Rewriting the first chapter was easy, but now I'm back at the point in chapter two where I got stuck last week. And I still don't know what's going to happen, so what to do? Send for help, that's what! Save the Cat is a great screenwriting book that my critique partner, Jen Black http://members.lycos.co.uk/jenblack/biography.htm, recommended. Blake Snyder's views on structure are easy to understand, and he's a funny guy. Nice too. He suggests emailing him with comments and ideas, so I sent him a description of my least favourite film genre, which I call: "geezers shouting at one another in a small place." And I got a reply!! The wonders of connectivity and the modern world!
The text books I encountered at my convent school were all printed before 1800 and something, and they had teeny-tiny print, foxed covers and a damp smell. The authors were all dead (preferably martyred). They were fixed, unchanging, and not to be argued with. This is way more fun.
Anyway, rather than staring at a blank screen, I'm going to see if I can lay out my plot over Blake Snyder's structure. Maybe some ideas will come though. In the meantime, though, here is my original paragraph:
It makes me cringe, now, to think how thrilled I was about my promotion.
I don’t have time for much socialising, or any close friends, come to that, but the day the news about my new appointment was announced, I took two colleagues to a bar overlooking the Thames. We chose a table with a heater because the autumn day was bright, but chilly. I splurged on a celebratory bottle of champagne. Nicola insisted on topping up her bubbles with Guinness. Her dark eyes met mine over the top of the fizzing glass as she saluted me.
‘You couldn’t pay me enough to live in Lancashire.’
I visualised the figures on my new contract and couldn’t stop a laugh. ‘I’d move to Siberia for this money.’
And here is the rewritten version:
I floated out of the boardroom, my heels brushing the plush carpet of the corridor and into my office. I closed the door carefully, then I flopped back on the wood and grinned. My secretary eyed me with a sour look.
‘You couldn’t pay me enough to live in Lancashire.’
I met her dark eyes. ‘You mean you didn’t see my salary when you read the contract?’
‘Are you saying that I’ve been snooping, Kari?’
‘No, but you seem to know all about my promotion.’
‘Oh, Come on, Sherlock! You spend all that time preparing to boss the Italian factory and they give it Matthew Duke. You don’t sue. They have to be throwing you a bone.’
‘Better than a bone,’ I said mildly. ‘Operations Manager of Cleggs Lancashire Builders.’
I may rename that company yet! Let me know what you think.
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