Screenwriting Zen Warrior or not... some of what they will bring to you is crap!

Still, Screenwriting Zen Warrior or not, some of what they hit you with is going to suck. Big-time suck. Script-killing notes you know (with God as your witness) are harmful and wrong and capable of undoing months of passionate, precise storytelling. We're talking worst of the worst here, absolute bottom-of-the-barrel developmental dogshit, the stuff that sooner or later -- like jury duty, porn pop-ups and WGA dues -- every writer encounters.

Believe me, folks, I've eaten plenty of blue-ribbon turds myself, pulled straight-out of somebody's ass and pitched at me with dare-you-to-say-something smiles. Sometimes they're naive and well-intentioned... sometimes, well, not so much.

During pre-production of my first feature, I got faxed a list of surrealist "proposed changes" from our Taiwanese financiers which almost caused me to crap my baby writer pants. This came at the eleventh hour, and since it was their money paying for the film, I had no choice but to take it seriously. Point-blank the U.S. producer informed me the Taiwanese wouldn't fund any escrow accounts until their "story concerns" had been dealt with.

In Producer/Financier-speak that translates to "DO THE FUCKIN' NOTES OR ELSE". As most writers who manage to survive eventually find out, it ain't much of a "creative dialogue" when one guy has a loaded .45 in the other guy's mouth.

On first inspection, some of the changes were nitpicky and ultimately wouldn't matter one way or the other. If insisting the Male Bad Guy (a very macho Euro TV star) "wear black suits and smoke expensive cigars" in explicit scene description helped them feel better about making my movie, by all means, bring on the Montecristos.

On the more disturbing side, however, were instructions like those involving p. 43 (yep -- still have the original. Like any smart writer, I save everything).

This note explicitly called for the Male Bad Guy to surprise one of his victims dressed as her best friend, the Protagonist's wife. That's right, they were telling me to put the toughest guy in the whole picture in full drag --

"Sharon turns and there's Tommy standing DISGUISED AS LISA with a wig (to fool witnesses) -- dressed to kill -- shock! (maybe there's even nail varnish on his finger pressing the door buzzer in the first place.)"

Not only did they want Tommy dressed like a chick, these Asian kinksters wanted him to look fabulous, too. "Maybe even nail varnish". Thank God no specific brand or color palette was being demanded of me as well.

Being as this was my first film entering production, I found zero humor in the situation. On a dime, I halted a new assignment and began masterminding an urgent five-page "Stay of Execution" for our Taiwanese friends, begging them, on metaphorical hands and knees, not to force me to Barbie up the Bad Guy as a smokin' hot tranny during a crucial sequence of suspense.

For a bold young fucker going balls-out like myself, this was a pretty risky strategy. No producer from any nation welcomes a formal written response every time they send some low-budget, twenty-something screenwriter notes. Regardless, compelled by a naive film wonk nutsack brimming with youthful passion, I chucked caution to the wind and wrote that sucker with the ferocity of an innocent Death Row inmate inking his final Supreme Court appeal. Here's a verbatim taste of how it read --

"P. 48 -- Executing this change is a bad idea for two big reasons --

First, the audience will BUST OUT LAUGHING at Tommy when they see this whack vision of him wearing a Chanel dress and Revlon "Revolutionary Color" nail polish -- and brothers, they'll be laughing at him, not with him. It's totally inconsistent in tone and intent with the rest of the film and, what's worse, whomever is playing Tommy will never live the scene down. Its campy, misguided vision will dog his career for the rest of his days.

Secondly, it doesn't make any sense. There is no motivation for an organization as powerful and well-organized as the Mob to send some freak in drag to a woman's front door to grab her in broad daylight. The henchmen are simply going to slip right in and do their business -- as quietly and professionally as possible.

You need to start thinking BIG, SMART AND SUSPENSEFUL for the Bad Guys in this movie. Stay away from the gratuitous low-budget movie clichés and you'll end up with stronger, more interesting villains."

Mind you, there were five pages of this -- me sermonizing and unrepentantly biting the hand that feeds mere days from shooting. Still not sure whether it was the bravest or dumbest move possible for me to make.

By the grace of God, they got it and... backed off. Or simply forgot about it. Or never really gave a shit in the first place, having fired off hasty, half-baked notes on the way to lunch. Never did find out which, which means I can't take any credit and certainly wouldn't recommend this gonzo tone to any sane writer that wants to stay employed.

This other time (at band camp) a Senior Exec became completely obsessed with a specific kill in the horror project we were developing. By design, the scene was stock and straightforward -- a potential victim (the story's bad guy) pulls into his garage late one night, lowers the door and suddenly the lights go out. Headlights flash on by themselves, dramatically spotlighting THE EVIL GHOST that's been murdering everybody in the movie (pure fuckin' Tolstoy, I know). The bad guy's engine begins to rev and redline wildly, car gassing the place with lethal clouds of carbon dioxide. You can probably guess the rest. Victim can't get his windows up, toxic gas billows inside to choke him and the last thing he sees before dying is The Evil Ghost laughing maniacally in the headlights.

(Whew. Thank God that's over.)

So... as we're discussing punching this up with alternatives, the project's VP completely spazzes out, hushing the room.

"Wait, wait, everyone! I'VE GOT IT!"

All heads dutifully turned to hear El Capitan's brainstorm (his first and last of the project, I might add).

"What if... the engine's roaring, gassing the place up... this poor guy looks out to see the Ghost... and suddenly the exhaust pipe S-T-R-E-T-C-H-E-S out and extends... wrapping around the car and then BAAAMMM! Smashes right through the window... AND INTO HIS MOUTH!"

Dead silence. Crickets. Mouths agape. Poor fucker had literally acted this out -- lassoing his arm overhead and landing his cupped hand smack against his lips to imitate the imaginary tail pipe.

Bro, I didn't know what the fuck to say.

Luckily, the Director of Development bailed everybody out. She simply went right back to where she'd been in conversation and carried on like it never happened. We followed her lead and that was that. It went away. It didn't exist.

Maybe five minutes later, discussing an entirely different scene, the VP bolts upright again -- "Wait, wait -- I've got it!"

And pitches the exact same shitty idea again. Verbatim. Same exhaust pipe S-T-R-E-T-C-H-I-N-G out... wrapping around... and BAAAMMM! Smashes right through the window... AND INTO HIS MOUTH!" He just would not let it die.

No ducking it this time. I was the fucking writer after all.

Standing on the lip of this treacherous precipice, a tack sprang up that came to serve my career well over the coming years. Here's what I said --

"You know, let me put my brain on it and see if I can make it work."

Done. Simple as pie. I'd gone on record, acknowledged his note, and now collectively we could move forward with the script.

Back home, on my own time, I would in fact see if I could come up with something better -- because really, that's all he was getting at in the first place. The specifics in this setting were essentially unimportant; Senior Exec just wanted something different and better, only he didn't have the slightest idea what that might look like. And for the good money they were paying me, I was plenty happy to give it a rethink. Figuring that kinda shit out is what you're there for in the first place, right? That's your job.

So that's the big lesson. Clinch when you're rattled, like any good boxer. Take responsibility and politely defer. Buy yourself some time. Just like the U.S. Congress, send it to committee and live to fight another day -- when it actually matters. No need to Tea Party yourself, ideologically bogging down the proceedings, sidetracking your own progress and/or turning some studio player into a lifelong enemy.

Just tell 'em you'll put your big brain on it and move on. Couple days later, after an ample cooling off period -- no longer emotional or feeling threatened -- give it another stab. With a clear head you'll have a much better shot at figuring out how to make it work... or how to work around it... or whatever you decide to do.

What ultimately came of the dreaded Stretchy-Exhaust-Pipe-In-The-Mouth Brainstorm?

Next meeting, nobody brought it up. Not a peep. It was like the conversation never happened. Senior Exec never mentioned it again.

As I mentioned earlier, some notes will stick, some won't. You'd be amazed how many contentious life-or-death brawls go down over shaky notes, only to have these same points vanish without so much as a whisper by the next meeting.

Don't misunderstand me -- I'm not greenlighting writers simply ignoring bad notes in the first place. Not on your life. You still need to work out a fresh fix and/or interesting alternative to the beat in question. There's no telling what people in development will remember or become irrationally fixated on, so play it smart and fully prepare yourself on the off chance you are called back to the witness stand. Who knows? Perhaps during this process you'll come with something even you like better. Imagine that. Now everybody comes out on top.

Ultimately, the pro's goal is to do what they want, your way.

Wanna save yourself an ulcer, ten cases of J&B and a couple tons of Tylenol? Satisfactorily address the D-Team's concerns while simultaneously creating something you dig as well -- or at least something you can live with. It may be annoying, but spinning developmental dogshit into gold creates a win-win for everybody. Your stock will skyrocket and you'll have seized an opportunity to improve your script even more.

I want to be super clear on one last point -- I'm definitely not suggesting any writer swallow chud creatively as a matter of habit, rolling over with a welcoming ass in the air every story meeting. That doesn't help anybody, because the people paying you certainly don't want that either.

This from a Warner Bros. VP -- "If we could do what you do, John, we would. But we can't. We need you here."

So it's good to keep in mind that you're not there by accident. You belong. Those are your hands on the wheel, and the people who hired you put them there. They do need all your skill, perspective and insight to get the project where it's going. In fact, they're counting on it -- which is why they're paying you, dummy. If they could do what you do, they would... but they can't.

So start spinning, my friend. You're gonna have a big batch of gold to make.