5 Takeaways from Austin Film Festival
There’s a saying I’ve heard many times in my writing career journey, both in terms of the stories we write and the relationships we build: “People don’t remember what happened; they remember how it made them feel.” (Alternatively: “People don’t remember what you said; they remember how you made them feel.”)
This makes perfect sense to me. I watched Breaking Bad years ago and thought it was the most riveting TV I’d ever seen. Now, I couldn’t tell you what exactly was going on near the end of that wild story, but I do remember Skyler White collapsing in the street crying and I remember me feeling like: holy. shit.
And as a musician, I surely don’t expect anyone listening to my performance of a sonata to remember every note and expressive detail, but I sure hope those millions of notes and details lead to an emotional connection. I hope the listener walks away with a feeling. And, in the ultimate dream scenario, I hope that feeling is so powerful that they remember it. Isn’t this part of our goal as artists? To create something that other people take forward with them?
This is true of events too. Austin Film Festival is jam-packed with amazing people, brilliant minds, and incredible projects. I attended the AFF Writers Conference at the end of October, and if my writing this post in December feels delayed, it speaks to the fact that it does take me about a month to mentally return to real life after attending this invigorating event.
I remember feeling good at AFF. I remember feeling like I’m where I’m supposed to be in terms of my creative work (a feeling I don’t take for granted because I endured a very long time without it). I remember feeling motivated and excited, and I remember feeling more clear about where to head next. (I also remember feeling sleep-deprived, but in the best way possible.)
Arguably, these feelings are my most important takeaways from AFF. But, well—call me Type A—I also kind of want to remember the actual content I learned. So, now that my brain has had time to settle, I’ve revisited my notes from panels, sessions and screenings, and I’ve gathered a few main takeaways to help me remember them—in hopes that they may spark some inspiration for you, too.
1. Good Ideas Stick
If you’re like me, you also—in very clichéd writerly fashion—jot down random ideas that come to mind at three in the morning, worried that if you don’t write them down you’ll forget them forever. This is because, crucially, we believe that losing these ideas would be devastating, because they’re that good. (We can think a lot of crazy things at three in the morning.) Even when it’s not three in the morning, I feel like I have to write my ideas down before they fly out of my brain and never come back. Writing can feel like a constant state of frantically pinning things down—just in case.
At AFF, the assertion that “good ideas stick” kept popping up, and I now feel relieved of my duty to capture every single thought I ever have. It seems like people who are further along on their creative career path have no fear of good ideas abandoning them. In a panel about the TV writers room process, writer/producer Wendy Calhoun encouraged aspiring TV writers to let things go in the collaborative moment—e.g., if you bring up an idea in the writers room that nobody latches onto, it’s okay to forget about it (in fact, you have to). If it really is a good idea, it will come back—but maybe not how you’d expect, and maybe not even on that project. Good ideas don’t die, Calhoun said; “they get composted.”
And in a panel with Pixar development executives and writers, I learned something that truly boggled my mind: in the Pixar writers rooms, they don’t write anything down. They talk and talk and talk, but they typically don’t take notes when developing a story because they believe if an idea is good, it will come back. “It’s never your last idea. There’s always another idea,” said one writer. Talk about not being precious!
Similarly, Emerald Fennell—in a Q&A about her creative process—described her writing process as “daydreaming.” She spends years “living in the rooms of the story” in her brain, not putting pen to paper until she knows the whole story. She’s not afraid of losing any ideas because, once again, if they’re good, they’ll stay.
2. Characters Are People Too
Speaking of Emerald Fennell (I attended two Q&As with her—one about her process and another post-Saltburn screening), I found it fascinating how the crafts of writing and acting are part of the same process for her. When she’s doing all that “living in the rooms of the story” in her daydreaming, she imagines herself as the characters. Acting allows her to know each character on a deeper level, and it allows the characters to feel like real people before Fennell ever writes a word.
On a different panel about developing characters, the screenwriter panelists discussed the importance of putting what’s most valuable to a character at stake. They agreed it’s important to know two things: 1. What is your character struggling with? And 2. What does your character think they are struggling with? (Hint: they might be different answers.)
And in the filmmaking panel “Writing to Direct,” panelists gave practical advice to first-time writer-directors—including, when shooting, to get some ambiguous shots and capture poetic moments, even if they’re not in the script. These may be useful to have during editing, when you can ask yourself: “Where is the breath here?” Because characters, like real people, sometimes need a moment to simply think and breathe.
Finally, more real-talk from the Pixar writers panel to keep in mind: “Be honest: are your characters doing something because you want them to or because they actually need to?”
3. Art is Conversation
This year, I’ve been thinking a lot about this idea: art is how we talk to each other. Maybe it was because I already had this lens on, but art as conversation also stood out to me as a theme at AFF.
Emerald Fennell declared that her hope for any film she makes is that it starts a conversation; “not provide answers.” She wants people to not quite agree on what they’ve seen in her films, so that they have to keep talking about it afterwards. “An ending that’s too cathartic can be not useful,” she said. If it’s too satisfying, there’s nothing left to talk about.
Conversation is also key to the actual making of art—especially in film and TV, which rely on collaboration. In the “Writing to Direct” panel, one filmmaker said that if a film comes out the way he thought it would, then his goal hasn’t been met. His goal is to “expand the vision as much as possible” through the exchange of ideas and talent that occurs through collaboration, particularly on set. The goal is for the final project to be something beyond what he ever could have thought possible.
I thought this was such a lovely idea: to set out to do something that you can’t even imagine yet. It also speaks to the magic that can come from setting the ego aside and trusting others, which we could probably all do more of.
Finally, through all the brilliant indie film screenings at AFF, I learned that people can be freakin’ creative on a budget. Money is nice, but you don’t need to wait around for a whole bunch of it to start the conversation you want to start. Life is short. Say the thing.
4. Always Know Your “Why”
You can’t start a conversation before you know why you want to start one. One indie filmmaker stressed the importance of knowing your “why”—e.g., “what do you want to say?”—as this can keep you going when things go wrong. (Because they will go wrong.) Your “why” (or the showrunner’s “why” in the case of a TV writers room) becomes a crucial guide whenever the writing or filmmaking process becomes murky and difficult.
The Pixar writers talked about this in the context of story development: “When it’s not working, do the gut check. What is the reason you’re telling this story?” If you don’t have a clear answer, it might be best to take a step back and reflect more so that you know what the path forward looks like.
I’ve always felt like the “know your ‘why’” advice is much easier said than done. I usually feel like I’m journeying through projects to find my “why” rather than starting out with it. So my personal addendum to this advice is: journaling is the best thing in the entire world, and second best is talking things out with trusted writers groups (or patient friends or partners).
5. It’s a Marathon, Not a Sprint
I mentioned above that Emerald Fennell talked about living in “the rooms” of her stories for years before putting pen to paper. Think about that: for literal years, she merely imagines her stories. If you’re like me, you like to get words on the page immediately to feel like you’re building something. But how many times have I been deep into a draft before I’ve realized, “You know what? This isn’t it”? (Many times.) So, maybe you and I could benefit from taking a day to just daydream our ideas—no pens allowed, and no rush either.
In the panel “What It Takes (And What It Takes)” about working in film and TV, one writer brought up Haruki Murakami’s book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, which explores Murakami’s running and writing lives and how they intersect. We need to train for writing careers just like we’d train for a marathon, this writer said. There’s not just one chance or one race; it’s a bigger journey than that. Taking care of ourselves, guarding against our time, and staying grounded are all crucial. “Be like a massive aircraft carrier”—try not to feel the ups and downs so much, and don’t let either throw you off-course.
Wendy Calhoun also discussed staying true to ourselves as we continue on our career paths. “You will see the worst in people when they have massive success,” she cautioned, so be mindful.
She compared writing every day to a workout—it’s about strengthening the muscle and staying in shape so that you’re ready when you have to write fast. As with working out, days off are also important: “You need to create open space to let ideas flow.” (This is always my favorite writing advice: write every day, but like don’t be crazy about it.)
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Ultimately: interact with the real world, know yourself, be patient, trust the process, and… daydream more? It’s at least worth a try.
Haruki Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running is a must-read for any artist.
This video is a great intro to the brilliant Pixar storytelling formula.
For fun, here’s some backstory of a recent SNL sketch that serves as an example of how ideas don’t disappear; they get composted.