Not long ago, my academic advisor, Sir Ryan Jarman, asked me if I’d be willing to talk to a new writing student. This guy (let’s call him Bill) was only into his year-long program about a month and was questioning whether he’d made the right decision or whether he should just bolt while he could rake back some of the (admittedly hefty) tuition he’d forked out.
Fair enough. I mean, if the program’s truly wasn’t up this gentleman’s alley, I could think of a lot of better ways to spend twenty grand! At the same time, I knew from experience that a month or two barely scratches the surface of what the school had to offer.
“Could you sit down with the guy,” Ryan asked, “and tell him what you think.”
So I agreed. I emailed Bill to set up a time to meet. Meanwhile, I started to imagine what his objections might be. Jumping back in my own mental time machine, I tried to remember where my head was at in term one. Granted, no two peoples’ experiences or motivations are exactly alike. But being in term five and knowing a tiny bit about human nature, I figured I could surmise a thing or two that might be irking him: Was it really worth all that money? Would I really come out a better writer? Would my final portfolio have anything of real substance or worth? Would I actually be ready to work in the industry? Would the industry take me seriously? And what about all the people who go to VFS that never become successful? What about them, hmm?
The day finally came for Bill and I to meet. I was ten minutes late – my own fault for lingering too long at the end of class to chat with a teacher. I rushed out into the fourth floor computer area and found Bill sitting patiently. I shook his hand and suggested we find someplace quiet. Then, standing in front of 198 Hastings with a rare Vancouver sun as our witness, he opened up.
I prefaced by telling him I wasn’t a VFS rep, that I had no personal stake in trying to persuade him to stay, and that the best I could offer in response was my own experience. He expressed his appreciation for this and then got into it.
It was easy to listen. He was pleasant, intelligent, well-spoken and earnest. He didn`t strike me as arrogant, didn’t hold himself up as too good for the program or too educated already to learn anything new. I didn’t smell fear on him, either. He wasn’t skittish or awkward, as if to suggest that all he needed was a little confidence and he’d be fine. And the guy clearly loved to write. He’d done it before, had even taken a few classes at the post-secondary level, and knew he wanted to do this for a living.
“So what’s bugging you,” I asked.
To summarize, his concerns boiled down to the following four:
1) “I feel like this program is too basic. I’ve already learned a lot of this stuff in other classes I’ve taken or in books I’ve read.” Fair enough, I said. Term one does feel like pretty basic stuff, especially if you’ve already done some writing or been studying the craft. And the curriculum does seem (at first) like a random mish-mash. Style. Dialogue. Building fully-dimensional characters. Proper formatting. And all that time just “sitting around”, watching movies! I mean, cool and everything, but if the subsequent five terms were just going to be like that, one lecture after another without introducing anything new or giving us a chance to get our hands dirty, the waste of time and money would be almost criminal.
How best to explain the ways in which it gets better, or why this is all important in the first place? I know: cite a movie! In this case, The Karate Kid. I’m talking the 1984 version with Daniel-san and Mr. Miyagi. Daniel wants to learn karate, but Miyagi “wastes his time” by making him paint fences and wash cars. This goes on for weeks. Daniel is ready to quit, sure he’s learning absolutely nothing about karate, only to find out that he’s learned not only the personal disciplines needed to succeed (hard work, persistence, attention to detail), but the requisite fighting skills as well. The poor kid didn’t know what he didn’t know. Imagine if he had quit early. He never would have taken home the trophy and Elizabeth Shue!
Term One does feel like a lot of basic information thrown at you at once. But three things to note: First, this stuff all becomes insanely valuable in term two and onward, weapons in your arsenal you don’t dare leave home without. Second, while you may think you know all about storytelling because you’ve read McKee, got in A in grade twelve English, or have been told you’re a natural, trust me, there is still lots to learn. And third, in a word: workshops! Nothing, I mean nothing, can replace sitting in a room day after day and subjecting your work to the eyes and positive criticisms of other writers. It’s tough, it’s does a number on your ego, but it’s absolutely indispensible. I spent years in my basement alone reading the best books, going to seminars, working on my novel, blogging like a demon, aspiring to greatness. I got more out of one month of workshops than all the books and good advice in the world could provide. Trust me, Daniel-san, you’re learning karate!
2) “Will I actually walk out of here with a portfolio I can use in the real world?” Where do I begin? First of all, if it was ever true that you get out what you put in, it is at VFS. If you treat your program like just another bunch of assignments to pass, or expect your teachers to wave a magic wand and make you brilliant, or give anything less than your all, you’re in trouble. But if you’re a true entrepreneur who believes this is your future to make, and are prepared to do whatever it takes to get good, I personally guarantee you’ll have a portfolio worth bragging about. And I don’t usually make guarantee. By the end of the second or third term alone, I knew he’d be blown away by what he’d written!
Three pieces of advice: First, create a Word document and keep a running tally of everything you’ve written (not just scripts, but outlines, beat sheets, Bibles, basic concepts, whatever) to remind and encourage yourself along the way. You’ll be blown away at every stage by what you’ve accomplished already!
Second, every time you hear about a submission opportunity – Compendium, contests, student projects from other departments, whatever – submit. Who cares if what you write isn’t “good enough”. (Submitting is how you get good!) Who cares how many times you’ve been rejected in the past? (I got two writing jobs alone this year after my work was rejected, yet people liked what I wrote enough to hire me onto other projects.) And who cares if you’re tired? By all means avoid burning out, but you just spent thousands of dollars to get good. So buck up, organize yourself, and get good! Read every email, check out every bulletin board, keep your ear to the ground. This is your time to shine - so use it!
Thirdly, if you’ve got any special talent beyond writing – directing, producing, set design, music – consider ways to add that to your portfolio. These days, a lot of successful writers are often producers as well, either turning their own stories into productions or working with other writers to. Don’t know what I mean or what the heck a producer does? Neither did I, and I’ve gobbled up numerous opportunities to produce this year. The great thing is you’re literally surrounded by people who can help you learn just about any position on a production. If you get a chance to put on a vest and simply be a watchdog (a.k.a. a production assistant) on set, do it. It`s great exposure to how movies get made and a wicked chance to network. Tap your resources, both internal and external. You’ll be amazed at what comes your way once you open yourself up!
3) “Too much seems to depend on networking and I’m not really a self-promoter.” This is the tough one because the answer is simple, but the doing is a challenge for introverts. To some, promoting themselves feels too much like prostitution or selling used cars. I sympathize, but there’s just no way around it: If you love writing and you want to do it for a living, you`re going to have get comfortable with meeting people and selling yourself.
4) "Will the industry really take me more serious because I've been to VFS?" In a word, yes. Because you've not only learned how to write better, you've also learned how the industry works and shown you have what it takes to gruel through the tough stuff. But don't take my word for it. Just ask around.
4) "Will the industry really take me more serious because I've been to VFS?" In a word, yes. Because you've not only learned how to write better, you've also learned how the industry works and shown you have what it takes to gruel through the tough stuff. But don't take my word for it. Just ask around.
It doesn’t have to be icky or uncomfortable. Well, it might at first but you get used to it much quicker than you think. Refuse to be one of those people who crawls into a swimming pool slowly for fear of getting cold. Just dive in! Really. It’s that simple! Run out now and have some business cards made, then get to every event you hear about. That includes VFS events, dinners, parties, and all those Vancouver-based events outside of VFS like the Celluloid Social Club, The First Weekend Club, Women in Film, the Cold Reading Series, Praxis, VIFF, whatever. Get to know your teachers. Meet students from other departments. It’s ridiculously easy in this city to build a growing network around you if you simply bust loose and say hello. Above all, though, be a person that people want to work with. You know what they say: it takes years to build a good reputation but only seconds to destroy it. That means being friendly, professional, reliable, and flexible. It also means listening, so learn to keep quiet when others are talking. It’s the ultimate show of respect. Who knows, you might learn a thing or two along the way! And make it a religious oath to never, ever burn a bridge.
In the end, it’s the stuff that doesn’t appear on any curriculum that makes sticking around worth it. The stuff no course outline tells you you’re going to learn, but that you learn anyway. Things like disciplining your habits. Organizing your priorities. Managing your time. Meeting deadlines. Taking control of your emotions. Taming your ego. Getting real and calling yourself on your own excuses. Learning to take criticism with grace and processing it to your advantage. The list goes on. There’s no question in my mind that all of us, whatever our futures, will come out of VFS finely-tuned machines who are not only significantly better writers and filmmakers, but radically-improved people and surprisingly effective entrepreneurs.
Is VFS perfect? Are you kidding? Are they magicians? Hardly. Can they guarantee success? No one can, not even you. But they can take you from A to Z a lot quicker than you probably ever would all by yourself. Ultimately, each one of us has had to decide whether to stick with it or not and whether the ride is worth it. But you see, that’s my whole point. Some of us have waited for years for an opportunity like this. Now that we have it, why the heck would we run away? Fear of rejection? Fear of success? To quote Sir Eminem, “if you only had one chance or one opportunity to seize everything you ever wanted in one moment [or one year], would you capture it or just let it slip?” Do not lose your chance to blow, baby. Time to lose yourself in the music!
P.S. Yes, he decided to stay. But that was his decision. ;)
P.S. Yes, he decided to stay. But that was his decision. ;)