Blog Article

It is not uncommon for authors to want to adapt their books into movies. Netflix alone will spend north of $13 million on new content this year, the bulk of that jaw-dropping amount on films. Netflix is just one streaming giant. So it’s understandable that authors interested in the book-to-film pipeline are taking screenwriting courses and reading how-to books like Save the Cat. Who among us wouldn’t want to see our stories in all their cinematic glory? Writing for the small and big screen became a goal of mine as a teen, which is why my YA debut novel, Malcolm and Me, started off as a script. My story is about an insightful Philadelphia teen wrestling with adult hypocrisy while fighting systemic racism at her Catholic school during the 1973-74 school year. Earlier this year, I submitted the first act of my script to the talented members of the Virginia Screenwriters Forum, of which I am the director. I read their critiques, let them marinate, then weaved them into another draft. Then I set it aside.

You may say, “You wrote the book, don’t you know your story well enough to spit out the script?” I lived the story so I definitely know it, but screenplays and novels rock different rules and it’s not a breeze adapting your own work. For starters, every page of a script equals a minute of screen time. Most books average about 300 pages and most movie scripts are between 90 and 120 pages. That math alone required me to eliminate nearly a third of my material. You know, the words I slaved over for more years than I care to share. That meant restructuring the story. That meant killing a lot of babies. (A horrible sounding idiom but one so apt).  It’s a process to write the first draft with different story beats but the same themes, characters, and emotional truth as the novel. Wish I could tell you that I wrote the first draft straight through. I did it in phases. It took time to heal from saying goodbye to all of my fabulous interior monologues and descriptive passages. I had to remind myself a script is concise and not a wordy novel. I ended up writing 128 pages. Cutting it to 110 pages felt as hard as the 102-mile bicycle ride I did with my hubby 10 years ago. The bike ride was more fun.

After revising the entire script, I sent it to beta readers. After including their feedback, I set the script aside for a few months. A few days ago, I reread it. What a difference the gift of time makes. I read it with fresher eyes and more objectivity. I clearly see where to cut, even after adding crucial scenes and polishing the writing with more evocative verbs (because a movie is about characters doing something, not thinking or talking about it).

On the cusp of 2023, my goal is to have a polished script by mid-January. My strategy includes submitting it to various contests throughout the year while finishing other screenplays in various stages of development.  For all the authors working on adaptions, I hope sharing my process provides instruction and inspiration. If not, I invite you to get a closer look at the craft of screenwriting by attending a meeting of the Virginia Screenwriters Forum. I’m all for more authors writing their way into the book-into-film pipeline in 2023!

About the Author

Robin Farmer‘s debut novel, Malcolm and Me, was a 2019 winner of the She Writes Press and SparkPress Toward Equality in Publishing (STEP) contest. A national award-winning journalist, Robin specialized in narrative nonfiction projects as part of the Special Projects/Investigative team for the Richmond Times-Dispatch. Her work led to a Knight-Wallace Fellowship at the University of Michigan. A freelance writer since 2009, her clients include corporations and universities. Robin holds a degree in journalism from Marquette University. She lives near Richmond with her husband and is working on her second novel.

Great news!  We can trick ourselves into succeeding at our goals. Below are suggestions. Adopt a few and make them rules, because we all follow our own rules: we lock our doors, brush our teeth, feed our pets, etc. Set them in concrete then adopt more.

1. BIC… (Butt in Chair).  Oh, how we can avoid that seat behind our keyboard. We clean the pantry, shop online, wash the car, or if desperate enough, fold the dirty laundry. Nothing but nothing will happen until you put your bottom in the chair. You can’t edit an empty page. If necessary, use a clock like you would for a child’s time out. And no getting sneaky. No re-arranging your desk or making paper clip chains. That’s where Rule #2 comes in.
2. Touch your work in progress every day. Even if you read the last few pages or look for sneaky adverbs. Don’t read what you wrote on your phone unless you create it there. The magic happens when we add or edit.
3. Accept that the muse is dead. Sorry folks. Ding. Dong. Dead. Thinking, “I’m not in the mood to write,” is waiting for a dead muse. Call it what it is, procrastination. Days we are totally inspired to write are bonus days, not the norm. If your undesired mood (anger, grief, etc.) is strong, you may not want to change the tone of your work in progress. Instead, write what you are feeling. It could turn into an article or essay.
4. Inspire yourself. As a psychotherapist, thousands of times I taught the valuable lesson that the brain cannot accept a negative. Oh, so you want me to prove it. Okay. Don’t think about a banana. See? Gotcha. Negatives program us to fail. Like:  “I won’t procrastinate.” Better to say, “I’ll get it done.” A sneaky one is:  “I try my hardest.” Try is a failure word. The brain bonds it to fail. Like Salt/Pepper, Black/White.” Better to say, “I give my best.”
5. Darts in the dark. Most of us have an imaginary line that we think will pop up and tell us when we are ready to enter a contest, write a proposal, make an appointment with an agent or submit an article. There is no line. The time is now. They may not turn out. But they might. The answer to an unasked question is always no. You may not get an acceptance, but you might have an editor return your work with suggestions.
6. Become a Weeble Writer. (Remember, “Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down?”) Stephen King, who using a borrowed typewriter was rejected 30 times. Kathryn Stockett saw 60 rejections before The Help was accepted. Google a list, read one a day. Ah….no spending hours on this. Touch your work, remember?
7. Imbed the craft. Sharpen one writing tip a day. Like: point of view, scene, and structure, dialogue tags. Even 15 minutes makes a difference.
8. Set goals. Small, measurable, attainable goals. Write them down with a date. If the bar is too high, we don’t even bother. You want to look back later and say, “Wow. I did that!”
9. Don’t despise small beginnings. Watch out for weasel words when you talk about your writing. “I just write…I dabble with…” Your brain is listening and you are telling yourself, and others, that you have limits. You’re discounting and disqualifying yourself. Putting a lid on your growth.
10. And finally. Let go of outcomes. It is amazing how many times in life I have applied the words to Billy Joel’s song,” For the Longest Time.” Like before I hit send. And most recently when I mailed copies of my novel to enter a contest and a review board. I think of the lyrics, “I don’t care what consequence it brings; I have been a fool for lesser things.”

I’m called to write. You are too or you wouldn’t be reading this. That is not a lesser thing. Words have power. Story arcs entertain, thrill, educate, incite, and motivate us.

Don’t let lazy mind tricks defeat you. Activate your inner Ninja.

About the Author

A licensed therapist, Deborah McCormick Maxey retired from her counseling practice in 2020 to joyfully invest her energy in writing Christian fiction, devotions, and her website that focuses on miracles.

“Write the vision, and make it plain” was a familiar Biblical text from Habakkuk that my pastor and paternal grandmother Theresita C. Neblett regularly quoted. Grandma was not only a hearer of the Word but also a doer. On the steps in the main room of her house were 5×7 sheets of paper with handwritten notes which included sermons, definition of words, and prayers for her family.

As a little girl, I did not fully understand nor appreciate her journaling practices. But, as I have aged, I realize that journaling for Grandma Neblett was just as therapeutic for her soul as it is for mine. I adopted a journaling ritual when I was in my early teens but more consistently over the past 20 years. It was not until a few weeks ago that I confirmed that journaling for me is just as important as breathing.

You see, for more than six months, I have been without my beloved journal due to a recent move. When I located it after unpacking a few boxes, I was careful to place my journal in that special place so I would not forget where it was. To my amazement, my mind is not as sharp as I would like it to be and I am now unable to locate my journal. All is not lost because I am certain it is in my house somewhere and once the boxes are fully unpacked my precious journal will reveal itself.

For now, I am journaling in a temporary book so that those pages can be transferred into their proper place. It is true that all of my journals are handwritten just like Grandma Neblett, although I progressed beyond the 5 x 7 pieces of paper and purchased many beautiful books. I tried journaling by dictation or from a blank computer screen. Nothing would come to mind for me using that method. Only when I put pen to paper do the words from my heart and brain flow. Reflecting on those handwritten words has given me an opportunity to celebrate how far I have come.

Journaling allows me to not only vent my frustrations and rationally outline a solution but to celebrate my accomplishments. As a teen mom, I thought my dreams of going to college and landing a “good” job were crushed. Journaling allowed me to write down my goals and the steps needed to achieve them. When I was able to complete the coursework for not only one but five academic degrees while being attentive to my family, journaling permitted me to put into words what my body language could not fully articulate.

Tangible dreams were realized because of my journaling practice but I also journal my night dreams. The process of dissecting every aspect of my night dreams is intense but helpful, especially when I reflect on the interpretation many months or years down the road. I do not immediately have clarity on the meaning of my night dreams but my journal is the keeper of my thoughts. In due season, I am able to reflect on its meaning and appreciate the warnings or revelations afforded to me.

The beauty of journaling, an unstructured writing process, has led to literary art that others enjoy. When I documented, at least a decade prior, my desire to write a book, it is through the journaling process that the title of the book was revealed to me. I had no clue what the book would be about or whether it would be nonfiction or fiction. I just knew I would write a book entitled The Metamorphic Journey. Surprisingly, the journey of three teen moms was expressed to me utilizing a journal format. More recently, when writing my essay for a new book, On Womanhood, I was able to journal, reflecting on the many ways I was inspired by women like Grandma Neblett.

No matter your journey or the journey of your characters, journaling can be therapeutic, a record of life, and a tool used to celebrate accomplishments. The sky is the limit on what beautiful canvases you can use to write on. Spiral. Bound. Inspirational quotes throughout. Beautiful images on the cover. The goal for you is to simply enjoy the process of finding that perfect book to journal your metamorphic journey. This reflective practice can be a key to your success, one word at a time.

About the Author

DaNika Robinson has always been passionate about her personal and professional development. Because of her strong desire to succeed, she was able to complete five degrees (Associate in Business Administration; Bachelor’s in Business Administration; Bachelor’s in Religious Studies; Master’s in Public Administration; and Doctor of Education in Leadership). She was able to persevere despite having two children, being a first-generation college student, and working a full-time job. DaNika currently serves as an administrator in higher education. She enjoys inspiring, motivating, and empowering tomorrow’s leaders to achieve their goals, in spite of life’s obstacles.

I had attended the Association of Writers and Writing Programs (AWP) conference only once before. As a grad student, that trip, paid for by our student fundraising, left me largely uninspired. But 20 years, a family and a pandemic later, I was so hungry for connection with other writers, for craft talk, for the kind of discourse that surrounds panels with topics like “Into the Void: Faith & Doubt in Contemporary Poetry” or “‘The Future of Black: The Advent of 21st-Century Second-Wave Afrofuturism Poetry” that I bit the bullet, sent in my money and prepared to manage my anxiety enough to spend time with the 10,000 people attending the nation’s largest literary writing conference.

Wednesday evening, I kissed my kids goodbye, texted my husband the dinner plan, and boarded the train for Philadelphia with my friend Kristen (whose second book comes out this month!).  When we arrived at the hotel, the wall of noise coming from the bar at almost 11 pm was nearly enough to make me regret my choice and the promise I’d made to Kristen–that I’d deposit my suitcase and meet her back at the bar for “networking”.

Networking is a major reason people attend conferences like this one. For those of us with unpublished manuscripts, shaking hands with editors or agents at the AWP book fair or anywhere at the conference, could at the minimum add a moment of interest to your cover letter and at the most lead to publication.  In fact, at AWP the networking opportunities are real enough that some folks believe there is a problematic connection between access to the literary gatekeepers and the finances required to attend.

As I pushed back from the bar after finally getting served, I wasn’t thinking about access. Luckily my conference fees were paid out of a stipend, so I was free to focus on finding someone to talk to. It turned out to be easy.  A crowd of Cave Canum fellows stood nearby celebrating the upcoming keynote to be given by founder Toi Derricotte. Torn between the desire to run and to fan-girl out, I just stood there. I’ve been applying to the ‘home for black poetry’ since 2018, so not as long as it feels, with the time off for the pandemic but still, long enough to make me wonder just what I was doing mingling with this group.

But the writers were friendly and welcoming and as I pushed past the small talk, the travel talk, and bar talk—the real talk became easy. Several shared how long it took them to become fellows and I knew fellow or not, I was part of that group. I imagine it’s how people who attend comic cons feel when they find themselves in a crowd of folks who turn out to be Spiderman fans and end up debating the continued relevance of Todd MacFarland’s Spiderman #1. Except we were talking about Christina Sharpe’s book, In the Wake, which while a game changer for me, isn’t super-well-known.

Writing is such a solitary occupation that can get even more lonely as we break ourselves down into our individual niches. I’m a poet but not a nature poet, or a formalist, and sometimes it seems that there are as many genres and sub-genres as there are people writing. So, when the Cave Canum folks moved out to a different party, I was excited to find myself chatting with the board chair for the National Book Critics Circle.  All around me the bar was alive with people, connecting and reconnecting, with folks who shared their individual passions with an openness I wasn’t expecting.

Now you’re probably thinking, that’s nice, but get to the part where you have that elevator run-in with an editor who’s going to publish your work. Well, somewhere close to 2 am I learned the person I’d been talking intensely with was the editor of Poetry Magazine. And as we rode the elevator up, I knew I was definitely having one of those “conference moments.” But it wasn’t because I was pitching, it was because I was sharing and he was sharing and when the doors opened to his floor, I simply smiled and said goodnight because I realized (or remembered) 2 important things: 1. I love being a writer! and 2. Publication isn’t what makes me one.

For those of you thinking I blew a professional opportunity, know that I blew several. And if you go next year, you can make a different choice. In fact, I dare you to go and push yourself to attend panels or readings outside of your primary writing style, to talk to strangers and make friends and network or not, as long as you pause long enough to enjoy the feeling of belonging.

I got a lot out of my time at AWP, even tips for publishing my manuscript, but mostly it was the impromptu conversations about craft, the off-the-cuff lunch with the Poet Laureate of West Hollywood. Chatting with folks already doing what I want to do and with those in the same boat. Those conversations were as important as the poems shared at the start of panels, or in the readings or the discussions between the panelists and it’s the energy of all those conversations that I’m carrying forward. That energy spurs me to write new poems, to submit to journals outside the 20 or so that I always submit to. It’s fueling my writing and teaching and community work.

Chris Abani said at his reading, “We cannot write for a reader. A poem is a spell, a simulacrum and we can’t possibly know who needs it.”

The same is true for AWP. This is a conference like no other, with often over 20 choices per hour and a half session, of ways to spend your time.  So, whatever it is you write, whether it’s writing to make sense of the world or to escape it or even to facilitate change—there’s something there for you and it just might be what you need.

About the Author

Rosa Castellano is a poet and teacher whose work was recently supported with a year-long fellowship from the Visual Arts Center of Virginia and by Tin House. In 2021, she was a finalist for Cave Canem’s Starshine and Clay Fellowship and her work can be found or is forthcoming in the South Hampton Review, Alternating Current Press, and EcoTheo Review.  She has an MFA in poetry from Virginia Commonwealth University.

Save the Date for the 20th Anniversary James River Writers Conference this fall!

October 7-9, 2022