Interview: Paul Finch on genre writing, Part II

Paul Finch, WriterHow does your approach vary when writing for the screen and page?

Well, they both start out the same way, but the nature of the two beasts is essentially different. First of all, in both cases, you have to convince someone – either a producer or a publisher that you’ve got a great premise. In both cases you’ve then got to go off and write an impressive treatment. But from the moment they okay it, the two courses diverge.

If you’re writing a screenplay, you’re in company almost all the way through. Okay, you’ll write your first draft on your own, but after that your script editor, your producer, maybe even your director, will have an awful lot to say about its development, and I won’t pretend that this doesn’t give you problems. Trying to serve more than one master in any walk of like is extraordinarily difficult – and it happens a lot in film and TV, because artistic types differ on what they think will work, and often it’s something that is purely subjective, which can be mind-bogglingly frustrating. You’ll do rewrite after rewrite until everyone is finally satisfied. But when the finance people are brought in, you’ll have to do a whole lot more – because they think that because they are paying for the film, they have a say in its artistic development too. At some stage you may find that another writer gets attached; you may even be replaced. It sounds horrible I know, but that is a hazard of film and TV scripting. Just make sure beforehand that it’s in the contract you’ll still be paid the full fee and still be credited as lead writer.

Of course, that would be unthinkable in terms of a novel. I always say this to people who ask me which is the easiest route – well, neither of them are easy, but can you imagine writing a novel and half way through your editor gives you a call and says: “Thanks for your efforts. Someone else will take it from here.” It just wouldn’t happen. In novel writing, the chain of command is much shorter, and there are far fewer people to try and please. In my novel experience, I’ve dealt with the commissioning editor and the senior editor, and that is about it. Okay, they will always request changes, alterations and sometimes extensive rewrites, but you don’t tend to find yourself in daily telephone conversations about this and receiving reams of notes from various different people, some of which contradict each other. And for that reason, I feel writing a novel is a gentler, more relaxed process.

So when you ask how does my approach vary, I’d have to say that it’s primarily a mental thing. If you’re writing a script you might as well accept from the beginning that it’s going to be much more of a team effort. You can’t afford to be precious or proprietorial about film or TV. Understand from the outset that it isn’t really your project and you won’t end up being disappointed.

Do you think you have gained any skills that overlap from screenwriting to prose?

Yes. Screenwriting has improved my other writing no end. It’s taught me to be punchy and succinct, to try and say much more with much less. Many writers of course do that naturally. But I didn’t when I first started out. I had a tendency to overwrite – it was my main weakness. However, when you’re writing a script the only thing you’re putting on paper is the dialogue and the bare minimum stage directions and scene setters the director needs in order to create his vision. In other words, you’re telling a complete story with as little as possible. You are developing characters and unfolding a subtext as stringently as you can.

It’s an intense discipline, not something you can carry over into a novel completely – the average reader would feel very short-changed if that was something you served him, but it’s a great attitude to have when you’re writing a book because it enables you to do the most important job first – lay down the bare bones of a great story – and then add any necessary extra material, the descriptive prose, the steams of consciousness and so on, to create a fuller picture.

I’ve been told that my prose has a very filmic style in that I tend to write in scenes, each one ending with a cliff-hanger. If so, that’s entirely down to my film-writing experience. It’s not to everyone’s taste – I’m well aware of that, but quite a few people seem to like it, and from a personal POV, I find that it helps me produce a tight, linear and very visual narrative.

As well as writing for The Bill on television, you have penned a number of screenplays. What are the major differences between writing for television and film?

There are less these days than there used to be. In the early days of TV, what you basically got were stage-plays on television. Minuscule budgets, restricted studio space and limited camera facility meant that you didn’t very often go beyond the three walls of the main set, and so you had to tell the story primarily through dialogue, and this meant there was lots of it. Anyone watching re-runs of any classic screenplays of the 1980s and earlier, maybe even stuff from as recently as the 1990s, will probably be surprised at how static and talkie they seem. These days TV is very different and much more tightly edited, much more filmic – as exemplified by the modern incarnation of Dr Who, for example, which has lots of short scenes, very little explanatory dialogue and vastly more FX than it used to. This was the way TV had to go in an era when high-energy computer games provide rival entertainment, and all kinds of blockbuster movies are available on download. That said, much present day television is still strongly based around personal drama rather than pretty imagery, so though it tends to look a lot better than it did, it’s not quite as concise a medium as film.

Cinematic movies are still what they have been since their inception in the silent era: mainly a visual experience. It really is all about telling a story through pictures, which is why the directors are so lauded. As the writer, you still have to lay out the narrative and create the drama, but less is more when it comes to dialogue, and exposition has almost no place at all. I’ll give you an example – take a movie like The French Connection (1971): there is very little dialogue in the entire film – many scenes feature none at all, and many feature no more than one or two lines – and yet it’s so well-made, so visually driven a plot, that you barely notice. It doesn’t matter that we have almost no details about the troubled history of Popeye Doyle, or who the other cop is he accidentally killed, or the drugs baron Alain Charnier, or how he got to be France’s number one heroin exporter – we just accept all this because we’re so engrossed in the fast-moving, skin tight narrative.

Writing that way is a discipline that you must acquire if you want to pen movies. And that’s another thing – not only do you have to tell a story with the minimum chat, you have to make the chat count, so quality dialogue tends to be the rule in movies even if it isn’t the kind of dialogue you hear in real life (just because Quentin Tarantino gets away with scripting the kind of meandering, repetitive conversations people have on the street, doesn’t mean every other screen-writer can). The same applies to scene setting and stage-directions. You need to keep those to a minimum. When writing a movie script, rather than fill it with detailed prose, you only need put in what the producer and the director need to know, a) because they will have their own ideas about how it should look anyway, and b) because it will look as good as they ultimately can afford it to look. So for example, ‘a luxuriant tract of jungle, thick with vine and leaf, with a muddy road winding through it, the sort only pack-animals could use’ becomes ‘a thick jungle with a muddy road’, and ‘the two cars roar along the darkened street neck-and-neck like modern-day chariots, striking sparks off each other, the red one veering in front of the blue one, the blue one veering in front of the red’ becomes ‘the cars race dangerously along the darkened street’.

You also have a duty when writing a movie to keep ramping up the tension. People go to the cinema for the same reason they go to fairgrounds – to experience a couple of hours of entertainment. A couple of hours – that’s all they’ve got – so it’s got to be intense. When writing a movie, there’s no room for padding, and I’m not just talking about action and thriller movies here. Even a serious drama must keep the audience on the edge of their seats, so as the writer it’s your job to make sure that every scene ends on some kind of ‘OMG’.

I was quite fortunate when I made my transition from TV to movie-writing as episodes of The Bill were usually about 30% exterior shoots, often entailing action – fighting, chasing and so forth – fast, fluid sequences which required crisp scripting, minimal dialogue and much variation of camera angles – so I had a fairly good grounding in those essential techniques.

 DAN HOWARTH

If you enjoyed part one of our interview and want to read Paul Finch’s fiction, please consider clicking through to our Amazon Affiliate links and purchasing a new book today. If you do you’ll help keep the Armed With Pens ship afloat with some very welcome remuneration.

Paul Finch fiction (UK)
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Lawrence Block Interview

Lawrence BlockLawrence Block is a best-selling novelist and multi-award winner including the Edgar Grand Master Award, Best Short Story Collection Anthony Award and Best Character Award for Matt Scudder in the 2009 Shamus Awards. In addition to this he has written a number of ‘how to’ books on the craft of writing including Telling Lies for Fun & Profit, Write For Your Life and The Liar’s Bible.

Many of your novels are set in New York, a city where you have lived most of your life. Can you elaborate on how the changing atmosphere of New York has affected your writing?

LB: I don’t really know that it has. I suppose the books reflect the city, or at least my perception of it, at the time of the writing.

You have won numerous awards for your writing, how highly do you regard them and are they something you aspire to?

LB: Awards are certainly gratifying, but I don’t know that they’re important.  It’s the same book whether or not one gets a little statue for it.

In terms of your books about writing, what inspired you to write the first one? Was there a particularly terrible novel that served as a catalyst?

LB: No, nothing like that. I started writing a column for a magazine, and one thing led to another.

You have had an incredibly prolific career, how have you been able to keep your writing discipline over the years?

LB: I’m lazy. This leads me to do things efficiently and finish them as quickly as possible.

What is your writing routine, do you treat it like a day job and work core hours or do you work to a word limit?

LB: I don’t have a routine. The pattern varies from book to book.

Some authors have books that they really toil over, was there a particular book that you struggled to write or enjoyed writing less than the others?

LB: Not that I can think of.

At the risk of sounding cliché your books are often described as ‘gritty’, what parts of them do you enjoy writing the most and is there anything that you purposefully shy away from?

LB: I’ve never quite understood what “gritty” means, so I won’t address that. I enjoy writing when it’s going well and I’m pleased with what I’m doing; that’s pretty much irrespective of content.

Having produced various books for writers do you ever hear any success stories from people that have read them?

LB: In the past couple of years, Open Road brought out The Liar’s Bible, The Liar’s Companion, and Afterthoughts, all as eRiginals. And I’m frequently heartened when a newly successful writer lets me know that something I wrote played a role. I still hear from people who took my seminar, Write For Your Life, a quarter of a century ago, and am glad the seminar’s now available in book form under that title.

You have written under the pseudonym Jill Emerson, how did writing under a female name change your approach to books such as Getting Off?

LB: I don’t know that it did. A third or more of the book was written, and several of the chapters published as short stories under my own name, before I made the decision to put Jill’s by-line on the book.

You have written huge numbers of novels and short story collections, you also wrote the screenplay for the adaptation of My Blueberry Nights, which form of writing do you prefer and how different is your approach to each one?

LB: My Blueberry Nights wasn’t my story, it was Wong Kar-wai’s. I’ve adapted a couple of books of mine for the screen, but they never got filmed. Screenwriting is interesting and demanding, and has its own satisfactions, but I don’t care if I never do any more of it.

Do you think it is important for a writer to have at least some first-hand experience of what they are writing about?

LB: No, of course not. All a writer needs is imagination.

Over the years you have repeatedly said that you try to get things right first time rather than editing later. Does this cause conflicts with your publishers?

LB: No.

What advice would you give to aspiring writers, apart from to buy one of your books on writing?

LB: I don’t know that I’d steer anyone toward one of my books. They’ll find their way to them if they’re supposed to. And my advice to any writer would be to write to please yourself. Period.

 DAN HOWARTH

If you enjoyed our interview with Lawrence Block and want to read more of Lawrence’s fiction, please consider clicking through to our Amazon Affiliate links and purchasing a new book today. If you do you’ll help keep the Armed With Pens ship afloat with some very welcome remuneration.

Buy Lawrence Block fiction (UK)
Buy Lawrence Block fiction (US)