THE X FACTOR

by Judy Kellem and Craig Kellem

One of the things we’ve noticed in reading a great volume of screenplay material is the propensity of writers to create from their minds rather than their hearts. There is a marked, qualitative disparity between stories and images born from real life experience and those made from pure, intellectual invention. This difference is easily detected, commonly distinguished as the distinction between, "connected" versus "disconnected" writing.

Life is rife with evocative moments, large and small, which create powerful feelings. Insights. Unique situations. Quirky fascinations that linger about our minds. Those of you who know us, know one of our all time favorite axioms was coined by Julia Cameron. She states, "The singular image is what haunts us and becomes art." Think about that! At last "a place" to put all of your little insights, moments of truth, fascinations and unique experiences that previously lacked a "file." If you access that "file" while preparing your script and use these hot little tidbits as springboards for scenes, your script is going to be buzzing with honesty and life. This is what audiences crave.

Singular images can come from anywhere. An unusual weekend, a comment said in fleeting, a detail caught at a glance. Something grabs us in these images and the image stays, resurfacing and resurfacing. While some may try to shoo it out of their mind, or lightly ponder the fact they’ve been "haunted," for the writer this is a jackpot of creative enterprise.

Characters, scenes and moments modeled on real life experiences that touched the writer, carry that original feeling like an X factor into the material. And this X factor transmits to the reader, heightening their experience of the script. And it’s regardless of how truthfully or not the "singular image" is related. A writer who uses emotional photographs from his/her own life can drift far from the actual event. They can invent, exaggerate, fictionalize so much that the "reality-base" is unrecognizable. But still, it’s inevitable that the emotional root will come through. The fundamental feeling attached to the writer’s memory can’t be shaken. It seeps through the fiction and the reader senses this presence on a visceral level.

A major reason why access to emotional ammunition is so important is that ALL scenes need to be maximized. It’s not enough to produce a great concept enhanced by a few treasured moments. A winning script is the sum of parts that continuously produces dynamite.

On the other end are "disconnected,” thought-based writings, conceived from images, stories, ideas and moments conjured only by the brain. They can work, can act as a vessel for the writer’s unconscious emotions and therefore have an effect on the reader. But its effectiveness is often not as reliable. Much material wrought from rationale winds up flat on the page, lacking life (as it was never truly known) and spirit. The writer can do a thousand pony tricks, have every bell and whistle in place but the grand show is a flop, because it’s empty. It has no root in the gut of the creator. There’s no X.

Our screenwriter friend, John Hill, warns the artist who tries to circumvent writing from real, personal experience: "How can you try to write for a ‘business of emotions’ and know that you’re going to veer away from really revealing your own?"

Instead of limiting a script to snazzy concepts, draw upon your life and those around you. When something effects you, trust it, save it and when appropriate use it to grab and haunt your audience.

Copyrighted 2000