While it’s true that I’m always working on The Shift, that’s not all I’m doing. As I’ve talked about before, it would be unwise to release a movie and then look around and say, “Okay, now what should I do?” By then, it’s a little late.
I’ve been very quiet about my other projects, but of course my hope is that one day you see them in all their glory–and then I will be very much not quiet. Besides my ongoing comic side project, The SuperFogeys (don’t let the ridiculous name fool you–it’s a story with as much pathos as anything I’ve written), there are two scripts sitting on my computer just waiting to be turned into fully realized feature films.
You’re going to have to forgive everything that comes next in this post as it might be a little indulgent. After my recent visit to the Screenwriting From the Trenches podcast, I find myself thinking a lot about writing and the mechanics of it, and how inspiration–even divine inspiration–is both tangled up in it in an exceptional way, and also must not be taken too seriously.
But, before I get into that, I offer this: even if you find this boring, I am going to reveal a little more about the other projects I’ve been working on. So, there’s that.
The first script I wrote after writing The Shift is an adaptation of my published memoir, “The Other Side of Fear,” about the growing up I did between my father’s two shootings. I wrote it in a matter of weeks after completing final edits on the book because I figured it was never again going to be so fresh a thing in my brain and writing a screenplay would not require outlining or extensive notes.
I was right about that. I flew through the first draft so quickly that I often became suspicious of what I was writing. Was it too much like the book? Was the story only understandable to me or others who had read the book?
The answer to both questions, I’ve since concluded, was yes. In that first draft, I did kind of…sort of…land on a new angle into the story that is not in the book, but I failed to properly support that angle with additional story beats.
“But wait,” I can hear you say. “How can you add story beats to a true story? Doesn’t that make it…not a true story?”
Kind of (memoir is what you call “creative non-fiction”–look it up), but a movie is an adaptation. You’re allowed to compress and combine and still call a thing true. The weirdest part was using my own name and the names of my family members in the script. In a memoir, that makes sense. But in a movie? Where the fictionalization gets taken a step further? It felt kind of wrong.
And that’s where inspiration gets in the way. If I was inspired to write the book in the first place as I did, should I not then protect the form of it as much as possible on its way to the screen? Isn’t changing things too much a betrayal of that inspiration and a risk to whatever power and value it has?
Maybe. You can rewrite things too much. Clint Eastwood famously insisted on using J. Michael Straczynski’s first draft of his movie “Changeling” because he felt it was plenty good and didn’t want it to get diluted.
Clint Eastwood is also famous as a director for moving on after one take if he likes it, so he’s kind of crazy.
I’ve known of other storytellers who are resistant to any and all feedback because they feel they and they alone are God’s vessel for the story being told. I wonder if they ever second guess themselves. I wonder if their rewrites have any real teeth to them. I wonder if they rewrite at all.
I’ve come to understand inspiration as an iterative process. The story, the movie, the book, the comic reveals itself line upon line and precept upon precept, here a little and there a little. I may be completely convinced that some element or twist or line of dialogue is sacrosanct in the moment–and I must to commit it to paper–but I must be willing to reconsider it all later when the moment of inspiration is left behind in order to receive new inspiration.
Inspiration can follow inspiration, and they can contradict each other. 99% of the time, the new inspiration is correct.
Because, I have come to realize, while many ideas can seemingly develop ex nihilo, others–some of the very best ones–must have a foundation first. And perhaps several. That doesn’t mean I was wrong before so much that I needed those first ideas to get to the better ones. Those first ideas may even have been bad ones! But I had to see the bad to understand the good.
This doesn’t mean I was uninspired in the first place, it means God (or the universe or however you term what lights the creative spark) was kind and patient enough to lead me through it.
Case in point: my screenplay adaptation for The Other Side of Fear. After four drafts of using real life names, I grew so uncomfortable with the intrinsic narcissism and strange-to-cinema convention (seriously, has any filmmaker written about his own life using his own name? I’m sure it’s happened, but I can’t think of any examples) that I did a fifth draft with all of the names changed. All of the sudden, the story possibilities opened up in a new way. I found myself freed from the constraints of what I knew happened in real life and allowed myself to change and alter according to what best served the telling of this story in this new medium–movies.
It flowed. For the first time, the story flowed. The heart of it is still there and it’s still true and recognizably what I lived through, but changing those names allowed me to crack the code of adaptation.
And, as a bonus, I finally, FINALLY figured out what the title of the story should be. I’ve never liked “The Other Side of Fear.” It’s interesting, but generic. A title settled upon when I ran out of time to decide and a seeming rip off of another (far more popular) title in its genre.
For the movie, for this new envisioning, I’m calling it “Twice.” And that title ONLY came after I went through that re-envisioning process.
Even if the movie never gets made, that’s a great title. (One word titles really do work best in movies, unlike books). Iterative inspiration. It’s a real thing.
Furthermore, most people think the story about my dad is about forgiveness, but it’s not. I mean, in a lot of ways it is, but, as I said, I found a new way into it. Forgiveness is still a strong undercurrent and a big part of the story, but I wouldn’t say it’s the main theme. If we’re talking one word themes, the theme of Twice is probably “purpose,” or “a life’s purpose.” And that’s probably a surprise to anyone who’s read the book, but it fits. Maybe you’ll get to see that one day.
The Shift, also, in a lot of ways, is about forgiveness. Not the main theme and not explicitly so, but insofar as it’s about guilt and repentance (and it definitely is), it cannot help but be about forgiveness.
I think I’ve secretly been working on a forgiveness trilogy. The other script I’ve written–and the one I’m most excited about and is probably most likely to see the light of day–is explicitly and blatantly about forgiveness.
It’s called “Glide.”
Forgiveness is a well-worn topic both at the pulpit and in film–particularly films that don’t shy away from faith. I’m excited about Glide because I think I’ve found a unique way into the topic, leading off from an oft-quoted verse of scripture that I honestly don’t think gets enough representation in our discussions on repentance, or in our stories. It’s a verse I’ve really struggled to understand and, for some reason, my way to that understanding was working it out in this screenplay.
And yet, despite its roots being so firmly entrenched in the New Testament (that’s a clue about which verse I’m talking about), more than anything else I’ve written, Glide is accessible to a broader audience. I’m really happy with it and really, really excited for you to see it.
And I wasn’t always and Glide had to grow and change and iterate into what it is. And it will grow and iterate more on its way (hopefully) to the silver screen. As difficult as its been to bring The Shift to life (the most difficult thing I’ve ever done? probably), I’m looking forward to doing it again with this one.
Like I said, this post is indulgent, but if you’ve gotten this far, let me offer this:
A bad idea and a good idea, in the creative process, both have the same value in that they have equal power to lead you to the right idea.
I really, truly believe that.
And there’s no greater example of that than the part of the moviemaking process I’ve been swimming in for months now: editing. It’s a lot like writing except you have a LOT more restrictions.
But that’s a post for another day.
Originally published on Facebook on 8/27/23
Brock Heasley 