Back in 2012, now-former Pixar storyboard artist Emma Coats tweeted a series of pearls of narrative wisdom she had picked up from working at the studio over the years. Pixar is responsible for some of the most compelling and engaging stories to hit theaters in the past several years, from Toy Story to Finding Nemo to Wall-E.
This week, Imgur user DrClaww reimagined Coats’ 22 rules for perfect storytelling accompanied with signature characters from Pixar’s portfolio of powerful animated features. If you’re a writer or filmmaker, print these out and stick them on your desk.
Stephen King (reprinted in Sylvia K. Burack, ed. The Writer’s Handbook. Boston, MA: Writer, Inc., 1988: 3-9) 1. Be talented
This, of course, is the killer. What is talent? I can hear someone shouting, and here we are, ready to get into a discussion right up there with “what is the meaning of life?” for weighty pronouncements and total uselessness. For the purposes of the beginning writer, talent may as well be defined as eventual success – publication and money. If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn’t bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented. Now some of you are really hollering. Some of you are calling me one crass money-fixated creep. And some of you are calling me bad names. Are you calling Harold Robbins talented? someone in one of the Great English Departments of America is screeching. V.C. Andrews? Theodore Dreiser? Or what about you, you dyslexic moron? Nonsense. Worse than nonsense, off the subject. We’re not talking about good or bad here. I’m interested in telling you how to get your stuff published, not in critical judgments of who’s good or bad. As a rule the critical judgments come after the check’s been spent, anyway. I have my own opinions, but most times I keep them to myself. People who are published steadily and are paid for what they are writing may be either saints or trollops, but they are clearly reaching a great many someones who want what they have. Ergo, they are communicating. Ergo, they are talented. The biggest part of writing successfully is being talented, and in the context of marketing, the only bad writer is one who doesn’t get paid. If you’re not talented, you won’t succeed. And if you’re not succeeding, you should know when to quit. When is that? I don’t know. It’s different for each writer. Not after six rejection slips, certainly, nor after sixty. But after six hundred? Maybe. After six thousand? My friend, after six thousand pinks, it’s time you tried painting or computer programming. Further, almost every aspiring writer knows when he is getting warmer – you start getting little jotted notes on your rejection slips, or personal letters . . . maybe a commiserating phone call. It’s lonely out there in the cold, but there are encouraging voices … unless there is nothing in your words which warrants encouragement. I think you owe it to yourself to skip as much of the self-illusion as possible. If your eyes are open, you’ll know which way to go … or when to turn back.
It’s interesting to look, as I did at my last post, at the plot structure of typical episodes of a TV show as derived through topic models. But while it may help in understanding individual TV shows, the method also shows some promise on a more ambitious goal: understanding the general structural elements that most TV shows and movies draw from. TV and movies scripts are carefully crafted structures: I wrote earlier about how the Simpsons moves away from the school after its first few minutes, for example, and with this larger corpus even individual words frequently show a strong bias towards the front or end of scripts. These crafting shows up in the ways language is distributed through them in time.
So that’s what I’m going to do here: make some general observations about the ways that scripts shift thematically. In its own, this stuff is pretty interesting–when I first started analyzing the set, I thought it might an end in itself. But it turns out that by combining those thematic scripts with the topic models, it’s possible to do something I find really fascinating, and a little mysterious: you can sketch out, derived from the tens of thousands of hours of dialogue in the corpus, what you could literally call a plot “arc” through multidimensional space.