The Importance of Failure

When I started writing sometime back in '98, I took on the good old screenplay like ten million other wannabe Hollywood writers. Mind you, I have no interest in living in Southern California (played that scene for the first 21 years of my life), and certainly no interest in commingling with most of the crowd (the whole Christian Conservative Male thing doesn't play well there--or so I hear). However, at that time, I'd seen way more movies than read books, so I figured that would be my best avenue.

Well, like most others, I approached the task arrogantly, and whipped out my first script called Divided Soul. Sufficed to say, it was a steaming pile of excrement with poorly defined characters, sub-standard plot, improper formatting, and cheesy dialogue. On the other hand, I've written compelling query letters from day one (because I actually did research on that), so I managed to get 10 in 100 agents to request reading it. I was stoked. Surely, 1 out of 10 would have to want to represent it. Not so much.

There are those who learn from mistakes, and there are those who repeat mistakes. Much like every one of the ten agents who read Divided Soul, I don't like to waste my time. After the utter failure my first finished project, I took an entire year off, and dedicated my time to learning about script writing methodology and marketing. After that year of constant reading and Q&A with other writers, my second script landed me a WGAE agent (a whole other story), my third, fifth, sixth, and eighth have all been recognized in competitions. You see, steaming pile that it may have been, Divided Soul taught me two important lessons.

First, it taught me that I can finish something. Until that point, I never actually believed that I would have the discipline to finish a project. Second, it taught me that it's okay to screw up now and then. It's what you learn from the screwing up that matters. I know--kinda cliche.

Why Write?

Family, friends, and one day raving fans (God willing) always ask me why I write. Most of my young life, I was immersed in the visual arts. After college, I went into business and finance. I didn't start writing seriously until I was twenty two--sometime after I was married. For the most part, I'm a good painter (you can judge for yourself...if you want to see my gallery go to http://www.matthewvickers.com/), and I have a knack for business/finance. The painting is a fun hobby, and believe it or not, I actually enjoy my job beyond the fact that it puts a roof over my families head and food on our table. But, how did writing come along?

See, different people become writers for different reasons. I find that many are people who read a freakish number of books, and simply have a visceral love for the written word. Others go into it because they were English majors, had an aptitude for communication and it ended up being the best avenue. Me...I'm a little different. I got into writing because of comic books.

"So that's why he's never been published," come the whispers of wisecrackers throughout my very limited readership. Well, laugh if you will Mr. and Mrs. Mock'n'stuff, but this is something that took almost thirteen years of my life to figure out.

I started drawing comic book characters when I was nine years old. Through middle school and early high school, it dominated my life. In fact, by my sophomore year, my obsession with drawing so outweighed my willingness to complete schoolwork that I came dangerously close to earning a fifth year. Unfortunately, I was dangerously clever at concealing my lack of effort from my parents. But, like most childhood lies, I didn't consider that my high school councilor would meet with my mother and bring to light just how little schoolwork I was actually doing.

Halfway through my sophomore year, my mother forced me into art classes as high school electives. As simple as it is, this move probably saved my life (I'm not sure if my mother realizes that--I should probably tell her). Now I had an avenue to focus my creative energies. And after focusing, a funny thing happened. I found out that I suck at drawing comic books. Ironically, another funny thing happened. I found out that I was good at everything else. Charcoal, acrylic, pastel, airbrush, realism, surrealism. As I discovered my talent for these things, my need to draw the comic books went away. But, the need to write the stories was never satiated.

I was 22 before I finished my first screenplay, realizing that the real reason that I drew comic books was to tell a story. After 13 years of searching, writing was my true passion, not hobby, all along. It was just hiding behind insanely ripped guys and scantily clad super babes.

Sometimes, it takes a lot of digging to discover what you truly love in life--so be sure that you bring a shovel. If you know how to use it, you may dig up more than one thing.

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

After seriously botching my first screenplay (see The Importance of Failure), I made big efforts to correct my momentary idiocy. In late 1999 I finished my second screenplay, Phineas Goodman. The efforts must have paid off, because by early 2000, I had an accredited WGAE agent excited to take it on. Alas, the script never sold. I had intentionally written it so that it could be easily adapted for screen, cable, or television. What I thought was a clever marketing plan turned out to bite me in the posterior.

My agent submitted it to several different production companies for all of those media, and they passed based on the fact that Phineas Goodman would have been better suited in another vehicle. Movie producers said that it would be better as cable, cable producers said that it would be better as a Made for TV, and Made for TV said that it would be better as cable. After that, the script kind of sat in limbo.

My agent passed on my third script, but was very excited with my fourth script, Prism. This is where everything fell apart. To make a long story short, my agent wanted to turn it into a completely different screenplay before trying to sell it. I'm on record as saying that he was absolutely correct.

Granted, my original story was more original, but he was advising me to make changes that would help it sell. That's his job. I dropped the ball when I didn't stay in touch. I tried to make the changes that he suggested, but I made them slowly, and I failed to act upon his suggestions enthusiastically. If I'm not excited about the script, why should he be?

That being said, I had a good reason for dropping the ball. My wife had just given birth to our first child, and we had been financially devastated by circumstances well out of our control that forced us to relocated to the mountains and live in a six hundred square foot cottage on my in-laws property. Nonetheless, it was my lack of effort that completely destroyed my relationship with my agent. It was the opportunity of a life time, but it came at the wrong place and time in my life. Now, it's four years later. I've written four more screenplays, one novel, and made quarter and/or semi finals in three different script competitions. He still won't return my calls or letters. I successfully burned my only bridge to selling a screenplay, and the chances that I ever get another one are statistically slim.

Aspiring writers (like me) would to well to heed this as a cautionary tale. If you're lucky enough to get an agent who's excited to represent your work, can't sell it, but is still excited to work with you on another project, by gosh, don't waste the agent's time. Make the effort to call the agent. Do exactly what the agent asks you, and do it as fast as you can. I've had to learn from my mistakes, maybe you can too.

Readers feel free to comment on similar tragedies so I don't feel like the only dunce in the world.

A Dedication

Well, yesterday my beloved grandmother passed away. I understand that it was a peaceful passing, and I am thankful that she is at peace. I will soon be posting a story that I wrote for her called "Things Remembered." I wrote the story for her several years ago, when I found out that she had become seriously ill. She liked it, so I'll post it.

I'm happy that she was able to meet her great grandchildren before her passing, and even happier that my oldest (4 years old) can see her picture and know who she is. It's nice to be able to say that you met your great grandmother.

She will be missed. But as a man of faith, I maintain that we shall all see her again in the hereafter--at least those who do not get bitten by a vampire and revert to an immortal life of darkness. Yes, I'll tell one joke, because I know that she would have liked it.

Dedicated to Jeannine "Grandma G's" Hull
August 4th, 1936 - January 31st, 2006