book is to a degree born out of my own experience as a (modestly) pro -
duced writer for stage and screen. But primarily it is born out of much
greater experience of reading scripts, working with writers, developing ideas
and voices, lecturing, workshopping, tutoring, and being one of those people
who writers seek to impress by virtue of being a ‘gatekeeper’ in the indus -
try. I ask questions of the writer in this book in the same way that I ask
questions of the thousands of scripts that I have read across theatre, radio,
film and television. When I say thousands, I really do mean thousands.
If you were to ask me what were the common or recurring problems
with the majority of these scripts, my answer would be something along
these lines:
The writer isn’t in control of the medium, often making fundamental
mistakes and forcing basic errors regarding the form of their story.
The writer isn’t thinking clearly enough about who might want to
produce their work and who the audience might be.
Or: they are thinking far too hard about a potential commission and
trying desperately (and pointlessly) to second guess what people want.
The writer’s individual voice doesn’t shine through – the story isn’t
passionately told from a unique perspective.
The writer isn’t thinking hard enough about genre, tone and the
kind of story they are telling.
Or: they are thinking far too obviously about genre and slavishly
applying a generic shape and form to an idea.
INTRODUCTION
5
The writer hasn’t really clarified their idea and premise, what is
distinct about them, what it is they fundamentally have to say about
them.
The writer hasn’t got the story straight – they don’t know where
they are going and so begin and end in the wrong place and the
wrong way.
The characters are not strong, engaging, distinct, active, complex or
vulnerable enough and I don’t connect with them emotionally.
The script does not hit the ground running and hook my attention.
The story does not have a necessary shape and structure – a beginning,
middle and end that really cohere and satisfy.
The writer has begun writing the actual script too soon – before they
have really thought about and gestated most of the above.
The story gets lost in the middle – the dir
ection confused, the
momentum lost, the progress mired in quicksand.
The characters do not grow and develop as the script develops.
The story is not surprising as it progresses.
The writer has a story and narrative but struggles to bring scenes
to dramatic life.
The writer does not voice the characters convincingly and authentic -
ally – the dialogue is awkward, on the nose, overly expository.
The story does not reach a necessary, satisfying ending.
The writer has not forced themselves to go back, look again and
rewrite – they have not given themselves the space to get their
script as right as they can before sending it out.
Or: the writer has over-developed their script to death and rewritten
all the personality out of it.
And finally, the thing that I find is increasingly common and perhaps the
most demoralising of the lot:
The writer has churned out a script (particularly for film) that looks
like the real thing, that is polished and slick, that has probably
benefited from workshops, courses and every structure book going –
but that has no personality, no voice, no charm, no edge, no surprises,
nothing original or distinct or unusual about it.
6 THE CALLING CARD SCRIPT
What you see here is an attempt to explore all these questions. This book is
not about writing the kind of slick, polished article that looks like the kind
of thing that could get made. Nobody really expects your signature script to
be perfect, but they do want to be picked up at the beginning and swept on
to the end. I have wasted far, far too much of my professional life reading
meticulously formatted and utterly soulless scripts – there are too many of
them swimming around. This book is about telling a great story in script
form, not about somehow hoodwinking the script reader. There is no point
mastering scriptwriting software or script formats until you’ve really
started to think hard about what the story is and what you have to say for
yourself.
POINTS OF REFERENCE
My primary field of reference is British stage, radio, film and television
scripts – because it’s where I work, it’s what I know best, it’s an industry
that offers the possibility to work in all four mediums. It’s also because
contrary to the belief of a vocal few, British drama always has been just
as brilliant and ambitious and original as anything else from anywhere
else; the pedigree of the best of contemporary British theatre is rarely in
doubt but, for example, television drama is often unfairly maligned for not
being The Wire as if that is the only benchmark of quality (brilliant though
it is).
But this field is also not narrow; it is eclectic and I would happily take
in a Greek epic and a contemporary returning series drama for TV in the
same breath because in the end they are both stories. The exception is that
I refer somewhat less to produced radio dramas for the sole and simple
reason that they are not easy to get hold of, either as published scripts or
transmitted dramas, and therefore are not easy for the writer to refer back
to. There is a reading list in the Appendix of the works I refer to most, and
in the greatest detail.
THE ‘CALLING CARD’ SCRIPT
I focus on writing the original ‘calling card’ script that expresses your voice
and gets you noticed; even if it is never produced, it can be the crucial thing
that starts your conversation with people who make drama. The book is
INTRODUCTION
7
also designed to be useful on any script at any time because it seeks to raise
the fundamental questions rather than prescribe narrowly defined
templates or practice.
But what is a ‘calling card’? When it is written well, it is a script that
simply speaks your voice: it is interesting and engaging and intriguing and
in some way unusual; it shows what you can do; it is an opportunity to be
truly original; it shows the choices you make when you are not writing to a
strict brief or commission; it demonstrates your skill and hints at your
potential; it opens doors and starts a dialogue; it is the start of a writer’s
journey, not the final goal or end point of it; it is a means to any number of
ends yet must not feel like it’s been written solely to be expedient.
I actually wrote a number of scripts I thought were ‘calling cards’ –
ones that I thought had depth and intrigue and were what people
wanted to read. Turned out all were quite shit.
Jack Thorne
I just went for it, I didn’t care how authored or mannered it
sounded, if people liked it then they’d go for it. It made me confident.
Find that place to be yourself.
Peter Moffat
A calling card script is not necessarily the first script you write. You must
apply the same rigour to every script until you complete one that you feel
speaks your voice. (And then you must apply the same rigour to everything
you write thereafter too.) If you really want to write, then the calling card
script must not be the only script you write. If all you have is one story –
your story, or a ‘passion piece’ – then you are not really a writer, you are
someone with one story.
You can write whatever kind of script you wish to write, but in prac -
tice some things will work better for you than others:
For theatre, I think you can write with fewer restrictions – but much
less than an hour and much more than two hours smacks of either
lack of substance or lack of focus respectively.
For radio, aim for a 45-minute single drama but don’t fret if it ends
up nearer 60; the Radio 4 ‘Afternoon Play’ is by far the biggest
window of opportunity, for which you can write all kinds of stories,
though there are other slots.
8 THE CALLING CARD SCRIPT
For film, much less than 80-minutes and much more than 120 again
smacks of either not enough story or not enough control over the
story – as well as a lack of understanding about the length of films
that tend to be made and distributed.
For TV, the hour-long episode is the ideal format; the ubiquitous
soaps are in half-hours but writing the pilot episode of your own
original soap is pretty suicidal in a calling card script and you’re
better off thinking about a returning series. The commercial
broadcasters’ hour-long slot is nearer to 45/50-minutes when the ad-
breaks are factored in but don’t write in ad-breaks, just write an
hour’s worth of TV story.
The script that got me noticed was a movie about a dragon egg
hatching in Victorian London. It was outrageously big and
expensive but it had a movie sensibility and it wasn’t Letter to
Brezhnev , so at that time it was different.
Matthew Graham
A BASIC DEFINITION
Before we go any further, I want to state a fundamental, essential, inescap -
able definition that should never be forgotten. The word ‘drama’ derives
from the ancient Greek term ‘δρᾶν’, which means ‘to do’ or ‘to act’. Drama
quite lite
rally is ‘action’. The ramifications of this should become evident as
we go. But understanding it at the start will set you off on the front foot.
THE WRITER’S EGO VERSUS THE WRITER’S JOURNEY
This book is for not for people who just want to ‘be a writer’; it is for people
who want to write better. It will not massage your creative ego; it will make
you use your brain and flex your writing muscle. It is not a smooth path but
a rocky road. It is not for those who simply want to know the fastest, easiest
possible route to get them a commission, money, admiration and award
nominations. It is for those who are ready and willing to go on a difficult
journey every time they sit down to write. This thing is meant to be diffi -
cult. And as Matthew Graham so succinctly put it to me:
‘You’re always a hair’s-breadth away from being shit.’
1
The Medium
This page intentionally left blank
THE WRITER AS MEDIUM
Many scriptwriters will in their career write for more than one dramatic
medium. Therefore many will need to try to master various mediums – and
not simply to be able to write competently for them but to write brilliantly
for them, because the competition in each given medium is so utterly intense
and dauntingly relentless.
‘MEDIUM’
What is ‘medium’? It is the place, person or means through which infor -
mation is related – through which story is expressed.
What is ‘a medium’? In one guise, it is the receptacle – a person –
through which a spiritual world communicates with a corporal world.
So is a writer a medium? The means through which imagination (idea)
is communicated in tangible form (text)? Maybe. Maybe not. It’s not a clear
and coherent metaphor, because ‘medium’ implies a passive receptacle and
we expect writers to create and invent in proactive ways. But it does raise