Content First
I was working on a feature idea today when I came to a bit of a crossroads: I discovered that there was a serious flaw in the progression of my story that was contradictory to what I had, for a very long time, imagined the introduction to my film being.
The flaw came in a lack of motivation for my protagonist(s) — which is the first key to a terrible film. Strong needs and desires fuel the most engaging and exciting plot developments in any story, and they keep audiences interested. Without powerful motives, characters and their tales fall flat.
However, the idea I originally had was firmly set in my mind as the best way to communicate how I saw the story to be. I could hardly imagine the narrative without the vision I had in my head initially, and its easy enough to say I had a difficult time parting with it.
The phrase “kill your darlings” comes to mind. When you approach that moment of discovery that your idea, your brainchild won’t suffice, its a hard truth. If you ask me, its more difficult to hear from others, so I’m glad I came to it on my own. But when you do make such a revelation, its easy to settle with what you had, because that’s what you’ve been holding on to.
At least, that’s the case with my work at the moment. To find that my high and mighty idea is not, in fact, perfect hurts a little. But I’m happier to realize this now than during shooting or after a screening.
Still, part of me feels that my creativity — my style — is being infringed upon. This change I’m making is more for the audience than it is for myself; it allows there to be both greater interest in and deeper understanding of the narrative. That’s not something I need, per se, because I know everything that happens in the story…and I liked it the way it was.
But I have to be realistic, and if I want to option this script some day (which I certainly do), it can’t be weak. That won’t sell.
Not only that, but — and here is where my sentiments towards my old ideas change — don’t I want a good story? Even if what I had initially in mind is put aside in lieu of something else, isn’t it best that it benefits the tale as a whole? Don’t I, as a writer, want to write good work? Won’t I enjoy it more?
As I’m writing this post, I’m slowly discovering that coming to the sort of conclusion I made this morning is a sign of growth and change in my writing, but I think I’m going to address the whole “killing your darlings” concept at the moment. But its worth keeping in mind.
My main concern about altering what I had grew from the fear of an attack on my style. If I wanted my characters to do something for a certain reason, even if its not a particularly good one, why can’t I? People don’t always make decisions based on strong convictions. Sometimes we do things and we don’t know why. But is that ever interesting to hear about?
No, not really. Of course, you could look at works like Richard Linklater’s Slacker and argue that the film itself needs no motivation other than to follow whichever thread the writer is particularly interested in writing. But that isn’t what I’m trying to do; I’m approaching my story as a more or less traditional narrative, so there are laws that need to be more or less abided by.
If your idea of your style gets in the way of communicating with your audience, silence the noise — or perhaps just muffle it a bit. You want you to come through in your writing, but not to the point that your story is actually bad. Style can’t be an excuse to not follow the rules; I’d say its more a tool used to bend them. But we still want to make it appear as though we’re building on a familiar foundation.
In summary: Content First, Style Second. Make certain your story is understandable, clear as a bell so that you have the freedom to add personal touches that make it truly yours.
Use the system, and break the rules once you’ve figured out how.
