While I make it my domain to help screenwriters professionally, both through script consultations and one-on-one mentoring, it is my goal to provide my fellow Scream Writers with as many free tools to advance their writing as I can. And the most dreaded aspect of writing will always be the edit. No longer experiencing the joy of pure creation, the writer instead has to suffer through the self doubt that his words, his work, have been a waste of time. The edit, coming so close to the end of the creative endeavour, finds us at our most drained. We find ourselves no longer in love with the project, but rather resenting it.
When it comes to the edit of a screenplay/fiction, the first step of the edit—sometimes called the structural edit, substantive edit, or the developmental edit—is concerned with the work as a whole. That is, character motivations, actions, structure, sequence of events, internal logic, etc. But it is the line edit that frustrates writers the most. The line edit is concerned not with the macro of the story but the micro: the very words and sentences that convey said story. Often considered to be “beating a dead horse”, the line edit has gained a reputation of ill-repute; a reputation that leads writers to approach line editing with a tainted perspective, one that highlights the tedium rather than the adventure of line editing.
Let’s see if we can’t find some joy, some adventurous word play that improves not only the screenplay in front of you but also your abilities as a writer. I am talking about experimenting with the connotations or, as I like to refer to it, the feelings of the words we choose.
Strengthen
For my script consultant services, I developed the shorthand “STR.” It means “strengthen this.” When writing, it can be a challenge to get the thoughts from your head onto the page with the clarity you desire. I personally believe in the motto: “It doesn’t have to be good, it just has to be.” The challenge of capturing the ephemeral images in your head and converting it into solid language often causes us to dash out words that don’t really tell us a whole lot. “He looked at her,” “she ran away, ” etc. These words perform the task of placeholding in that they convey the meaning of what happens but fail to move us beyond the surface of the action and into an understanding of it. How much different would it be if “He stared at her” or “she bolted away”? What we did was take weak words and we strengthened them.
To Stab, Slice, or Cleave
“Stab”, “slice”, and “cleave”, three words that I have chosen at random by thinking of a word related to horror, “stab”, and googling “stab synonym”. All three words can be used to give the same impression:
“She stabbed his arm.” – “She sliced his arm.” – “She cleaved his arm.”
If each of these words could be used interchangeably—the same way that a person could wail/shriek/scream or blood could spurt/gush/drain—how do we decide on which one is appropriate in a given situation? To answer that question, let’s take a deeper look at these three words and, in doing so, gain some perspective on connotation as a whole.
Finding the Feeling of a Word
Let’s begin with “stab”. Out of these three, this one would perhaps be the easiest to differentiate. Just feeling out the word, exploring what comes to mind when I hear it, I think first of all about Michael Myers from the Halloween (1978 – ) series and his kitchen knife. “Stab” implies a form of piercing, in my mind, like that from Michael’s knife or a rogue’s dagger. In fact, to me, “stab” feels like would fit well as a middle ground between “pierce” and “impale”.
If “stab” best belongs to Michael Myers, then who does “slice” belong to? The world “slice” is an interesting case; on the one hand, there is the implication of violence—though if you take necks out the picture, “slice” sounds a lot safer than “stab”—but, on the other hand, “slice” also brings up carving meat or buying pre-sliced packages. “Slice”, to me, is the perfect word for what Freddy Krueger did to Tina in 1984’s A Nightmare on Elm Street (as covered here by Paul Farrell). The image of the cuts through her blouse and then into and through her flesh give the appearance of the world’s most grotesque loaf of meat.
Finally, “cleave”. This one I don’t even need to think about, the first thing that comes to mind is the awful power of Jason Voorhees. Despite the fact that Jason has used spearguns, and done his fair share of stabbing and slicing, not to mention impaling, crushing, breaking, beating, and just about every other verb that implies violence, but Jason is most strongly related to his machete. With the awful force that can cut people in half in a single swipe, “cleave” is the perfect verb. It’s no surprise that many roleplaying games such as Dungeons & Dragons and Pathfinder include an ability called cleave: warriors take it so they can cut through an enemy and into a second, or even a third, fourth, fifth, or if the character is powerful enough.
Putting it into Practice, or The Specificity of Feeling
Despite both “slice” and “cleave” being presented as synonyms for stab, by feeling out what images they call to mind we are able to add specificity not only to the meaning of our sentences but we are able to add a specificity of feeling. I’ve used horror examples because this is Scream Writing, but this lesson knows no genre. This is a lesson about language.
By exploring the way the our words make us feel as we edit the script, we are taking an adventure through the emotional reactions of the reader/future viewer. Not only that but you are exploring not just the words you settle on in your scripts but also the words you didn’t pick—for every word you test on your page, you are learning your emotional/cultural understanding of what it invokes.
The results in your learning are tenfold what we see on the page. Writing isn’t just about what people see, it’s a process that we improve by doing. So take a look at your sentences, see how they make you feel. Is it how you want to feel or can you go deeper? If so, then STR.
Bonus
Hey Scream Writers, here’s a bonus video that reinforces something that I strongly believe (and about one of my unofficial writing teachers):
We can grow as storytellers until it’s an innate sense.
