Live To Write Another Day

Live to Write Another Day

A Survival Guide for Screenwriters and Creative Storytellers

By Dean Orion

The writing of this book would not have been possible without the love and support of my beautiful wife, Rochelle, and incredible daughters, Eden and Avalon. I want to especially thank my pal Sybil Grieb, for inspiring me to take a leap of faith and go on this wild ride, and Christian Knudsen, who has not only been an incalculable resource, but a truly supportive friend. The boundless talent of Mark Page, who created the cover art, never ceases to amaze me. And I can’t even begin to describe how much I appreciate the work of Jodi Lester, whose editorial knowledge and invaluable work on this book have been both a Godsend and an education. Lastly, I am so very grateful to my brother Marc, who is always my most trusted read, and my dear friends Tom Teicholz, Maria Alexander, Trey Callaway, and Karey Kirkpatrick, who were also generous enough to read early drafts and provide blurbs for The Writer Gene website.

I was eleven years old when I wrote my first original story. It was the story of triplets separated at birth. One becomes a professional football player, one a rodeo champ, and the other a successful Hollywood actor. Then, lo and behold, at the ripe old age of twenty-one, they learn that they’re long lost brothers!

This could only have meant one thing. Either I had a serious personality disorder, or I was born to be a writer. Frankly, I think the jury’s still out.

I rarely go back and reread anything I’ve written over the years, especially the early stuff, but not too long ago when I was in the throes of moving, I stumbled upon my original copy of “Triplets”
and couldn’t quite resist the temptation (not to mention the fact that it was a wonderful respite from the drudgery of packing boxes). Naturally, I got to thinking about how far I’ve come as a writer, how much I’ve learned, and how much I’d like to share with other writers, which is how the idea for this survival guide was born.

Needless to say, I was quite amused with myself as I read through that ancient manuscript. Like most kids, I had a pretty active imagination, which was obvious from the very first paragraph. There was no doubt I was having a lot of fun when I wrote it, absolutely relishing that magical moment in my life when I suddenly came to understand the power of words and how to manipulate them. But the thing that truly astonished me about this younger version of myself was the innate ability that I possessed, even at that tender age, to construct what was clearly a very sophisticated story. No one had taught me about the nuances of creative writing or storytelling, and to my recollection, Mrs. Shertzer’s sixth-grade class at Fifth Avenue Elementary School wasn’t exactly a hotbed of budding literary geniuses. Yet somehow, intuitively, I was able to create this perfect three-act structure for my “Triplets”
masterpiece, a well-defined beginning, middle, and end that wove seamlessly back and forth between my three protagonists, built to an exciting climax, and paid off quite beautifully when it was all said and done.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not telling you this heart-warming little tale to toot my own horn. Okay, maybe I am a little bit, but that’s beside the point. All I’m trying to say is that writing is in my DNA. It’s not just what I do, it’s who I am. In other words, for better or worse, I was born with the
writer gene.

So what does this mean? What’s the prognosis for someone with this dreaded affliction, doc? Well, if you too are the proud owner of this lovely piece of biochemistry, then you know exactly what it means. It means that as much as you struggle to overcome your shortcomings or to be recognized for your achievements as a writer, as much as you get rejected, as much as you try to do other things with your life or make a living in other ways—even if you
have
to make a living in other ways—there’s just no chance in hell that you’ll ever stop writing. It’s like trying to defy gravity. It’s physically impossible.

In my experience, I’ve found that members of our little gene pool generally respond to this stark reality in one of two ways: either they do what I do most of the time, which is to be honest and admit how much they
love
writing, despite how incredibly hard it is to do well; or they do what I only do every now and again, which is to endlessly bitch, moan, and complain about how
much they
hate
writing, because of how incredibly hard it is to do well. By the way, it’s also not at all unusual to hear a writer do both of these things simultaneously, sometimes in the very same long and laborious sentence, like I just did.

All joking aside though, the truth is I really do love writing. I love it because it helps me make sense of a world that very often makes no sense at all; because it gives me a structure in which to express myself, to create order out of chaos, to be the master of the universe, even if it is a make-believe universe. Most importantly, I love writing because I love the creative process, the journey that you go on when you conceive of an idea and, like Odysseus, feel compelled to find the path through every obstacle, every trial and tribulation, in an effort to realize that idea’s full potential and bring it safely home.

If you’re like me and you have the writer gene, then I’m sure you’re in the midst of your own writing odyssey. And, like me, you could probably use a little help every now and then, a little reassurance that you’re not alone out there, blowing aimlessly in the middle of the Mediterranean. That’s what this survival guide is all about. It’s my way of helping you—my writer brethren—navigate those often unpredictable, sometimes murky waters, in any small way I can.

I’ve been a professional writer since the time I graduated from college, which is about twenty-five years now. In that time I’ve written advertising copy, stage plays, screenplays, teleplays, website content, and all different kinds of interactive games and theme-park experiences. It’s been an eclectic career to be sure, but each of these creative challenges has, in its own unique way, taught me very valuable lessons and invariably contributed to my overall growth, both as a person and as an artist. I don’t profess to know everything or have the end-all-be-all, sure-fire secret to being a great writer. Let’s be real, no one does. What I
do
know is there are aspects of my creative process and my psychological approach to the craft of writing that are very effective and could potentially work for you as well.

So whether you’re a high school kid with big dreams, a person who’s spent half your life in another career neglecting your writer gene, or even a seasoned vet who just needs a little pep talk, it’s my sincerest hope that there’s a word or two in this little tome that will help you weather every storm, sail past every siren, and slay every monster as you tell that great story that simply must be told.

I think it’s only fitting to begin a discussion of the creative process with a little procrastination
.
As you might have already guessed from the title of this chapter, I think procrastination gets a bad rap. Why? Because I wholeheartedly believe that procrastination is
part
of the creative process. There. I said it. You happy? I hope so, because I’m not just trying to be cute. I mean it.

Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, we should probably give procrastination a more positive name, don’t you think? How about
Pre-writing
?
Braincharging
?
Mindframing
? Sound better? I think so. But let’s not kid ourselves either. Regardless of what you call it, it still basically boils down to the same thing—delaying the inevitable reality that at some point you have to get on with it, just dive into the deep end of the pool and start paddling. Which is bad, right? Delaying. Avoiding. Not doing what you’re supposed to be doing. Worst of all, wasting time.
Right?

You see what I’m doing here? I can’t psychologically reconcile the fact that for every minute of my life I’m not writing, I feel terribly guilty, like I’m not getting a damn thing done. “Come on people, we’re burning daylight!” the drill sergeant in my head says. “But I can’t just start typing,” I plead. “I’m not ready!”

My point here is this:

Procrastinating is only bad if you create anxiety around the fact that you’re procrastinating.

Okay, let’s say you can get past the guilt. You no longer feel bad about the time you’re spending rearranging the furniture or trying to peel the perfect cucumber. How the hell is that part of the process? The answer is that creative writing requires a very unique type of focus where you are at once a passive and active channel of information. You are both passively
listening
to the ideas coming into your head at a million miles per second and actively
talking
as you compose the words. But believe it or not, when you’re procrastinating you’re actually starting to engage in this process, because you’re already thinking about the story that you’re telling, even if it’s only subconsciously.

Procrastination comes in as many varieties as there are writers. Some people watch YouTube videos. Some people clean the house. Some people go for a walk. Me, I’m a football junkie, so I like to read all the latest and greatest happenings of the National Football League before I put pen to paper (even in the off-season). Any and all forms are acceptable as far as I’m concerned. Procrastination is an equal opportunity employer.

Not that
chronic
procrastination
, to the point where you don’t ever actually write anything, is okay. That’s obviously not what I’m talking about. There’s a point at which that kind of thing begins to call into question whether you actually possess the writer gene in the first place. What I am saying is that procrastinating is pretty much the universal starting point of the writing process, a way of getting yourself into the
alpha state
, as the scientists would say. So whatever it is that you have to do to get yourself there, don’t beat yourself up about it. Just accept it, embrace it, and know that your fellow writers all over the world, from amateurs to Pulitzer Prize winners, are at the very same moment doing exactly the same thing.