Screenwriting

Screenwriting Techniques: Ideas That Changed How I Think About Scripts

Kia Orion | | 5 min read

You read enough screenplays and eventually a handful of ideas rearrange how you see the whole form. Most screenwriting tips don't do that. These did.


The Structural Gimmick Has to Mirror the Character's Emotional State

Christopher Nolan wrote Memento in reverse. Scenes play backward through time. You see the ending first and the beginning last. On the surface it looks like a structural trick, something clever for the sake of cleverness.

But the reverse chronology does something no linear version could. Leonard has anterograde amnesia. He can't form new memories. Every scene, he's starting from zero, disoriented, working with fragments. By running the story backward, Nolan puts you inside that condition. You don't know what happened five minutes ago either. The confusion you feel watching the film is the confusion the character lives in. Structure and character become the same thing.

He did something similar with Inception, which he reportedly worked on for close to a decade. The nested dream layers mirror Cobb's recursive grief. He keeps going deeper because he can't stop reaching for his wife, and the audience keeps descending with him because the structure has made depth feel literal. Nolan writes longhand first, then types, and I wonder sometimes whether the physicality of handwriting is what lets him feel the shape of these screenwriting techniques before they become diagrams. It's like how an architect builds models out of cardboard before committing to blueprints. The materials you think with affect what you're able to think.


Writing About the Impossibility of Writing Is a Legitimate Screenwriting Technique

Charlie Kaufman wrote Adaptation because he couldn't adapt The Orchid Thief. He was stuck. So he wrote a screenplay about a screenwriter who can't write a screenplay. The main character is literally named Charlie Kaufman. He sweats. He procrastinates. He calls his agent in a panic. He invents a twin brother who writes easy, commercial scripts and sells them effortlessly.

It sounds like it shouldn't work. A movie about a writer failing to write a movie. But the emotional core is so honest, so uncomfortably specific about what creative paralysis actually feels like, that the metafictional structure stops being a gimmick and starts being the only honest way to tell the story. Kaufman had already done something adjacent with Being John Malkovich, where the premise is absurd but the loneliness underneath it is real. His screenwriting tips, if you could extract them from his interviews, would probably just be: tell the truth about how lost you feel, and then build the structure around that confession.

There's a version of this in every form. Painters paint about painting. Musicians write songs about songwriting. I'm not sure why the recursive move works when it's done well, but my best guess is that watching someone struggle with the same creative problems you have makes you trust them in a way that polished confidence never does.


Specificity About One Person's Experience Is How You Write Something Universal

Greta Gerwig's Lady Bird takes place in Sacramento in 2002. The main character goes to a Catholic school. She has a specific mother, a specific best friend, a specific crush on a boy in the school play. None of it is designed to be relatable in the broad, market-research sense of the word. It's designed to be true about one person.

And somehow it's the movie everyone cries during, whether they grew up in Sacramento or not. Gerwig co-wrote Frances Ha with Noah Baumbach using the same instinct. Frances isn't everywoman. She's a very particular 27-year-old who can't quite get her life to work and dances alone on a sidewalk in New York. The specificity is the reason it translates, because when you get the details precise enough, people recognize their own feeling inside someone else's story.

Her Barbie screenplay, written with Baumbach, did something I still think about. She embedded a genuine philosophical question about identity and purpose inside a movie based on a toy. The fact that it worked tells you something about screenwriting techniques that no textbook covers: the container doesn't matter as much as the honesty of the question you're smuggling inside it.

This is the kind of thing we think about every morning. One reflection, one question, before you open the draft.

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Genre Conventions Can Make an Argument That Realism Can't

Jordan Peele was a sketch comedian. He'd spent years on Key & Peele, finding the absurd angles on race and culture and social performance. When he sat down to write Get Out, he chose horror.

The Sunken Place is the image that stays. A Black man sinking into a dark void, conscious but paralyzed, watching his own life from a distance. As a piece of horror, it's terrifying. As a metaphor for the experience of being tokenized and consumed by liberal white culture, it's something a straight drama could never have articulated as cleanly. The genre gave Peele a vocabulary that realism didn't have. Horror lets you externalize an internal experience in a way that feels physically real to the audience, and that's why Get Out landed with the force it did. People didn't just understand the argument. They felt it in their body while watching.

There's a lesson in this that goes beyond screenwriting tips about genre selection. When you're trying to say something that's hard to say directly, sometimes the most honest move is to say it through a form that has teeth.


The Best Scripts Are Written by People Who Couldn't Write Them Any Other Way

This is the idea I keep returning to. Kaufman couldn't adapt The Orchid Thief normally, so he wrote about the failure. Nolan couldn't tell a memory-loss story in chronological order and have it mean the same thing. Each of these screenwriters arrived at their form because they had no other option. The material wouldn't let them do it the conventional way, and instead of fighting that constraint, they built the entire script around it.

The screenwriting techniques that actually changed how I think about scripts have this in common. They're the things a particular writer had to do because nothing else would hold.


I think about this a lot when it comes to daily writing practice. The question that actually matters when you sit down each morning isn't what structure to use or which format is selling. It's whether you're writing the version of the thing that only you could write, the one that comes from the specific constraint or obsession or confusion you're carrying around.

If you're writing scripts, having that daily anchor helps.

If you're writing scripts, having that daily anchor helps.

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K

Kia Orion

Author of The Writer's Daily Practice, the #1 Bestselling book in Journal Writing and Writing Skills. He writes a free daily reflection for writers.

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