So, you have a job.
Good.
Contrary to what the film industry might have you believe, that’s not a liability—it’s an asset.
Now you don’t have to worry about what indignities you’d be expected to subject yourself to in order to succeed in the notoriously abusive film industry.
Now–at least we can hope–there’s been a healthy movement away from the casting couch since #MeToo. However, there’s still a problem with any industry that prioritizes people who are able to (afford to take on) internships.
You’ll notice that there’s a reason those of independent means or very indulgent parents tend to get ahead in the Industry: they’re the only ones who can work a string of 100-hour-a-week unpaid internships and still “support themselves.”
Here’s the the quiet part out loud:
The film industry still privileges the independently wealthy.
But for the rest of humanity, you and I, we have to have a day job. And that’s OK.
In fact, it’s even better that you have a way to support yourself, because you can write what you want rather than writing drivel for idiots just to try to make the rent on some moldy flat off Fountain with bars on its windows and folded zombies in the stairwell.
Writing what you want to write, when you want to write it is the secret prerogative that you’ve granted yourself by adulting–rather than playing the (obviously rigged) Industry game.
(Hat tip to Melbourne Uni’s epic Ben Michael for originally dropping this wisdom!)
You’ve undoubtedly been writing long enough to find it a compulsion–you feel better when you’re doing it. You have stories that are just trying to make their way out. But you’re struggling to find the time to do so.
Work with what is within your control: how you use the time you do have.
You have a job. You’re a professional. You already know how to show up, how to manage responsibilities, and how to get things done when you don’t “feel like it.”
Experience adulting means you’re in a better position than you think to write screenplays—on your own terms.
Let’s talk about how to do exactly that.
Your job isn’t a burden to your screenwriting. It’s the very thing that makes it possible for you to write freely.
You’re not beholden to market trends. You don’t need to option a script to buy groceries. You can write strange, personal, genre-defying, brilliant stories. In an industry (beginning to realize it’s) starved for original scripts, this is a superpower.
You’ve already achieved something most people in the industry dream about: creative independence.
Let’s put it to use.
Everyone’s day is different. But everyone’s day has pockets that can be put to use. The key is identifying yours.
Start by looking at 2–3 typical days. Not your worst days, not your fantasy perfect ones—just your actual, ordinary days. Figure out the time leaks:
TikTok? Netflix? Obsessively checking your email? OnlyFans*?
Most people can free up 40–60 minutes just by getting honest about how they use their time. But even if all you can spare is 15 minutes, that’s still enough.
Don’t believe it? Take a notebook to the bathroom. Billy Wilder notoriously said some of his best ideas came while–ahem–sitting on the toilet. You think you’re better than Billy fucking Wilder?
A real writer doesn’t need a writers’ retreat in Aix to get started. A need 20 minutes and a plan.
Some people write best early in the morning, before the rest of the house wakes up. Others prefer late at night, after emails and expectations have gone quiet. Figure out when your brain feels generous and guard that time like it’s sacred.
I’m so not a morning person it’s not even funny. I cringe when I hear stories like Elmore Leonard getting up at 5am to write before going to his soul-sucking job as an ad man.
Still, writing is a priority–most days, I still crowbar my ass out of bed at 8am to get an hour of writing before the shit hits the fan work-wise. If I miss a day, I make it a priority to get back on the horse the next day. It’s like exercise.
Just do the thing–don’t wait for the perfect time, just make some time.
*Don’t lie to yourself.
Screenwriting, from the outside, might look like some sort of mystical process that requires uninterrupted hours and divine inspiration. But that’s not how it works—not even for most people earning their entire living from screenwriting.
Screenwriting for busy professionals means you have to work in bits. If how to start that is still a question, think about these points:
Start with fragments:
Capture these in notebooks, note apps, index cards, or voice memos. Let them pile up. Don’t worry about order yet. Movies aren’t shot in sequence—there’s no reason to think screenplays must be either.
When enough of these bits are collated, patterns start to emerge. Character interactions become clearer. The premise–if you don’t already have it–becomes a bit more obvious.
Try prompts like:
In short, don’t write the script from start to finish. Screenwriting for busy professionals means scribbling out scenes, character bios, and supporting materials–in essence, write around the script until it demands an outline or a draft.
Passive consumption is one thing, but as you improve your writing skill, you learn a whole new level of appreciation. It’s vital to understand how the sausage was made. All well and good if you find a really switched-on person who’s able to describe his/her process (Billy Wilder, Sidney Lumet, etc.), but for the most part you’ll be on your own.
What you need is to be able to reverse engineer what the writer did in this scene. It’s a bit like learning to play music by ear.
Pick a film you love—or perhaps one in the genre you’re writing in—and watch it with finger on the pause button.
For each scene, write down:
Even better, write each beat/reversal as it happens. This is a bit more advanced, but something I’m happy to discuss if you want to know more.
Then ask:
The more you do this, the more you’ll understand structure and rhythm. Make sure you still watch movies for pleasure–particularly in your local independent cinema–but adding this exercise to your toolkit will give you a totally different appreciation from what you might expect.
You need to see how the sausage is made. You do that by…
Take your favorite scene and work backward:
Understanding these dynamics will make your own writing clearer, sharper, and more intentional.
You’re a professional. Being a real-life writer means professional habits. You know how to this, I’m sure.
It doesn’t mean writing eight hours a day. Even the greats for whom this is a “day job” would be hard-pressed to do more than 3-4 hours of solid drafting work in a given day.
If they claim it’s more, they’re undoubtedly putting in revision/editing time or maybe just fucking lying–probably because they see you as competition and want you to remain out in the cold.
What it does mean is having a reliable system you can return to.
Even if you can only manage 2-3 short writing sessions per week, set a specific time.
Treat it like a meeting.
You wouldn’t just ghost your boss when you have a call scheduled. Don’t do that to the Muses. They get pissed.
We’ve already established that you’re a motivated professional. Apply the same mindset here that you do to job-work.
Nothing kills a writing session faster than not knowing what to write. For this reason, I suggest outlining.
By no means does outlining make you rigid, by the way–when the characters wrest control, all bets are off. Says original gangster Tom Robbins:
“A fascinating aspect of creative writing is that the rabbit so often threatens to seize control of the hat. That insurrection can be rewarding, even exciting–or it can lead to artistic disaster.”
Outlining’s power lies in the fact that it gives you a starting point every time you sit down.
Personally, I outline the shit out of everything before I write the first word. Never stopped me from coming up with new and exciting stuff I didn’t plan in advance.
In short, just make sure you know what’s coming next before you sit down. If outlining scares you, I suggest frameworks like (in no particular order, obviously):
This sort of book has a tendency to be a bit paint-by-numbers and almost certainly overpromises on the time aspect.
However, the value of a simple daily target and logical progression is immense. Have some structure in mind. Please.
Screenwriting for busy professionals will be, largely, a singular affair. But that doesn’t mean it needs to be isolating.
There are screenwriting meets, virtual writers’ hours, and forums where you can swap scenes and hold each other accountable.
If you get really into it, there are numerous more formal writing programs you might consider. Start with a short one–they don’t have to cost a huge amount and you’ll meet a lot of fellow travelers on the way.
Any of these options will give you some sense of regularity, which is key actually to finishing something.
Sometimes all you need is someone to check in and say, “Did you write today?”
Or someone you have to give pages to and, for fuck’s sake, you’ll look dumb if you don’t.
This could be a friend, a mentor, or a screenwriting coach. Whatever keeps you writing–it’s worth it.
Perfectionism is not how the world works. You know this from business and life.
You have to ship things earlier than you’re comfortable with. The job isn’t to be perfect. It’s to ship at the deadline.
It’s actually not clear to beginners, but any grizzled pro will tell you: first drafts are absolute dogshit. They’re more cringe than Zack Snyder trying to direct an emotional scene.
Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying.
So here’s my permission: let your first draft suck. Embrace the suck.
Remember, no one has to see your most rough draft but yourself. Finish it and then give it a cheeky little polish–but only a little one!–before you give it to your first-line readers.
Just write the shit. As I was eloquently told by a professor (of Religion, no less) during university, “you can always polish a turd.”
Your key is the keep the pen moving. Do what it takes: sprints, timers, prompts, etc. Trust that momentum will ultimately lead to quality. Not immediately, but writing is editing. If you don’t have something on the page, what the hell are you going to edit?
Nobody said you need to be a full-time writer to be a “real writer.” You don’t need representation, a producer, or a film degree. By the way, just as an aside, more working writers than you’d think do not have agents.
All you need to do to reach the “real writer” status is simply to show up.
Write when you have availability. Finish the things you start. Revise those things until it works. Then you write the next thing.
If you’re trying to make it perfect or waiting until you have five hours free “to get a full chapter written” you’re deluding yourself. If you write now, even scraps, you can easily finish a script in less time than you might expect.
This reframe might be the most important part of the whole article.
The film industry is literally (not figuratively) built on illusion. This is just as true for the images that people working within the industry project as it is for the films themselves.
So if someone else got a fellowship or made it into this festival or that, good for them. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.*
The only responsibility you have is to yourself: did you get your writing done today?
Even if that means only ten minutes, you’re succeeding. The rest will follow.
*Unless they stole your script, crossed out your name and wrote theirs next to it, and then that got them into the Sundance Screenwriters Lab. Then sure, point acknowledged. But if you don’t have a script, that can’t happen.
As a working professional, you have something that the trustafarians don’t have.
You have seen worlds, personalities, hierarchies, and conflicts that industry wonks never have.
Your office, classroom, sales floor, or pet sanctuary is an absolute goldmine for quirky characters and realistic drama. Draw from this.
Let your work life inform your writing. You can take the office manager’s quirky diction and use it for a character. The bromance (or romance?) between the stockboys. The vet who prescribes ketamine to “the family horse.”
Screen worlds come from writers’ real worlds. If writers are only ever around a bunch of barely-housetrained sociopaths in a writers’ room, what the hell interesting stuff are they actually going to write?
Lived experience is the name of the game. This gives you the sort of authenticity and point of view that one cannot simply research. Or, for that matter, buy.
A Writer’s Life, On Your Terms
Let’s be honest, winning the Hollywood Lottery would be nice.
Nevertheless, at the end of the day, writing is about fulfilling something within. You don’t really need to “break in.” You just need to write.
Your scripts will come before you. Your voice will get clearer as you practice. Your momentum both in writing and as a writer will develop as you practice every day, meet more fellow writers, and make connections.
And one day, someone in the right place might just read your work and offer you the thing you wanted.
Just for shits and giggles–here’s a little excercise for you.
Grab a notebook or open a doc.
Do this three times a week. It’s not a screenplay yet—but it’s a start.
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The world needs your story. Now it’s up to you to write it.
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