Anti-Scriptwriting Halloween 2 - The Revenge of the Reader

The hour has come once again, as we venture down into the cavernous crypts of coffee shops to bring you a tale of scriptwriting woe most foul. For tonight, a story so utterly horrifying, so gruesome and ghastly, comes a-knocking upon your impossibly creaky wooden door. Were you truly foolish enough to believe that scriptwriting was the most terrifying profession? No. There is another. Strap in to your non-electric chair, and prepare your soul for a short story of... the Script Reader.

THE REVENGE OF THE READER

Alan had not been a full-time writer for long. He had been reading Robert McKee's Story in his lunch breaks between bouts of admin for an office supplies distributor. Quitting his day job to pursue his passion, supported by his lovely wife, Teresa, and teenage son, Jason, Alan finally set to work on making his film idea a reality. Snowcatch was the spy thriller he had been dreaming up for years, inspired by classic Bond films and his own secret love for espionage.

All too soon, the first draft was complete.

Alan now realised he had no one to share his work with. No other close writer friends who would take the time to give him the feedback he knew he needed. Even he was aware the script wasn't up to a decent standard. Suddenly, the gravity of quitting his job set in. Alan frantically began searching online for places to send his admittedly sub-par script. And then, he saw it...

Submit your script to our agency for a full, comprehensive script report in just a few hours!

Blinded by the promise of a good deal, Alan sent off Snowcatch - a wave of achievement washing over him for no real reason beyond the fact he'd paid a substantial amount of money for the quick coverage. Alan left his office, curled up alongside Teresa in bed, and slowly drifted off to sleep...

BZZZZZ. Alan's phone vibrated, jolting him awake. His alarm clock showing 4:21AM. Alan checked his phone - an email response from the agency. He slipped out of bed and dashed to his office, excited for the promise of feedback. He opened up the attached PDF on his computer, but his face fell instantly. Only 4 words...

"I'll be in touch".

Alan felt confused, angry, betrayed. After writing a strongly worded email to the agency, he stepped into his bathroom to rinse his face and calm down. He opened up his cabinet, took out a few Nurofen and gulped them down straight from the tap. Just as he closed the cabinet door, Alan screamed! Written in what looked like blood on the mirror...

"YOUR DIALOGUE IS LITTERED WITH EXPOSITION..."

Alan was stunned. He desperately tried to wipe the blood off with a towel but only ended up making the mirror a red, blurry mess. As he went to leave, Jason was stood in the doorway, looking confused at his father. Alan looked back at the mirror. The blood was gone... Jason pushed past him, and gestured that he needed to pee. Alan took the cue and headed out onto the landing, still shaken.

A flickering white light from downstairs caught his eye. Alan leaned over the banister for a better look. His TV was on - static, white noise. Alan darted down stairs, grabbed the remote and tried to turn it off... but to no avail. He ran over to the telly, and began desperately mashing the power button on the set itself.

Finally, the static disappeared. The room went pitch black. Alan fumbled for his phone, hoping the light from the screen would help guide him back to the stairs. What it showed him was far more terrifying.

The light illuminated the reflection in the TV of an angry face behind him. Alan was paralysed. After a moment, the face shrieked...

"YOUR CHARACTERS ARE ALL CLICHE AND TWO-DIMENSIONAL"

Alan didn't know what was more terrifying - the ghastly howl or the cookie-cutter feedback. He span around to see no one stood behind him, and sprinted back up the stairs. Entering his bedroom, he could already see that Teresa was stirring.

"What did you mean just now, Alan?"
"Excuse me?"
"That thing you whispered into my ear?"

Alan's confusion was replaced with pure dread. He looked around the room, searching to see if anyone else was around. He turned back to his wife, and gulped. She spoke in a demonic voice...

"THERE ARE TOO MANY PLOT HOLES TO COUNT"

Alan screamed. This house was no longer safe. In his desperation, he lifted up the window and clambered outside, sliding down the side of his garage and onto his driveway. His quaint suburban neighbourhood taking on a disturbing new guise as a shadowy hellhole. Alan sprinted into the nearby forest, because he simply wasn't aware enough of narrative tropes to realise this was a bad idea.

Trudging through the mud and branches, Alan stopped in a small clearing near a cliff edge to catch his breath. Eyes darting all around him, searching for his pursuer. A raspy voice came from behind him...

"THE GENRE AND TONE ARE TOTALLY INCONSISTENT"

Alan span around to see the silhouette of his aggressor, stood several feet ahead of him by the edge of the cliff, enshrouded in darkness. The light of the moon behind him. Alan called out, and the end of his tether...

"What do you want from me?! I tried, didn't I?!"
"I WANT YOU TO BE BETTER, ALAN."

Alan's fists clenched tight. He screamed, and charged towards the man, tackling him to the ground. He unleashed a flurry of desperate punches against the man's face, but he seemed unfazed. Alan stopped his onslaught and looked down at the man.

It was him.

Alan's own visage was staring back at him. All this time, his lingering self-doubt, his guilt at sending off unfinished work, his mania... It had manifested itself and attacked Alan for the crimes he knew in his heart he had committed.

Alan's duplicate grabbed Alan by the hair, and in one final scream announced...

"YOUR PLOT TWIST WAS COMPLETELY PREDICTABLE"

And in a single moment, that seemed to last an eternity, the copy yanked the two men off the edge of the cliff, plummeting down together to the rocky terrain below.

A writer, killed by his own insecurity.

There was no reader.

In this case, there didn't need to be.

James Cottle, a Scriptwriting Mega-Scholar™, is now a real world Freelance Writer, in between intense bouts of Script Reading. Follow him on Twitter @Jxmxsc, "like" the Anti-Scriptwriting page on Facebook, and share this blog if you want his opinions on your work to be completely unbiased.