Who Is Steering Your Creative Ship?

by, Jacob Krueger

 

The Captain And The Navigator

If you imagine your writing as a ship, then you can think of your subconscious, creative brain as the Captain, and the conscious editing brain as the Navigator.
Having a good Navigator is a vital part of keeping the ship afloat. After all, it’s the Navigator who reads the charts, plots the course, adjusts for winds and currents, and makes sure you arrive in the most efficient way possible. The Navigator makes the plans that make the Captain’s goals possible. Tell the Navigator where you want to go, and the Navigator will get you there.

 

The Trouble Occurs When The Navigator Starts To Think He Or She Is The Captain

 

Imagine your terrified Editing Brain Navigator, clinging desperately to the helm in the middle of the storm, seeing the rocks ahead, and not knowing what to do about them: frantically pouring through screenwriting books, planning, outlining, writing character backstories, building image systems, refining your hook, organizing around a theme, obsessing day and night…
But no matter what it does the rocks just keep getting closer. Because your editing brain doesn’t know how to steer the ship.
Unlike the Captain, the Navigator has no idea how the intricate inner workings of the ship actually function. They don’t know how to run the rigging, manage the emotions of the crew, or make the millions of instinctual decisions that make the difference between survival and destruction.
And yet, most of us continually put the Navigator in this position. Mostly because, just like the terrified Navigator, we’re unaware that the Captain even exists. Or unwilling to trust them if they do.

 

Learning To Trust Your Creative Brain

It’s only natural that we’d feel this way. Our entire education system, since we were in kindergarten, has taught us to ignore the instinctual, creative side that actually governs 90% of what we do, and to focus instead on the editing side of our brain– the part that thinks before we speak, second guesses our actions, and prepares us for a role on the Henry Ford assembly line of life.
This same mistake is repeated by almost every screenwriting book on the market and almost every screenwriting guru on circuit. More and more and more education for the editing brain, until it thinks it’s the only brain on the ship.
And the next thing you know, you’re completely blocked.

 

This Is Where Writer’s Block Comes From.

Just like in any enterprise, when you travel too long with the wrong person at the helm, there’s usually a mutiny brewing. And of course the same is true when it comes to writing.
Your writer’s block may take the form of complete paralysis. Or it may take an even more insidious form– dull, flat, boring writing– the feeling that there’s something inside you that’s dying to come out, but that it’s never making its way onto the page.

 

Put Your Creative Captain Back At The Helm

Unlike your conscious editing Navigator, your subconscious creative Captain doesn’t give a hoot about Archetypes, Structure, Format, Symbol or any of the millions of other informational ideas that gurus preach and film professors salivate over.
There will be plenty of time for that later. But first you need to learn to steer your ship.
That’s why my screenwriting workshops begin with mind opening exercises, designed to help your over-anxious Navigator retire to its cabin for some well-deserved rest, and put your creative Captain back in control.
Gradually, you’ll learn how to balance the two sides of your writer’s mind, so that both Captain and Navigator to work together in harmony to develop and craft your voice as a writer, discover the story within you, and translate it to the page.

I-N-G, These 3 Letters Are Not Your Friends

By, Jacob Krueger


Want to revolutionize your writing in three letters or less?  Do a hunt through your writing for these three letters:
I-N-G.
No, I’m not talking about the internet bank. I’m talking about the three letters that turn verbs into nouns (gerunds for you English teachers) grinding your story to a halt and creating static, and usually non-specific images.
-ing words (gerunds for you English teachers) create static images in your writing.  Verbs create a sense of action.  So sometimes simply by switching an -ing word to an active verb, you can change the whole feeling of your action.
It’s not that gerunds are bad in themselves. If you tried to cut every gerund out of your script you’d probably go crazy, and your script might not be any better for yourtroubles.
At the same time, gerunds can often be red-flags for missed opportunities in your writing. So if you’re using a ton of gerunds in your action, you may want to take a closer look, and make sure you’re getting everything you can out of them.

 

The Difference Between Verbs and Gerunds

Movies are active, and they’re told through exciting images of exciting characters doing exciting things in exciting ways. And because movies are told in the cuts between scenes, they work best when we’re cutting from one big moment to another– big changes, big decisions, big choices your characters make.
Unlike the active verbs that capture the unique ways your characters pursue their objectives and react to problems in their world, gerunds suggest states of being, continuing action and static images– the opposite of the specific moments that truly capture your character and make your movie feel like it’s happening NOW.

 

Is all this really so important?

In a word, yes.
At first look, there might not seem to be a big difference between phrases like:
Elizabeth is standing/Elizabeth stands
Mary is running/Mary runs
John is dancing/John dances
But the big problem with gerunds is not just that they can often feel static. It’s that their very nature can make it difficult to isolate the specific moments that capture your character’s journey. You may feel like you’re writing actions, but oftentimes you’re not. You’re writing states of being.

 

And that means you’re not thinking in movie time.

“Elizabeth is standing” tells us Elizabeth’s placement– as if she was a static figure in a picture. As a writer,your job is not to be a set decorator. And let’s face it– it’s hard to visualize placement of stuff in a room you’re not even seeing.
“Elizabeth stands” doesn’t exactly capture the Academy Award for excitement. But at least it can suggest that a choice is being made– that she stood up for a reason. That she is no longer seated. That something is happening.
“Mary is running” suggests that Mary is in the process of running. But this isn’t what your director is going to shoot. What she is actually going to shoot is a bunch of cool moments and specific actions that when strung together capture the feeling of Mary’s run.
When you write “Mary is running” you’re not thinking like a filmmaker. You’re once again thinking like a set decorator– setting the scene, rather than capturing the moments.
If instead you forced yourself to capture the moments that say “Mary is running” and the actions she takes as she runs, you would learn all kinds of important stuff about your character.

 

Mary is doing more than just running.

You might visualize the awkward way her arms flop as she runs. You might imagine the slap of a flip flop against the pavement. You might see her stumble over her paisley skirt and tumble into the mud.
Or, you might imagine the rhythmic thump of Mary’s 300 dollar running shoes. Feel her rock hard biceps strain against her moisture-wicking running shirt, hear her heart rate monitor sound an alarm, and see her ignore it and quicken her pace.
These visual moments would not only be a lot more fun to watch than “Mary is running”, they would also reveal so much more about who Mary is, what she wants, and the unique way she pursues those desires.

 

Revolutionize your writing.

Each specific moment you create in your action becomes something you can riff on later in your script, to capture your character’s journey in powerful ways.
The moment when the first Mary struggles to get the stain out of her paisley skirt, or trades it for a pair of running shorts, or jumps effortlessly over the mud puddle she once dreaded.
The moment when the second Mary hears the heart rate alarm sound and stops running, when her bicep strains against a hospital blood pressure cuff rather than her running shirt.
In this way, you can transform missed opportunities into transformative moments that create a visual language for your movie, capture the unique spirit ofyour character, and drive the action of your story forward in exciting ways.
Keep a lookout for those three little letters i-n-g.  And notice what it does for your writing.