10PTT: Water by Robert Nystrom

[Pitchpatch]

This one washed ashore at Reddit.  I liked the setup, and Robert was kind enough to let me 10PTT it.  Adding to my curiosity: a decade ago I sketched a character with a similar affliction to the female lead Robert created here.  Mine was a young boy named Puddles.  He was CEO of a multinational toy company.  Water would fill and overflow his galoshes.  Nobody knew why.  He'd slosh through the company offices, bidding good morning to his staff, leaving a soggy trail behind.

As you quickly learn in the land of creative ideas: use it or lose it.  The Zeitgeist waits for no person.



Anyway.  Back to Robert.  He said: "I wrote it as a gift for my brother. (We used to make movies together when we were teens.)"  That is very cool, right?  A screenplay as gift.  Wow.  That is seriously humbling somehow.  Terrific stuff.  That's all I know about Robert, but it's enough to make me root for his good fortune and success.  Let's see what we can learn from his writing.

And away we go...

USUAL DISCLAIMER: My edits to the original material are mainly an exercise in revision. There's no right and wrong in writing, just shades of better and worse, degrees of what works for you and what works for me.  If you see a line and yearn to improve it, post your revision in a comment.  I'd like to see how others mold the clay.

Where you see green highlights, those are active verbs (Huzzah!).  Where you see yellow, that's figurative language.  You won't see much yellow in these pages.  That's a big concern.

NOTE: Title page is page 1, so page numbers are off.

[Pitchpatch]

1.

This sentence feels to me a little overloaded.  There's enough going on to emphasize the gale: the rain "sheets" and the thunderstorm "roars" overhead.  That's plenty.  We can lose "heavy."  Sheeting rain won't be anything but.

You don't want the first sentence on your first page to be dense. This one isn't, but you don't want to leave any suggestion this will be a tough read.  Welcome your reader at the door.  Invite them in.  The party's just beginning.

Now, my favorite peeve: "-ing" words (present progressive tense; see here) need at least cursory reconsideration.  If you can simplify/shorten these to their simpler form, it almost always streamlines your sentence.  Let's try here.  First, we strip the sentence into its essential components, usually subject-verb-object:

"Rain sheets down. A thunderstorm roars."

Recombining into one sentence:

"Rain sheets down as a thunderstorm roars."

Nine syllables compared to the original fifteen.

That eliminates the "-ing".  It's debatable if this variation offers any significant improvement.  But it demonstrates how writers must constantly disassemble sentences, like Lego blocks.  Weigh them.  Consider their shape and color.  Rebuild those sentences.  Discard blocks, substitute new ones.  And so on.  The right word in the right place.

Because we really want to make this first sentence spark, I jettisoned "overhead."  Do we need it?  Is there confusion about the thunderstorm if we remove that word?  None, I think.  I've never seen a thunderstorm anywhere but overhead.  So, it's safe to leave that as implicit.

Let's compare what we had and what we've got:

"Heavy rain sheets down from a thunderstorm roaring overhead."

"Rain sheets down as a thunderstorm roars."

Okay, good.  Sheeting rain, roaring thunder.  We held onto Robert's key elements that appeal to our sense of sound and touch.  But this version is a faster read.

I have an idea we can thin out the rest of this paragraph.  We don't need seven lines of description to move past this block of basic action.  Oh, I should mention here about action blocks and the guideline that you should keep your paragraphs to three lines or less.  Four in a pinch.  It's not hard to group your action beats into neat little shot/sequence packages.  Readers will thank you for the white space and the improved readability.

How about:

-----
A pickup truck fights through the sheeting rain of a thunderstorm, pulls into the driveway.

The driver jumps out.  He circles to the passenger side to let out his mutt SOMENAME.  The dog barks, streaks to the house.  JAKE hauls a cooler and fishing gear from the truck bed and sprints for the front door.
-----

That's about 70 words down to 55.  We knocked out the repetition of "pulls."  We switched "run" to "streaks", "reaches" to "hauls" -- slightly punchier verbs.


2.

If we're in the kitchen before our characters enter, can we have that moment serve the story?  For example, show us something important in that moment before they enter (or as they enter), some object, something that gives us story information to work with. If the shot of them entering serves no purpose other than to match cut, do we absolutely need it?

Could we cut that whole first paragraph ("The front door opens...") and start the scene with "The dog shakes in the middle of the kitchen."  There's our  match cut right there!  Dog gets drenched outside; dog shakes itself dry inside.  Cause and effect.  We know this is continuous action.  There's no danger we'll assume this scene takes place later, elsewhere.

Here's where we get out protag description.  We should call him Jake throughout because we already named him in the opening scene. Or, call him "the man" consistently in that first scene and name him here.  I like the second approach.  It feels natural to name him here, in the bright light of the kitchen where we can thoroughly inspect him.  And I really want to see that dog named, regardless if he's named yet in dialog.  The sooner we become endeared to the lovable pooch the better, and naming him early will do that.

"... sunburned from a day fishing that started brighter than it ended."  Hooboy. Hoooooo-boy, that lovely observation.  Literal and figurative meanings in a tight hug.  Fact and feeling.  Rest assured, gentle reader.  If my right hand creeps toward the keyboard intending to tinker with that sentence, my left will snatch up something large and heavy and Mr Right will soon find himself in the emergency room sealed inside a blood-spattered ziploc bag.  Way to go, Robert.


3.

We know it's the kitchen table because we know we're in the kitchen. Very minor, as most edits will be in this 10PTT, but one less word is one more small notch forward on the readability accelerator.

We shouldn't fuss about this sentence.  It's a one-liner.  No pressing reason to trim it.  But I see "puts" and already I'm restlessly tapping my SMASH-LAZY-VERBS hammer against my left palm.  I hate those sonsabitches.  Squatting there between subject and object.  Trying to blend in, all innocent.  Smirking at me.  Daring me to notice.  Those conceited eyes challenging me to care enough.  To do something about it.  So this is how it is, huh?  You think I won't?  You think I ain't got the big brassy cojones to step up, mofo?  You think I won't bring down the hammer, bring it down and down until that snotty smirk turns to red pixels smeared across my screen?  Oh it's on, my friend, it's so very on --





4.

I wanted these to be discreet moments, and quick.  Reach, BOOM, dark.  Thus the split into three.  Once sentence kind of mushes it all together.  I wondered if it works better even shorter, letting the reader join the dots:

-----
He reaches for the cooler.
A roof-shaking THUNDERCLAP.
Blackout.
-----

Twenty words down to ten.  Booyakasha!  All right, yes, that revision is highly stylized -- Walter Hill-ified -- and you wouldn't switch styles suddenly like that.  Sadly, it doesn't look as good threaded into a single line:

"He reaches for the cooler. A roof-shaking THUNDERCLAP. Blackout."

Not so much "booyakasha" now.  Mostly just "Booo! Boooooooo!"


5.

Well lookee here.  We reeled in a line and at the same time cut the fat.

"The dog barks."  How?  We're missing opportunities to personify this mutt, give him some character.  Coloring his barks would contribute to this.  "The dog barks a warning" -- mutt being protective.  "The dog barks fearfully" -- mutt is a 'fraidy cat.


6. "Light shines from the glass of the back door."  This is a sentence that absolutely does not need to be there -- unless later in the story something happens that relies on us knowing the back door has a glass panel.  It just slows us down.  Get Jake out the back door with his flashlight asap.

Haha, YES!  The dog has a name now.  I could bear it no longer.  Say hello to Scooter.  The name should be something more water related, this story being all about water.  Never mind.  Scooter it shall be for the rest of this 10PTT.

"... followed by the dog" is too limp.  It might be okay to describe a dog trotting happily behind its master.  Not here.  Here, Scooter is on guard, hackles raised, jittery, alert and wired.  Ready to attack.


6a.

"He walks back to the back door." vs "He starts back."

Brevity, muthafucka!


7.  

Need the slug.  We've returned to the back porch to witness the first sign of the protagonist's changing world.

I itched to strike out "of the house" in "... to the other side of the house."  Also felt like we should see Jake's dumbfounded reaction, e.g.

-----
Shuffling, wet footprints track across the concrete patio.  Jakes stares at them. Stares some more.

Scooter growls into the darkness.

Slowly Jake follows the footprints with his flashlight.
-----

[Pitchpatch]

8.

I know in this scene Rob intended for Jake to walk the tracks, flashlight in hand, but I'm fond of the idea that he stands there frozen, not quite comprehending what this means, and he simply traces the footsteps with his flashlight beam.  Then we cut to the next shot and he's moving, rounding the corner and WHOA?! -- her glowing face right there against his.  The preceding stillness might highlight the sudden movement of the confrontation.  Just a thought.


9.

Again, I'm keen to see here a cause-effect, stepping-stone approach to the narrative.  Discreet moments.  It's important, I think, that we get the "inches from his face" spatial cue up front.  In our mind's eye we want that first meeting to be up close and shocking.  In fact, we should focus on her face explicitly.  Something like:

-----
He turns the corner.

And right there: A YOUNG WOMAN'S FACE illuminated in the torchlight.

Her frightened eyes, raccoon-like from smeared make-up, peer up at him.  She's pale, thin, soaking wet, wrapped in a long blue-green dress, torn and mud-stained and ripped open at one bruised shoulder.
-----


9a.

"The fuck!  What are you doing back here?"  I nixed the second expletive because it seemed overkill.  Could easily have lost the "the fuck!" instead.  Just personal taste.


10.

"Cowers in fear"  reeks a bit of cliche, plus it's tautology.  We'd be sufficiently served with: "The girl cowers."  To me, "shrinks back" says the same, but is a little more concrete, a little more visual.  I dunno.  Margin call.  Certainly nothing amiss with the original.


11.

Same here as 9a, but with an additional reason: "shit" and "crap" roaming the same sentence tend to crash amusingly into each other, I think.  Jake curses.  A lot.  Does this trait serve the story in some way?  Does he hold a Monday night gig at the local comedy store?  No idea yet.  We'll see.


12.

Hmmm, and look at this: "The girl shrinks back."  Mwahahaha.  Awkward.  I favored "shrinks back" myself not five lines before.  Robert knew what he was doing.  So, let's roll back my suggested change at 10 and restore there "The girl cowers in fear."    Phew.  All unpleasantness averted.  One of the perils of marking-up as you go, with no knowledge of what lies ahead.

"... and snarls with fury."  I'm looking for variations on "bark" because that's getting plucked from the word bag too frequently for my comfort.  Consider the syllable count too: seven for "starts barking furiously" and four for "snarls with fury."  I know it gets old listening to me sing my song of syllables, about how a lower syllable count raises readability and speeds comprehension.  I see your eyes glazing over, as if you got invited to the back room at a strip club only to discover the girls fully clothed and studiously filling out their tax returns.  You, me, and those toned and tattooed ladies will just have to make the best of it.


13.

Trimming and (speak of the devil) toning.  "Pulls" and "puts" are too bland to survive on the page.


14.

Whatever floats your boat as a replacement for the pale verb "trying."  Could be "lurching," "straining," "struggling."

An option here is split into two sentences, thereby losing the present progressive tense:

"Jake yanks the dog toward the door.  Scooter struggles to attack the girl the whole time." Note "whole" sub'ing for "entire."  Do a syllable count and you'll know why, then go back to oggling those sexy tracksuited bookkeeping strippers.

Or rework as one sentence without the "-ing":

"Jake yanks the dog toward the door while Scooter struggles to attack the girl."

But really, the original as it stands is fine, other than the slouching appearance of "trying."

Note "toward" not "towards."  Same for "backward," "forward," and so on.  Not a deal breaker, but preferred.


15.

"He turns..."  "He turns around..." -- is anything lost by cutting "around"?  If the scene were two people in a car, and the navigator tells the driver:

"Turn here."

versus

"Turn around here."

then we'd perceive a difference.  "Turn here" suggests the driver will do a right-angle left or right turn.  "Turn around here" suggests the driver will do a 180 and go in the opposite direction.  So, yes, losing "around" from "turn around" can alter meaning substantially.  But in this context we lose no meaning.  It speeds the sentence ever so slightly and helps articulate the muted shock Jake feels at this second appearance of Water Girl.

I switched out "illuminated" because, like a lucky rabbits foot, we've been rubbing it a bit too much and people are starting to notice.


16.

An imperative "... stop doing that!" fits better, I think.  It matches his firm instruction to her: "Stay right there."  Shock followed by dealing with the situation.  Jake's a take-charge guy.

[Pitchpatch]

17.

Getting the lighter.  Lighting the candles.  And in those long, fidgety seconds the mystery, the urgency -- everything goes on hold.  Here's some music while we wait:



Yes, I'm exaggerating.  But not much.  Because while we listened to "The Girl From Ipanema," the editor made some cuts.  We saw how it plays out on the page; here's how the bit plays on screen in its third and final life:

-----
... arms clutched around her shivering body while a puddle spreads under her feet.

JAKE
Sweet Jesus, stop doing that!  Let me just... Stay right there.

MOMENTS LATER

A CIGARETTE LIGHTER touches the last unlit wick in a thicket of candles clumped on a side table.  Sputtering yellow flames carve a hollow in the cold black room.

The girl watches, motionless, head cocked to one side.
-----

It's a natural match cut.  It was there the whole time.  Robert set it up with "stay right there..."  All we had to do was omit the tell-don't-show commentary ("I'll get some light"), toss the unnecessary busywork (hunting for the lighter etc.), and there we have it: a nice match cut to engage the audience, something that lets them figure out what just happened.


18.

I'm of a mind to keep this focused on Water Girl.  When you invite in a metaphorical "like someone who..." you split your focus.  In your mind you're thinking of Water Girl, but now you're also thinking of this other someone.  Let's keep it all about Water Girl:

"She has an unplaceable accent, as if she learned English without hearing it first."

Or let's put the focus/lens on Jake for his reaction shot:

"Jake tries to place her accent.  It's like she learned English without ever hearing it."

That's not an "unfilmable."  We're right there with Jake.  We hear her weird accent (or lack of one) and we wonder what it means, same as Jake, while he studies her from across the room.

Also acceptable here: "... like someone who learns English without hearing it spoken."


19.

A fun reveal!  We had our meet-cute with the dog a couple pages back and we didn't even know it.  This is a nice callback and an example of keeping your audience engaged, prodding them to re-evaluate little moments gone by.  But the reveal does more.  We really love that shaggy mutt now.  How can you not with that name?  And suddenly we get a sense of why Jake swears so much.  It's in his nature to express himself that way.  He even curses to express affection.  His rough language is an important character trait -- which means no more of me thinking it's too much and striking it from his dialogue.  It's essential.

So, that was my bad, but on the other hand it's good for you to see my thought process unfolding as things reveal themselves on the page in the same sequence it happens for the reader.

Okay, zeroing in on that gap now, the one above "it seemed funny at the time..."  Can't be there.  No whitespace gaps in dialogue.  That's how it is.  Two neighboring blocks of dialogue from the same speaker always gets partitioned by a line of action (and a re-slug of the character name) or a parenthetical line.  In this case, it feels like the obvious choice is "(a beat)" or "(a pause)".

SIDEBAR: Now and then, invariably a debate flares up over the use of  the parenthetical "(a beat)."  Some say it's wrong to use it to mean a pause, that it's more like a story beat, so don't use it in that way.  I disagree.  Perhaps a strict interpretation stands grammatically correct.  I don't even care.  Industry screenwriters use "(beat)."  Everyone knows it what it means: a pause, a pregnant silence.  As proof, just now I scanned a random script -- Taken 2 by Luc Besson and Robert Mark Kamen -- and I found 23 uses of "(beat)" in dialogue.  I bet I could thumb through ten screenplays then ten more before finding one that didn't use it once.

BUT... here, we want to milk the moment, drive home the "awkward."  And so: "(off her silence)".

We get that he trails off awkwardly.  It's right there in his dialogue ("It seemed funny at the time...").  We don't need it described too.   The reader's way ahead of you.

We could write this bit several ways.

-----
JAKE
Oh, no.  That's his name.  "Asshole".  I mean, yeah, it's a bad word.  But it's also his name!

Holding his cheesy grin way too long.  Trying to thaw her a little.

She stares at him, dripping.

JAKE
I'll get you a towel.
-----

The subtext does its job: we see Jake's smile drop a moment before he admits defeat, all business now: "I'll get you a towel."

Or we could do this:

-----
JAKE
Oh, no.  That's his name.  "Asshole".  I mean, yeah, it's a bad word.  But it's also his name!

She stares at him, dripping.

JAKE
It seemed funny at the time.  I'll get you a towel.
-----


20.

"Jake returns with a hand towel."  Vzzzzrrrrrrt! [needle skip]  SAYWHATNOW?  Where'd that stuff go, where we describe him dashing off to get the towel then coming back then handing it to her?

Weep not for your lost verbiage, citizen.  For in my left hand I wield mighty hammer Thimrjöl, Annihilator of Lazy Verbs, and in my right hand behold its brother from another mother... Martin, Sword of Destiny and Bringer of the Pain in Regards to Cutting Unnecessary Stage Directions.  Martin also handles accounting and payroll.  But mostly the bringing of pain.

What we did was put our faith in the implied sequence of events instead of laboring over meticulous description.  "I'll get you a towel."  We expect Jake to go get a towel and return, true to his words.  SURPRISE!  He does exactly that.  Since there's no surprise in store for us, let's just skip that boring busywork and get right to the visual gag of the tiny towel.

Jake's response is again too explicit for me.  We see what's going on.  This bit is all visual.  We entirely get the joke without extra commentary.  And it's starting to feel like Jake needs to keep us informed about every little thing he's about to do before he does it.

On the page I allowed a simple "Yeah..." to show Jake realizes his folly and is already working on a better solution.  But I think it works better purely visual.

I'd prefer to see it play like this:

-----
Jake returns with a tiny hand towel.

She looks at it, then at her soaked dress and the expanding puddle of water under her feet.

Jake needs to rethink this.

MOMENTS LATER

She hears Jake return, turns to him in time to catch a big fluffy towel flying her way.  She catches a second towel, balances them in her arms.  Next comes a t-shirt -- Jake's.  Before she can add it to her pile, a pair of men's sweat pants hit her in the face and wrap around her like a fleecy vampire octopus.

JAKE
Bathroom's over there.
-----

Two things.

One: we don't say who's holding the towel.  She might look askew at it while it's still in Jake's hand.  Him too.  Or he might hand it to her  -- as implied in his preceding dialogue -- and that's when she sizes it up.  Do we need to state it on the page?  I say no.  I say leave it to the audience's imagination and the director's preference.  If it bugs you sufficiently, go ahead and spell it out.  No biggie.

Two: I forget what.  Oh, probably the "Jake needs to rethink this."  See how that suggests a shot of Jake considering the situation and maybe the "uh-huh" moment when Plan B hits him.  We stripped him of dialogue, and we said nothing explicit about his actions, yet we understand what we're seeing.  This is the art of directing without directing, Grasshopper.  Seeing without seeing, and saying without saying.  Much like how in the real world I've mastered the art of paying without paying (Yoink!).

I cut "down" from "She looks at it, then [down] at her soaked dress..." because we infer it.  Unless there's a mirror handy, looking down is the only way she can see herself.  A word saved means whitespace saved and faster reading.


21.

The door is closed.  We saw that in the previous shot.  So let the games begin.  Immediately.  Or, for those expecting a visit from the syllable police, perhaps "abruptly."

[Pitchpatch]

22.

I get what's happening, but it's not fully formed on the page.  Her timid, delicate appearance is an act.  She's got Jake where she wants him.  Where she needs him.  Why?  We don't know yet.  Seeing her physically change is a jolt, and now we're paying close attention.  We thought the story was zigging. It just zagged.  Maybe the hunter will become the hunted.  We'll be anxious until we learn if this watery trickster is an enemy or an ally.

On the page, it plays out very matter-of-factly.  Her posture "changes."  She stands, she examines, she scrutinizes, she prods.  All calm and clinical -- which is exactly the tone Robert wants.  But for contrast let's dial it up.  It seems like the perfect opportunity for figurative language, for metaphor.  We want to describe her transformation quickly and brutally.  An well-chosen image will do the job better than a dozen words.

"Abruptly, the girl straightens, the damsel-in-distress act gone.  She's confident and calm.  Curious and detached.  She studies her face in the mirror.  Her fingers prod her bruises."

I don't think I nailed it with "damsel in distress."  I'm searching for a strong image we can pull in to convey her sudden, startling switch from shivering, bedraggled mouse to confident, powerful feline.  But that's the general idea: deliver a stronger slap in the face to really stick the moment.


23.

The magic of editing, right?  Scene 1, Scene 2, Scene 3.  Our imagination connects the dots automatically, fills in the information that must be there, unseen, between each scene.  We were in the bathroom with Water Girl.  Now we're back in the living room with Jake.  We understand: while we watched Water Girl, Jake walked back to the living room and began lighting more candles.  The slug says "LIVING ROOM" and here's Jake lighting candles and this scene immediately follows the bathroom scene.    So, we can confidently nip and tuck and shave on the page and leave only the explicit description needed to keep the audience on track.


24.

How do we know he moved it?  Did we see it happen?  Maybe Asshole leaped onto the table and bumped the gear onto the floor.  We might as well watch Jake move it as part of his nervous tidying.


25.

I'm on the fence about cutting the "rolled up the ankles" bit.  Isn't that mostly implied with "her bare feet"?  Rereading Robert's original, I see how his sentence arrangement lends itself to a CU of her feet and legs, then boom up to her face.  My revision suggests a wide shot -- we see her all at once -- then cut to her feet and the trailing sodden tracks.  What works better on the page?  I really don't know.

"Her bare feet paint damp footprints on the floor."  From "leave" to "paint."  Too much?  How about: "Her bare feet press damp footprints on the floor."  Both changes make the sentence sizzle a smidge more -- if this sentence even needs to sizzle.  It probably doesn't.  Your call.


26.

"I ran away.  (beat)  From my boyfriend."  Seemed natural to split it for more effect.  Like she's giving up this information grudgingly.


27.

The dialogue blank-space thing again.  A simple "(beat)" would go fine here.  Or you can squeeze more value from that parenthetical, fill it with a pinch of story information about the speaker or the listener.  Anything beyond three or four words -- a one-line parenthetical -- and you'd want to think carefully about inserting a line of description instead.

[Pitchpatch]

28.

She said moments ago she's got nowhere to go.  Retain the line if the intention is to show how Jake can be a little dimwitted.


29.

I'm trying to stay out of the dialogue, but the "you won't even know I'm here" feels like something an English-as-second-language person wouldn't know to say.  Unless they're aping something they heard on TV.  In any case, losing it moves the scene along.


30.

Kinda rhymes with "rain."  I like it!


31.

We should maintain her strained, slightly awkward speech manner already established.


32.

"Yes that also."  This line tickles me so much.  She has no idea what beer is.  But she's so thrilled and relieved to be under his protection she'll agree to anything.  "You ever skydive nude?"  "It would be my great honor, Jake."  Bwahahaha.  Love it.

[Pitchpatch]

33.

We don't need it.  The scene's done.  Get out fast.  If we stick around after her amusing line then we're just awkwardly letting out the air out of this scene in one long, squeaking fart.


34.

Rob had a time jump up his sleeve the whole time.  Whoa, and another.  And the hat-trick.  Groovy.

Time cuts are a delicate thing.  You've got your little time skips (SECONDS LATER, MOMENTS LATER, MINUTES LATER -- you can think of more) and you've got your large time jumps (LATER, MUCH LATER).  Where's the line for when a time skip becomes a time jump? Or when a time jump qualifies for a CUT TO?

I think in this section we find the line separating little and large.  We understand the time span here is maybe 15, 20 minutes easy.  There's been time enough for Jake to gather the food, start the griller, get busy cooking.  A jump of this length, no matter the location hasn't changed, really should get re-slugged.  I would say at least like:

-----
KITCHEN - LATER

Melaina sits at the table, set for two and lit with candles.
-----

But nobody would blink at the full service:

-----
INT. KITCHEN - LATER

Melaina sits at the table, set for two and lit with candles.
-----

It's up to you to figure out where to slug lightly and where to slug fully, depending on any change in time or location (or sub-location).  It's one of those screenwriting accoutrements you have to try on over and over until you find the right fit.


35.

When ambiguity fails to find me, I go looking for it.

"She looks out the back window at Jake, who is grilling on the patio."  Is Jake being broiled alive out there on the sizzling patio floor?  Nasty.

It's silly to read it that way.  But you can't stop me.  Absent context, you can't prove me wrong: Jake is getting grilled, fried, cooked and roasted on the scorching patio.  Come with me on another preposterous Pitchpatch writing exercise...

Can we lose all ambiguity?  Can we make sure the image we describe cannot be misconstrued?  We can try.  Begin by adding an object in there .  Something to receive the grilling, thereby taking Jake out of the running...

"She looks out the back window at Jake, who grills fish on the patio."  One ambiguity fixed, another takes its place.  No sir, I am not eating something you cooked on the patio.  I prefer my seasoning without ants, dirt, and dog hair.  But at least this time Jake is unharmed.

We won't escape ambiguity unless we hustle that "patio" to another place in the sentence.

"She looks out the back window at Jake on the patio, grilling."

Dammit.  He could still be on fire out there.   But I feel we're on the right path.  All we have to do is return the object, the thing getting grilled:

"She looks out the back window at Jake on the patio grilling fish."

Eureka.  Now it's Jake on the patio and he's doing the grilling.  No doubt about it.

For a final check lets see them side by side...

"She looks out the back window at Jake, who is grilling on the patio."
"She looks out the back window at Jake on the patio grilling fish."

We understand the original sentence in its original context.  It does the job.  No problems whatsoever.  I'm just saying, y'all.  Clear writing means staying alert for possible misreadings of your sentences.  Ambiguity can trip up your reader just as easily as misspellings or story holes.  Stay frosty!


36.

Revision: "As she watches, she idly wipes the condensation from the bottle, runs her moistened fingers over her lips and down her neck."

Speaking of frosty... I felt happier using "the bottle" in place of "the beer."  We all know what a cold, dewy beer bottle feels like.  For me, the word "beer" by itself doesn't evoke that sensation.

And yes,  I get that a woman idly tracing fingers along a dripping beer bottle is kinda... phallic.   Shoot it both ways -- bottle, table -- and we've got options for the PG edit.


37.

Revision: "Jake carries two sizzling plates to the table -- large whole redfish surrounded by grilled vegetables -- and sits."

We know he's just come from the patio.  We saw him out there.  We can skip the full entrance.


38.

This sentence needs to be sharp, sudden, and ferocious to match her actions.


39.

Jake's running commentary steps on the natural humor in these scenes.  Let it play.  Let the audience savor the moment and his reaction.  Or give him a better line.  Something that doesn't voice the obvious.


40.

"Melaina looks up to see him staring at her."
"She sees him staring."

A stark example of whittling down a sentence to the essential words.  A variation: "She notices him staring."  I like the simple beats of the first revision.  It's a round ball rolling smoothly.  The second revision, with "notices" and those weighty syllables, is lumpier.

[Pitchpatch]

41.

I've written in other 10PTTs about going easy on the ums, ahs, wells.  Use moderately unless it's a character trait.


42.

Her actions clearly tell us she ignores him.  That's the best kind of action: the kind that speaks for itself.  It avoids wasted words on the page.


43.

I'm touchy about verbal ping-pong.  You're touchy?  Yes, I'm touchy.  Stitching dialogue together like that makes me think of bad TV sitcoms.

"Well tomorrow is a different day."  :-)  The voice in my head is Nelson's Van Alden's wife Sigrid from BOARDWALK EMPIRE.

[Pitchpatch]

44.

The dropped commas in her dialogue here and previously -- I'm unsure if that's for effect with her mixed-up speech or if it's a minor grammatical blind spot.  No big deal.


45.

Like I said, let's not handhold the audience every step of the way.  They're smart.  They can add two plus two.


46.

"... is sitting" becomes "sits" and we lose some present progressive tense.  Is there confusion about whether she moves to sit or is already seated?  I guess it's there if you look hard.  But I'd argue "schoolgirl-perfect posture" seals the deal: that gets us thinking about a schoolgirl sitting rigidly to attention at her desk, and we understand "sits" in this context means already seated.  If we absolutely have to clear it up we can write: "Melaina is on the couch in the candlelight, with schoolgirl-perfect posture" or "Melaina is on the couch, her posture schoolgirl perfect."  We've described her seated without using the word "sit."  


47.

This paragraph feels longer than it ought to be.  The action it describes is blameless, but do we need so many words to map it out?

-----
"Jake brings sheets, blankets, and pillows.  She stands to hug him -- a deeply satisfying embrace he's too stunned to return.

She kisses his cheek.  And lingers.  Strands of her long wet hair cling to his skin, draw glistening lines on his face.

And then she's got the bedding in her arms."
-----

LOL, got carried away myself there!  Robert set up a delicious moment for them both.  Ah jeez, so much for reducing the word count.  Quick tally to confirm I blew the budget...

Original: 43
Revision: 54

Nooooooo!  Okay.  Gotta be ruthless.  Kill your darlings.

-----
Jake brings sheets, blankets, and pillows.  She stands, hugs him -- a melting embrace he'd return if his hands were free.

She kisses his cheek.  Strands of her wet hair cling to his face, stroke glistening lines across it.

She's holding the bedding.  He blinks.
-----

Woooo, pegged it at 47.  Still a fail.  No reduction.  But look what we added at a cost of four more words:

- "a melting embrace he'd return if his hands were free" tells us he would hug her back if he wasn't holding the bedding.  And, you know, the too-sly double-meaning of melting.  Wink!

- One strand of hair didn't feel visual enough.  What, will we ECU on that single filament tracing across his skin?  Maybe so.  Instead of "damp line" now we have "glistening line," which connotes more: a wetness that catches the light.

- We're deeper into Jake's POV in the revision.  In the original we're mostly outside, watching.  We see that he's surprised and that's it.  We kind of get that the hair thing is intimate and electrifying -- we want it to be, at least.  In the revision the hair "clings", "strokes", "glistens."  Tres erotico!   Also, we're right there with Jake losing himself in that wonderful moment to the point where, when it's over, he snaps back to reality unsure how the bedding got from his hands to hers.

[Pitchpatch]

48.

Given the context and topic of Jake's debate, I'm not sure "Fuck it" is a sensible choice here.  It lends itself to the meaning "fuck it" (fuck her).  Might just be me who stumbled on it, pausing to raise a mental sneer.  A safer bet would be "What the hell" and its ilk.

But... I've read ahead and I know what's coming.  So reading this as Jake being a total sleaze isn't the problem I thought it might be.  Let it ride.


49.

A couple of trims and a division into parts: The blanket and the embrace.  The kiss.  The push.  That's just my personal taste.  Nothing wrong with the writing as is, other than the opportunities for minor cuts.


50.

"... leaks from their fused lips."  Figuratively fused, or... literally?  We can wonder about that.  Might not be a direction Robert wants.

"Jake opens his eyes in surprise."  That's too weak for this sudden turn of events.  Maybe it's not instant but a gradual realization: "Jake's eyes twitch open."  Or "flutter" or "stretch wide."  Anything other than a bland "open."


51.

This is a nice bit of camera direction without getting specific.  Done like a pro.

NOTE: I got lazy and failed to mark in green the lively verbs toward the end: traces, trails, and scratches.

[Pitchpatch]

(Crickets.)

Sorry, no page 10 for you today.  Or ever.  Thanks to the shifted page numbering I've only got nine pages for you.  But that's of no mind, because we got our inciting incident and big reveal.  We're primed and ready for the short trip from here to the Act 1 threshold into Act 2.

My thanks again to Robert for allowing me to fool with his pages.  I'd like to see more figurative language there (yellow highlights).  The few Robert summoned were apt and effective.  Stronger verbs -- a given.  And a sharp knife taken to the meandering stretches of description.

Story and structure-wise, I question if the p.9 reveal is a hook or inciting incident.  At the end of those nine pages we learn the character we thought was the hero isn't.  So now we must start again, build empathy anew with our real protagonist -- whenever that person arrives.  That whole nine-page sequence might be better off condensed into a hook of three or four pages, then drop in the inciting incident around page 10 - 12, leading the first act break around p.25.

These ten pages ease us into a story that could prove fascinating.  How long since the last good mermaid movie in any genre?  Somebody needs to reboot that shit pronto.  Christopher Nolan, is that you knocking?

All the best, Robert.  I still think that's the coolest thing: writing a script for a sibling.  What a gift.  Beats a pair of socks.

And thanks, folks, for checking out this 10PTT.

-----

POSTSCRIPT

Robert writes, "Thanks so much for doing this! [...] You've made me a better writer."

It's satisfying and fun to open my writer's toolbox and show other writers the tools they're missing or show them a new way to use a tool they've got.  My toolbox isn't crowded, mind you.  I'm learning as I go, same as any pre-pro writer.  It's why I started this site, and it's a genuine thrill to see the process go as I hoped.  I always learn something from a rewrite -- but I learn way more when I'm editing another writer.  All writers should rewrite other authors for the exercise.  If you have that urge, scratch it here on 10PTT.COM.  (Email me if you don't know how to get started.)