A few years ago, I wrote a draft of a sci-fi pilot. It was my take on a spaceship show, something akin to Star Trek or Firefly or something like that. I brought the script to a workshop I was in at the time, and there were a number of aspects to the script that I was hoping the group would address. Does the opening truck robbery scene establish the characters as well as I want it to? Is the lore communicated well? Is this script, you know… good? So we read, and I eagerly anticipated a lively discussion on these matters.
“So in the opening scene, why isn’t it a hovertruck?” Someone in the group asked.
I explained that in this universe, older technology still exists, and there’s supposed to be a massive wealth and technology gap between various planets.
This person proceeded to tell me that not only should I make all the cars hover, but that my script wasn’t “sci-fi” enough in general. He then proceeded to give me a ton of his ideas about how to sci-fi up the joint, including lasers, teleportation, and a bunch of other goofy sci-fi shit you’ve seen in a trillion other movies and TV shows.
These are bad notes for a number of reasons. They’re superficial, they’re irrelevant, and in the context of someone who explicitly said that he’s not trying to do all the usual sci-fi stuff, they’re kind of stupid. However, I wasn’t mad at this guy for those reasons, although they didn’t help. I was mad at him because he was offering me a ton of his ideas about science fiction, and nothing on how to fix my script.
But here’s the thing: I’ve absolutely done the same thing a bunch of times to a bunch of different writers. I think it’s safe to say that everyone else has as well.
Their Vision, Not Yours
The impulse to offer your own ideas is a completely understandable one. My example is a bit ridiculous, and I assume that everyone reading this is an awesome writer who isn’t going to suggest that I add cliché sci-fi bullshit for the sake of cliché sci-fi bullshit. (I’m not bitter at all.) Most of the time, the impulse comes from a good place. You’re trying to be helpful.
However, when I give notes, I don’t see it as my job to write the script for you. My job is to explain to you why your script may or may not have taken me where you wanted me to go. So these days, I try to stick to my “I” statements. “This didn’t work for me because X.” “I didn’t understand Y.” “I think you were trying to accomplish Z, but it wasn’t as effective for me as it could’ve been because LETTER AFTER Z.”
Just to be perfectly clear, I’m not saying that you should never offer your own ideas. Scripts are nuanced, writers are trying to accomplish different goals, and some situations absolutely call for it. My only goal in this section is to remind you of your role.
One of the most valuable pieces of advice I’ve ever received on giving notes came from the comments section of another screenwriting website. The commenter said that when he felt the urge to share his own ideas, he’d think to himself something along the lines of, “Where did this idea come from, and what problem am I trying to fix with it?” Whatever the answer to that question is, that’s what he’d say in his notes.
That’s what your writer needs to hear the most. Not what you’d do if you were writing the script instead. It’s about the writer’s vision. Not yours.