I’m finding these days that it’s just as enjoyable to write my stories as it is to send them out to awaiting readers.

I always looked at writing as write now sell later, or write then sell, then write, then sell, like 2 distinct actions, demarcated by some sort of fence. But, now I see that what makes me happy as a writer is just knowing that someone, somewhere, is waiting to read what I have written.

I feel this is a step since I recently held strong to the idea that I as a writer must write, write and write some more, then hit the pavement, and push, push, push.

But now I am sensing a melding of these two actions. I thought I had it all under control until the real world intervened. It seems that now is the time to deliver, for I have FINALLY let a sufficient number of people know what I am all about (writing novels and screenplays) that I am getting requests from publishers, producers, readers, friends, and folks who have joined up on my website to read my book.

I think it’s funny when I tell people about my work. Some sigh and explain how happy or fulfilled or interesting their life could be if only they could tell stories for a living.

I tell them it’s not as easy as they may think.

I find correlations almost everywhere I look.  For most of my working career, I’ve made a living as a home improvement contractor. Looking back on some of my most interesting and memorable jobs – ones that I seem to return to when I describe successes – are the ones where I had no real idea at the outset of how I was going to do the job.

This is not to say that I was flying blind, totally unprepared. I knew when going in that the job was something I was going to be able to figure out. I had done it so many times before, so my faith in these instances was strong.

For me, writing is a lot like that.

Each day I know I will be writing that night. Each night I find myself a little unsure as to how far I will go, what I will write, or how happy I will be with my work. But each night, I realize that it does come. My intention is strong. My patience great.

by Geoffrey Zimmerman

I’ve had many methods that I used to get me to where I needed to be when preparing to write.

First of all, I would call myself a “ritual” writer. I like to know what to expect from myself. It helps my unconscious juices get ready for what is to come – staring at the blank page or going over my outline notes. The “place” where I want to get myself is almost like a far-away place, a place where the world I create, my characters, their words and feelings are real.

I find it ironic, that although this “place” seems to me to be my optimum state of mind to write -  to say what I want to say the way I want to say it,  takes some real intention,  patience and faith to get there.

Some writers say “Keep your butt in the seat.” Some say “Write eight hours a day.” Some say “turn out at least three, five, nine or ten pages a day (or whatever the number they use.)

I say “Find what works, and keep doing that.” It may take time, but be patient, have faith and realize that you alone know what works best for you.

There are many devices and documents a writer can use to catch people’s attention and demonstrate their ability. One of these devices is a treatment.

This document is usually about ten to twenty pages long. The treatment I wrote for my feature film screenplay “Love Never Dies” is 17 pages long. The document describes only the major characters, (protagonist and antagonist)  and perhaps a few secondary characters. It describes the major plot points, events in the story that force the protagonist and antagonist to act or react while pursuing his/her main goal. Some dialogue can be included as well.

This treatment has been read by some agents and producers in La., but just because they read it doesn’t mean they’ll request my screenplay or decide to invest in me. The desired reaction after someone with decision-making power reads the treatment is a request for the screenplay. In my case, the subject matter of my story did not fit the current needs of the industry.

I’m curious to find out how many of my readers would like a look at this treatment and then my first screenplay in a trilogy. I hope to hear from you.

-Geoff-

PS: Because of the value and power of this document, I am asking those who wish to read it to register. Just a simple matter that shows me you are interested in taking a look at my writing and story telling abilities. I’ll email you the password to read the entire treatment.

Having worked in the film industry, I have no problem talking with agents, directors or actors. I’ve recently been pitching my murder mystery idea to some New York publishers and some agents in New York and Hollywood. My first few chapters have been received with surprising enthusiasm, and the agents in Los Angeles know this story will be adapted to a screenplay, and then a TV show.

By Geoffrey Zimmerman

Now and then, I look back at the years and experiences that have brought me to where I am. I take stock – assess past decisions, adventures and fortunes. I recall at the age of 12 years taking a “job” as Assistant Stage Manager in my small home – town’s community theatre group. I distinctly recall the laugh I got while performing a puppet show for my third – grade class. I recall standing in a long line of second – grade kids, where we were all rehearsed and were asked to “portray” a famous line. A rolling stone gathers no moss was my line.

I recall walking down the long hallway on the fourth floor of the Konover hotel in Miami Beach. The year was 1984. I sat for nearly an hour before I was ushered from the production office to the large office of Don Gold, the Production Manager of Miami Vice. Mr. As I glanced around the room, sweating bullets and pretending not to notice, I saw Mr. Gold read my resume. He set my resume down on his desk, stood up, held out his hand and said, “Welcome aboard.”

Thus began my one – year, 24 episode stint as Supervisor in Charge of Picture Vehicles for the show. I was 22.

My mind and imagination were open. I had no impression or daydream of what was to come, but within an hour of shaking Mr. Gold’s hand, I found myself seated at a makeshift desk in the locations department’s office, pouring over the rough draft of “One-eyed Jack,” episode 2 in the life of the famous TV show. Although my purpose was to glean information and descriptions on vehicles needed for the show, I also took note of the writing.

Over the next few days, I was busy gathering photos, sitting in on production meetings and dealing with vehicle owners. But, I realize now, that as the production progressed, I was being educated, subliminally, over time. Perhaps it’s like growing up in a beautifully appointed Victorian mansion, while subconsciously developing a keen eye for interior design. Without realizing it I was learning what it takes to write and create a slick and compelling TV script, a teleplay.

During production, we received 2 to 4 revisions over a five day period as we approached the shooting start date. After about 6 or 7 shows, I found I was able to predict which shows would be good and which would be mediocre.

In the interest of professional discretion, I will omit the episode’s titles, for my opinion and those of my peers and co – workers are just that – opinions – and I wish not to discredit anyone who may have played an integral role in this trend-setting TV show.

When I got a chance to take a good look at the first drafts, subsequent revisions and final scripts, I was awed. Those 30 pages I would take from my “mailbox”, (a manila folder thumbtacked to an enormous corkboard) and use as my to do list contained broad strokes and  little detail. But with these stories, I noticed a cohesion, a decisive beginning, middle and end.

I could also sense the pace of the show as more detail was added. Some episodes were heavy with action. Some were dramatic – and some spent time on questions of international smuggling, or the inverse, Internal Affairs. In the action-oriented shows, the dialogue was short and reactive, like, “Take a left,” or “Call for backup.” This added immediacy to the scene, and wasn’t lengthened as the script expanded to include more character or action detail. With the dramatic scripts, (romances or shows with emphasis on vice’s impact on families), the dialogue took center stage, allowing us a deeper look into the lives, feelings and thoughts of the characters. Looking back now, I see that it was all pretty simple; to speed up the pace and get your heart beating faster, make the cuts shorter. To bring out the hankies, slow down the pace, and let us meet the people. Add to this formula just the right music, and you have mesmerized viewers – and a hit.

But, the kicker was the cohesiveness, the central thread that kept the show together. The show’s look. This came from the powerful and decisive hand of Michael Mann. Although he wasn’t on set or in the production meetings, his word reigned.

The dogma he set forth for the details of the show made its way through the ranks. He understood how to get his ideas to the (small) screen.

By Geoffrey Zimmerman

How do you tell someone their work isn’t great? How do you tell them you were looking for something that would allow you to comment with more than just “I liked it”?

Dealing with other writers can be stressful, nerve-wracking and sometimes downright irritating – but it can also be stimulating, educational and rewarding. It’s all in the planning, approach and attitude.

View talking with another writer as a job interview. They have something you need and you know you have something they need.

How do we conduct this interview? We prepare. We read the work submitted. We take into account the genre, the circumstances, and the author.

Let’s say I was critiquing the first draft chapter of a new writer’s romance novel. Picking it up, I know not to expect much, and the work will need polishing.

I look for the basics  – The Hook. Does the writer reel me in and take me into their world? Do they answer the five W’s? -  Who, What, When, Where, and Why? How do I feel when reading through these first pages? Tired? Anxious? Angry? Frustrated? Is my interest piqued? Critiquing is one thing, but laying it on the line is another.

Surprisingly, I have an easier time telling a writer why I think their work is worthy of pursuing and potentially a good candidate for publication. I have little difficulty finding well-used phrases, devises of expression, or a smooth transition and well-planned points of view.

But, if I feel edgy, angry, put off or frustrated, sometimes I have a hard time seeing what’s missing. At these times, I just go with my gut. I usually step away for a while and muse on my reactions during the reading experience.

Recently, I was asked by an author to look at the first 30 pages of book 3 in a romance trilogy. After a few pages, I sent an email to the author, stating that I thought we should talk about her work.

We all love this – feedback – “someone has actually read my stuff, and has something to say about it.” I think it’s akin to taking the SASE from your mailbox – “There’s a chance – a chance…” It’s the possibility we all thrive on, so communication is gold to serious writers.

When the author called, I briefly told her I thought her descriptions were “ ethereal,” and that I had a hard time following the story and wanted something more concrete. She couldn’t quite follow what I meant by ethereal, so we set up a meeting.

I wish I could say that I had prepared for our meeting – after all, it was to be a gathering of writers designed to act as an introduction and a critique-fest for the author.

I envisioned at least five other writers, all seated around a table, all of us putting forth our interpretations of how to improve the author’s work. I though I’d be just one leaf on a tree.

No one else showed up. It was fine – at first. We made small talk about what might have happened to the rest of the group  – and then suddenly I was in the spotlight.

“Let’s see… what were we talking about?” I said, rifling through the three pages I had printed and brought with me.

I had also brought my own novel, a screenplay of the same novel, a contact sheet, and a book entitled, The Power of Point of View. Usually when I’m reading a book I like, I refer to it with regard to what I might be doing at present. In this case, I decided to leaf through the pages of The Power of Point of View, hoping I’d find some leg to stand on when discussing the “ethereal” work.

“Head hopping… they discuss head-hopping in here.” Head hopping is the act of a writer frequently shifting from one point of view to another. It can be disorienting for the reader. “I’m a head-hopper, but I’m never one to keep with convention – that’s why people love my work. I’m non-formulaic,” she said. That was a lot to take in.

“But, it’s confusing,” I told her. “I have a hard time keeping up with who’s who,” I said, and placed a finger on some lines from her work. Reading aloud, I found a few “ethereal” sections where, for paragraphs descriptions of past events, feelings, thoughts, dialogue, etc. were poured forth – “Ethereals.”

“Yeah, but if you had read the first two books, you would know what I’m talking about,” she said. “But, I hadn’t, and I don’t,” I said, frustrated.

“You’re a male. Women love this stuff,” she said. At this point I stopped. Not because I’m a male, but because I had to reassess my approach.

Let’s take another tack, I thought to myself. I hoped that reading some of the pithier passages from my story might show my ideas. So, I opened my novel and leafed through it until I found what I hoped would demonstrate a more concrete approach to narrative. I read a few passages. “I can see it. I’m there,” was her response. It made me feel good. I love reading my stuff to folks, bringing them into my world.

Did I fail? No. Was I unprepared? Yes. I had little to back up my contentions. And the book I had brought spoke to neither this writer’s weaknesses nor her strengths.

I suppose the “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine” dynamic is always a little like joining a tug of war without knowing who’s on your team. Of course, I did get what I wanted out of the deal, an affirmation that my words can paint pictures – but I got no real beneficial criticism.

On the other hand, I failed to give the author what she wanted or needed – good, solid, well founded and well backed up advice. I dropped the ball and got a pat on the back. Even score? Hardly. But, who’s counting?

In the photo of the several guys standing around, and Paul Michael Glaser “directing traffic”, the real “star” of the photo is the trailer behind everyone.

In this episode, Trudy, (the black detective, played by Olivia Brown) will be kidnapped and held hostage by a drug lord. The script calls for Trudy to be tied up in a trailer, and soon after Sonny Crockett sees her silhouette in a trailer window, the trailer will blow up. Honestly, and ironically, I don’t recall the outcome of the episode, (that is, if Trudy survives or not)  but I do recall that the trailer will be blown up.

Yes, the one we stand in front of will go KABOOM! On this episode, Paul Michael Glaser, (from Starsky and Hutch fame) is the Director. Michael Mann, the show’s executive Producer, loved old seventies TV shows, and hired George Stanford Brown, (from The Rookies), and David Soul, (Hutch from Starsky and Hutch) to direct some episodes.

The gentleman in the far right of the photo, holding the strip board, is the First Director. His job was to schedule each shot and camera move in the filming of each episode, so that the filming went as efficiently as possible. If I remember correctly, the two gentlemen to his right were higher-ups from the Special effects Department. They needed to know all details with regard to where and when the dangerous stuff was going to happen. I believe the woman leaning on my car was a wife of one of the Special Effects guys. And, that’s me, the guy who found and “purchased” the trailer, (with Universal’s money) and hired a trailer mover to get it to its location, (final resting ground).

I remember that day. The guy who came to move the trailer was just like a tow truck driver. He had a big truck, all the towing equipment, and knowledge of vehicles. The trailer had sat on someone’s land for several years, and feet of grass had grown around the wheels. The guy looked at the trailer’s tires, and was worried that one or two of the wheel hubs might be rusted tight, and could burn as we moved the trailer the seven miles through the streets of Miami to the set DOWNTOWN, in an empty lot.

I wasn’t Locations. I was Vehicles, so I was a little sketchy about where I was supposed to have the trailer delivered. So, with me in the lead, and the truck pulling the trailer through downtown Miami behind me, I saw an opportunity. I was at a streetlight, and happened to see a cop on the side of the road talking to someone. I opened my door, yelled across the street, and asked him where to go. I was so nerved up, I had forgotten to put my car in park, and after the cop gave me the directions, said matter of factly, “Hey, your car’s moving.” And it was. I got back in, and we proceeded down the road. One of the hubs on the trailer’s wheels did burn up, and it was red hot and smoking as we finally brought the leviathan into the empty lot and positioned it… IN TALL GRASS!

The driver hopped out of his truck and ran to the trailer’s wheels, and began yanking away the tall dried grass. I helped him as sweat poured from me.

“Could have easily caught fire,” the driver said to me over his shoulder. But it didn’t. Just another day at the office.