What the heck is “voice”? Do I need it?
Can I buy a bag at Costco? Read on…
By Jim Cirile
You’d probably guess that we read a fair amount of scripts here at CI. But you may not suspect how few of them display one crucial factor to help your writing grab attention: an undeniable screenwriting voice.
Reality check, folks: even with the slickest idea in the world, without a strong voice, the chances of you getting signed are slim to none… and, as Dragon’s Den (the Canadian version of Shark Tank) entrepreneur Jim Treliving used to say, “…and Slim just left town.”
See? That was voice. Folksy, kindhearted septuagenarian Jim was known for slinging a bit of truth using analogies that are funny, memorable and cutting. That’s his voice. Now let’s work on yours.
WHAT THE HELL IS THIS VOICE THING ANYWAY?
A combo of things, but it mainly comes down to how you present on the page—both as a writer and as a storyteller. The words you choose, your style, your brevity or lack thereof, your cleverness in dialogue as well as scene description, your pacing, and your panache all contribute to voice.
In short, voice is you showing your chops as a writer. And it tells the savvy industry reader whether or not you’ve got the goods.
And again, this is where so many scripts fall down. Flat, colorless writing. Weak, uninspired word choices. On-the-nose, expository dialogue. Overdescribing environments or clothing. Scenes that run on past the button. All of these things say “amateur.” Whereas the pro writer (generally) knows that it is their job to grab the reader by the throat and tell them a damn story in the most compelling way possible. If the reader sighs and pauses to check Instagram by page 2? You’re done.
So. What are these four magical ways to bring the voice?
1. TELL ME A STORY
Job number one as a screenwriter. Picture a camp counselor spinning a ghost yarn to rapt campers huddled around a campfire. Every word choice meant to provoke a reaction, to keep them on the edge of their seats.
Well, heck, I mean, I was lucky enough to have a crazy counselor like that at my summer camp. Pretty sure he was always stoned. Dude had this monumental ‘fro with its own gravitational pull and bellbottoms and a sick soul patch. I mean, it was the ‘70s. But I digress.
You may think it’s different on the page—so many things to keep in mind; how to get it all down in proper format, introducing characters, backstory you need to get out, yadda yadda. But really, it’s no different.
You’re a storyteller. Spin the tale.
Now suppose our counselor tells the kids about his characters getting up in the morning, and then engaging in a meandering conversations that have nothing to do with anything, describing the way the light hits the cutlery in the kitchen drawer? Suppose he conveys the information in a tepid or long-winded way, using boring or uncolorful language so that even the parts that are supposed to have impact… come across more like a dull, dishrag splish?
Yeah, those kids are asleep in their bags.
Be the storyteller. Be aware. Every word should be meticulously chosen to keep the reader engaged and for maximum shizzbombdiggitty.
2. CONFIDENCE MAN
So what would you say is a key characteristic of that counselor, apart from “stoned”? If you said “confident,” ding ding ding!
Your JOB as a screenwriter is to be a raconteur. To hold the reader in the palm of your hand. That means, on the page at least, one needs to project confidence. To say to the reader: “Yo, I’ve got this.” And if they believe you, they will relax for a little while, trusting they are in the hands of someone who is, yup, going to tell them a story.
By way of example—I hope I don’t get into any trouble for this, but hey, for this is for educational purposes only, okay? Please don’t sue us. Okay. Here’s the first sentence from the script “Pussy Island” by Zoë Kravitz & E.T. Feigenbaum (now renamed “Blink Twice.”)
OVER BLACK, MUSIC: “I’M IN THE MIDDLE OF A RIDDLE” by Fiona Apple and Maude Maggart. Put it on for a sec. We’ll wait.
BOOM. Page one, and these guys are bringing the voice. A little bit arrogant? Maybe. Breaking the “no song calls” rule? Well, it’s not really a rule-rule; it’s more just common sense that specs should avoid calling for specific songs because they may be prohibitively expensive, or the director may not agree with your choices.
But Zoë and E.T. were like, yeah, whatever, this is our party.
So what does the industry reader conclude by the end of the very first sentence?
“Oh hells yeah, these f*ckers can write.”
Now we are not advising everyone to do this exact thing. The point here is: confidence. The writers are announcing they’ve got this, and the way in which this is done backs that up and commands attention. Find your own way to convey surefootedness in a manner befitting your story and your personal style, be it lovely and effusive or arrogant and in-your-face.
3. HE IS WALKING AND SHE IS SITTING (just shoot me)
Word choice is so important when it comes to voice. Your verbiage says ALL about your level of craft, your creativity, and your talent. The voicy writer is aware of this and scrutinizes every single paragraph, sentence, every frickin’ word, to ensure that A, no extra or unnecessary words are used (bloat), and B, that the word choices are the most effective/descriptive ones possible.
Amateur writers often describe every character action using these three verbs: walking, standing, or sitting. ZZZZ. These are boring, overused, uncreative, lazy verbs. There are so many better choices. Instead of walks, how about: slinks, skids, steams, shimmies, strides, struts, serpents, slithers, shuffles, staggers, slips, slaloms, saunters, slides, sprints, struggles, stumbles, or sashays? And those are just the “S”es. Every one of those is more visual and conveys more about the character’s mindset than “walks.”
The other bad habit so many people need to break is using passive verb forms, such as she is dancing or they are jogging.
This is death.
Pro readers have been trained to look for this, and if you make this mistake, that generally tells them –you guessed it—“amateur.”
Go for the active verb form. She dances. They jog. Search and replace “is” and “are” right out of your scene descriptions.
One more thing. Did you know that adverbs are BAD? Well, not always, but writers sometimes use them like a crutch. Often they’re not necessary and can be simply replaced with a well-chosen verb.
He is sleeping noisily. No, he SNORES. She eats hungrily. No, she CHOWS.
4. VERY REVEALING
Finally, here’s a pro tip to help you keep readers engaged. As my late, great screenwriting mentor John Dunning, founder and Chairman Emeritus of Lionsgate, told me,
“A surprise on every page. That’s what keeps ‘em reading.”
By playing your cards close to the vest, the storyteller has the ability to reveal things at key times for maximum effect. That’s the great thing about film and TV – the camera only sees what’s in the frame. This gives the writer enormous potential to keep the reader engaged.
Ol’ John D. wasn’t just talking about plot twists, although that certainly is a huge part of it. He was talking about what we see—and what we don’t. We’re referring of course to PULL BACK TO REVEAL.
This wonderful technique can be used in any genre, from comedy—for example, stark naked Graham Chapman opens the blinds for a lovely morning stretch—only to find 1,000 people in the courtyard staring up at him—to horror, where the camera pulls back to show us the monster creeping in at the edges as the family unpacks in their new house.
The voicy writer remains in full command of their reveals and doles them out like treats—yep, one per page works great—in order to keep the reader hooked.
See, what you didn’t know is… this.
Now you mix up the reveals with the plot twists and the reversals along with a dollop of confidence and quicksilver prose, and by the end, the reader has frickin’ fallen in love with your script. There was no time to get bored.
You held them hostage with your incredible writing voice.
And that, my friends, is a phenomenal thing.
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