Edward was as gifted as they come. Three Pulitzer Prizes for Drama will attest to that.
And he didn't even win one for Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
The downside to Edward's genius was that he could not always teach you what he did.
He wrote mostly from his own unique gifts, and what processes he did have were also from there.
His lesson for characters: "I go for walks and talk to them until I know them well enough to write them."
If that is helpful to you, you should do it. No doubt.
For me? Not helpful. Not how my brain worked then or now.
But that was Edward. His mind was just different.
As a teacher, his biggest gift to me was confidence.
Edward liked what I was doing and supported me. Just writing that now makes me emotional.
How can you ask for something more than that? Having a genius curmudgeon like Edward encourage you was everything.
Time and again I am reminded how important confidence is in this endeavor and how much that early support meant to me.
You cannot be gifted confidence. You must earn it.
But sometimes you need someone to have confidence in you so you can earn it.
The upside to not being as talented.
It's not all bad!
Since I was not as gifted as some, I had to patch together craft over many years. This was especially true when I switched from playwriting to screenwriting.
I wrote about those early days in a previous Weekly Email, and I'll link to it at the bottom.
It was a LONG struggle to try to figure this thing out.
I sold a couple of screenplays early, which actually hampered my growth. It gave me the illusion that I knew what I was doing!
Two things happened that started my growth again.
First, I struggled. I didn't understand why one screenplay knocked it out of the park, and the next fell flat.
The old ways weren't working.
So, I had to reinvestigate what I learned and how I learned it and ponder whether I was utilizing what I had learned correctly.
And I needed to learn some new stuff, too!
Next, I started teaching.
I encourage anyone who wants to learn a subject to teach it.
It forces you to see the subject in a whole new way.
Teaching was the first time I was tasked with explaining how and why I did what I did as a screenwriter.
I quickly realized a key feature of teaching that made me a much better writer:
When you verbalize something you have been doing out of instinct, you turn it into a tool.
You convert it from a mysterious choice that may or may not be there when you need it to something you can always reach for when necessary.
What I didn't realize at the time was that I was creating processes.
I was creating what I didn't have when I was younger.
Why would I have had it? I was trying to figure things out!
Throughout my early career, I was always asking, "What am I doing? How do I do it?"
Later, with more experience and confidence, I asked, "What are my next steps?"
So, as a better teacher, I became a better writer.
As I became a better writer, I became a better teacher.
When I learned something new in my profession, I would ask myself, "How do I teach this?"
Then, I would also proceed to use that tool in that same way myself.
After teaching for years, I developed processes for nearly everything. I built my own definitions—not to classify like an academic but to help me do my job better.
Why?
Because talent doesn't always show up.
As writers and artists, we create so much of our best screenwriting from our unconscious, random memories, feelings, or emotions.
These are gut-level moments of creation.
In our best moments, we operate like Edward did all the time.
There is the story of a young Lee Strasberg, before he was the legendary acting teacher, seeing an actor play HAMLET that was so impressive that he invited all his friends to join him for another performance.
Unfortunately, the actor was a total bore when Strasberg returned the next night!
Strasberg couldn't believe it. How could this man be so brilliant one night and a total dud the next?
This started his lifelong pursuit of finding a system of acting that would create the consistency he believed the craft lacked.
Sometimes, we're that actor.
Brilliant one night and a snooze-fest the next. One day, our talent shows up. The next, it stays in bed while we're at the desk trying to write.
This is why we learn the craft and embrace processes.
We do this for three reasons.
IT GIVES US CONSISTENCY.
This is the most significant difference between an experienced pro writer and those who are not that.
I don't think even the industry fully appreciates this difference.
A writer can sell one screenplay and never be seen again because of a lack of consistency.
It's why a young, hot writer paraded around town on the water bottle tour can lose all momentum when their first assignment is a disaster.
Mastering the craft and embracing systems can keep your floor at a high level.
Some work will always be better, but a pro delivers a certain minimum quality.
IT GIVES US TOOLS WHEN THINGS AREN'T WORKING.
So much of screenwriting is problem-solving.
You want to do this, this needs to happen, how do we figure it out?
What you did isn't working; how do you fix it?
This kind of problem-solving is the bulk of your work.
I have found that the outline and then treatment reduce this considerably, but you'll never completely eliminate it.
(And honestly, why would you want to? It's part of the fun.)
Experience and processes will get you out of a lot of trouble.
IT ALLOWS OUR TALENT TO SHOW UP MORE OFTEN.
This is the big one that most people without systems fail to understand.
These processes do not limit you. They liberate you.
They allow you to simplify and focus on what is truly important: the story and the emotion of the scene.
These processes are the difference between the basketball player who chokes under pressure and the player who has never leaves the gym, pre-visualizing and practicing every situation in their head.
When the time comes, they don't even think about it. They just do it.
Processes and talent work together.
You don't need to pick one or the other, and you don't want to.
There is a great line from James Clear's book Atomic Habits that plays on a similar adage from the Navy SEALs about training.
"You do not rise to the level of your goals. You fall to the level of your systems." — James Clear.
It's called the creative process for a reason.
You want processes that are repeatable and consistent. You want them there when you need them.
Even beyond the creative, find those processes in how you work.
What time do you have the most creative energy? Where do you write best? Do you like the keyboard or longhand?
Find what works and keep doing it.
Just don't think because there are people like Edward, you have to do it like them.
You don't.
They are the unicorn.
You don't have to be like that to make a living. It's insanely competitive, but you do not have to be a genius.
To make a living, you first must be very good and consistent.
That's your first step.
That's a wrap for this week!
This one brought up some feelings for me! Thinking about Edward and my other teachers at the University of Houston gave me the feelz!
I worked with Jose Quintero (also a theatre legend) for only 12 weeks over two years at UH. I didn't even realize how much he changed my life until decades later.
You don't always see it in the moment. Then, one day, the lineage is clear as day. It's right there in how you approach the work and how you teach.
And it all started with those geniuses who cared enough to give.
I hope you have had similar influences and similar memories.
See you next week!
Tom
PS - That link to the Weekly Email documenting my early days learning structure is HERE
