THE MID-POINT

"I am in blood / Stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, / Returning were as tedious as go o'er." - (Macbeth).

Tim Burton's 'Sleepy Hollow' (1999) has a good Mid-Point. Ichabod Crane, a somewhat excessively scientific policeman, is investigating a series of gruesome murders in a remote village. Aided by two friends, a young orphan and a mysterious girl, he finds a gnarled, misshapen tree in the heart of the woods. They watch as the headless horseman bursts through the tree's roots from his underworld lair.

When I first saw the movie, I didn't need to know that it was halfway through at this point. The story had told me so.

The hero had encountered Death. And there was a girl in the vicinity.

The night before I was due to cover story structure in one of my screenwriting courses I happened to catch another film on TV. This was 'The Watcher' (2000). A detective, played by James Spader, has been so psychologically messed up by his failure to catch a serial killer, played in Keanu Reeves, in LA that he has moved to Chicago. But the killer has followed him there.

I didn't see the whole of 'The Watcher'. I still don't know how it ends. But I recognised the Mid-Point. Spader has just been to see his love interest, psychiatrist Marisa Tomei. Leaving the building, he shares a lift (or 'elevator') with the killer. The killer is on his way to meet with the hero's girlfriend.

That's a Mid-Point. The hero has encountered Death. And there's a girl in the vicinity. The cramped confines of the lift (or 'elevator') can be compared with the roots of the Tree of Death in 'Sleepy Hollow'.

Or let's take another one. An idealistic would-be freedom fighter resolves to rescue a beautiful, imperilled princess. With the help of friends he tracks her down to a prison cell, deep in the heart of an artificial planet known as the Death Star. He frees her, and they quickly find themselves inside a garbage chute ... and the walls start closing in.

So - he's ventured into Death's lair. There's a girl in the vicinity. And he's confined.

I often think of the Mid-Point as 'Death and the Maiden'. These are the recurring images which appear at this point in the story.

Returning to the image of the bridge as a metaphor for the hero's progress (see yesterday's post), evidently there is a point, halfway across the bridge, where the hero is at his (or her) most exposed. He (or she) is as far from home as he (or she) is going to be. This is the point-of-no-return. It's exhilarating, standing slapbang in the middle of a bridge. But it's also scary. What if the bridge should fall, or those crossbow-wielding skeletons appear?

Death, of one kind or another, is a necessary part of the hero's journey. The journey undertaken by the hero is essentially the same as the experience of neurosis - 'Thank God he made up his mind to become neurotic!' said C.G. Jung of a patient, knowing that only by succumbing to his neurosis, rather than fighting it, could the patient hope, eventually, to get better. Similarly, initiation rites the world over have instituted a kind of ritual death as the central aspect of their rites of passage.

The hero - the initiate, the neurotic - must descend to their lowest point, deep inside Death's kingdom, if they are to be born again in a new, more advanced incarnation.

Going somewhat deeper into the roots (yes!) of all these stories, the Mid-Point represents the Union of Opposites, the Sacred Marriage in which the opposing principles (male/female, life/death) become fused. Alchemists sought to combine the elements of male and female inside a sealed vessel, believing that what might emerge from this chemical union would be a purer material. In contemporary stories, the opposites collide inside their own sealed vessel (an elevator, a garbage chute) or at the very bottom of the World Tree itself, where Death lives (if you don't believe me, check out the first James Bond movie, 'Dr No': you'll see the World Tree growing right there in the evil doctor's underworld headquarters).

Most stories have a secret, a key, a precious substance which the hero must discover and bring to the light. Sometimes, it is, simply, the girl (or 'love interest'). Other times, it's the answer to the mystery (who on earth has been going round chopping off people's heads?). Although the climax of the story is a long way off, it is, typically, at the Mid-Point that the clue, key, secret or precious substance is found.

So, Ichabod and his friends find Death's lair in the roots of a tree. James Spader shares a lift (or 'elevator') with the serial killer. Luke rescues the Princess and then has to be rescued himself from the garbage crusher. Richard Burton gets the information he needs and then has to escape from Death's dining room in the bowels of an impregnable Nazi castle ('Where Eagles Dare') - and, of course, there's a girl in the vicinity (the delightful Mary Ure).

The Mid-Point shows us the hero at his (or her) very nadir. There will be more challenges to come (the hero's got to get away from this place, for a start) but, in many ways, the greatest ordeal lies at the very centre of the story, halfway through the script.

If you have a screenplay to hand, find the halfway point. See what happens there. (I've just tried it, at random, with 'O Brother, Where Art Thou?' - the heroes think their friend has been transformed into a toad for 'fornicating with some whore a Babylon' and they meet the duplicitous Big Dan Teague, who will beat them up beside a big tree and kill their toad. Is there a girl in the vicinity? Well, yes, there's a waitress.)

The Mid-Point should be a major turning point in your screenplay. It's the fulcrum on which the story balances. It's the moment when the hero encounters Death, usually on Death's home ground, and it opens up the mystery at the heart of the story (will the hero solve the problem, overcoming Death in order to enjoy new life, symbolised by the Maiden?)

The Mid-Point will happen. It's part of our storytelling DNA. It's there in the programming. Our subconscious minds tend to let the Mid-Point happen naturally.

But you can make your Mid-Point stronger by knowing that it's there. By preparing for it. By making sure that, when you get to the heart of your script, the midway moment, you've got Death, Death's lair, and a Maiden handy.

We should be able to spot a Mid-Point at five hundred yards. The symbolism seldom changes. Its importance to the hero's story is paramount.

Make sure yours is a good one.

STRUCTURE (1): THE BRIDGE

I have to admit it - I find threes interesting. It's a Celtic thing. As my mother used to say, 'Everything comes in threes.'

A script should naturally break down into three parts or 'Acts'. Ignore anyone who tells you that a script has five Acts, or seven Acts, or anything else. They're just showing off.

Now, in some ways the fact that scripts have three Acts is a bit of an industry secret. We do not - repeat, NOT - write 'Act One' in our screenplays. We just don't, okay? I've read a fair few scripts in which writers have done just this - actually written in the Act beginnings - which you must not do. It's giving the game away.

The easy way to visualise the three-Act structure is as a bridge. Preferably, a suspension bridge. One with two towers or supports which, between them, hold up the middle section of the bridge.

That middle section is your story. It's the fun part. It's called 'Act Two', and it takes up roughly half of your script.

The first part of the script - 'Act One' - covers the approach to the bridge. The final part - 'Act Three' - involves getting safely off the bridge at the other end.

There is a lot of engineering in screenwriting. It's not all art. If you tried to build a bridge without really planning it, the chances are your bridge would fall down, which would be embarrassing for you and unfortunate for anyone who happened to be crossing it. So, to avoid all that unpleasantness, we apply STRUCTURE. Two pillars to hold up your middle section.

One quarter of your script is 'approaching the bridge'. The end of Act One comes when you reach the first structural pillar. Fully one half of your script is 'crossing the bridge'. The end of Act Two comes when you reach that second pillar. The final quarter is 'back to the safety of dry land', and it ends when we all know how the story ended.

The approach to the bridge - Act One - is also known as the 'Set-Up'. If we remember the Absolute Essentials (The Story is about a CHARACTER who wants to achieve an OBJECTIVE but an OBSTACLE stands in the way) then it is on the approach to the bridge, in the first quarter of the script, that this information is given.

So - Act One is about explaining who this story's about, what they want and what's stopping them from getting it.

Refusing to leave Act One is a common mistake, both for the writer and for the hero. The writer must remember that the story hasn't started yet. The story is the middle part of the bridge. Don't spend your whole script not-quite-getting to the bridge. Act One is for setting up the scenario. And then give your hero a big kick up the backside to get them past that first pillar and onto the bridge. End of Act One. We're a quarter of the way through the script and the story now starts.

Once you, the writer, have set up the scenario (the Story is about a Character, an Objective and an Obstacle), your task now is to amuse yourself with it. Now that you've got your hero into this pickle, how many ways can you exploit the situation? You have half of your script in which to ENJOY exploring the hero's new world, making him/her fight to get what they want.

I once saw a medieval woodcut of people crossing a crumbling viaduct while skeletons fired crossbows at them. It was meant to remind people about how suddenly death can strike. To me, it was a bit like crossing the bridge. People will keep taking pot-shots at your hero.

A lot of writers forget how important it is to torture the hero. Let's not forget - the story is about the hero overcoming obstacles to achieve their desire or objective. We are often told that drama is about conflict. It isn't, quite. It's about the changes the hero undergoes while overcoming the obstacles which stand between him and his objective.

If we think of the Objective as 'getting to the other side of the bridge', well, there's not much of a story unless we make that process rather difficult.

Always make life more difficult for your characters. That's what makes drama.

So - you've worked very, very hard to get your scenario established ('set up') in the first quarter of your screenplay and now you and your hero are off. You're making your way through Act Two. You are crossing the bridge, trying to avoid the missiles and doing your best not to fall.

Halfway across the bridge, and halfway through your script, you'll come to the Mid-Point. We'll return to the Mid-Point some other time. Interesting things happen there.

Once you and the hero have crossed the Mid-Point, the 'point of no return', you're homeward bound. You just have to make over the rest of the bridge and you'll have got to the end of Act Two.

Act Three - the final quarter of the script - is, in many ways, a mirror of the first Act. To begin with, you had to approach the bridge. You weren't really telling the story - you were setting it up, establishing who your hero is, what they want and what's standing in their way. To finish off your script, you just have to tell everybody how it ended.

In the first Act, we will have learned, very early on, that there is something not quite right with the world. There is a threat, an undesirable state of affairs. In the final Act we will learn, more or less at the end, that a new state of affairs exists, and that things are, hopefully, a lot better than they were.

How come? Well, because the hero crossed the bridge. He faced down his fears (of heights, bridges, skeletons with crossbows) and made it from one side of the story to the other, from a less-than-ideal state of existence to a (hopefully) better one. He, or she, overcame the challenges to achieve the object of desire.

The Bridge is the best structure for a script. It's pretty simple. Beginning, middle and end. And it stands as a reminder that the story proper - the adventurous bit - really only covers half of the total screenplay. That's the middle half. The actual bridge bit, between the two towers.

Act One - the first quarter of the script - is about approaching the bridge. The hero's job is to realise that something is wrong with his world, something needs to be done about it, but it will, unfortunately, involve a rather scary journey. The writer's job is to ensure that we know who this hero is, along with the basic set up of the story (Character, Objective, Obstacle).

Act Two - the middle half of the script - is the fun stuff. It's crossing the bridge, with the wind in your hair, and - DON'T LOOK DOWN! OR BEHIND YOU! And - are those SKELETONS firing crossbows at us? The hero's task is to get across the bridge, overcoming every obstacle and life-threatening situation en route. The writer's task is to enjoy every second by making life as difficult for the hero as possible. Enjoy the ride.

Act Three - the last quarter of the script - hey, we're off the bridge. But we've still got a way to go before we're home and dry. The hero's job is to make it home safely, finally seeing off any last crossbow-wielding skeletons. The experience of crossing the metaphorical bridge will have changed the hero, turning him or her into a better, stronger, more enlightened person. The writer's task is to get the hero right off the bridge and to tell the people out there how the story ended.

Approach the bridge - cross the bridge - get off the bridge. Or: set up your story, tell your story, wrap up your story.

Beginning, middle and end. One quarter, one half, one quarter. Act One, Act Two, Act Three. It's as simple as crossing a bridge.

HOW MANY DRAFTS???

Question: How many production executives does it take to change a lightbulb?

Answer: Does it have to be a lightbulb?

I guess you could blame Richard Curtis. When 'Four Weddings and a Funeral' came out it was seen as the salvation of the British film industry. I was working with an eager young producer at the time. When she heard that Curtis had written twenty-five drafts of the 'Four Weddings' script, I watched the penny drop. 'So', you could see her working it out, 'if we want our movie to be better than "Four Weddings" we'll have to go through twenty-six drafts.' And my little heart sank.

You don't need twenty-five drafts to make a script work. You need three.

That's right: three.

Your first draft is a foray into unexplored territory. It's a land grab. Do anything you need to do but get through it. Until you've written 'FADE OUT' or 'THE END' you don't have a script.

Your second draft allows you to re-order the material you managed to get together for your first draft. Mould it, shape it, make it work.

Your third draft is the polish. Dot 'i's, cross 't's, give it some extra punch, make it shine.

Three drafts.

If you haven't got it by the end of three drafts, the chances are you won't. Put the story aside for six months. Do something else.

Three drafts is all it needs.

Mind you, on my favourite TV drama series of all time, they didn't bother going to three drafts. 'The Sweeney' just got on with it. Each writer would have ten days to submit his script. One guy took just three days. Occasionally, once in a while, there'd be a second draft. If a third draft was required, it was a sign that a script was in trouble.

Those were the days. 'The Sweeney' is still one of the most influential police dramas ever. A consultant on 'The Bill' once said it was the most realistic TV cop show he'd ever seen. 'Life on Mars' and the atrocious 'Ashes to Ashes' are pallid, pantomimic travesties of the almighty 'Sweeney'.

One draft of the script, lords and ladies. One. Then they went out and filmed it.

By the mid-90s, five drafts of a script was the norm. Which meant that, somewhere along the line, someone in an office had decided to change the story. And the poor old writer was struggling to make sense of it.

At the last count, the Writers' Guild of GB was trying to insist on a maximum of ten to twelve drafts per script contract. Which would mean that a writer hired to produce a script could be made to rewrite that script a dozen times.

If you hired an interior designer, would you expect to send him back to do it all again twelve times over - and all for the same fee?

Would you make a chef cook you a meal twelve times over until you decided it was all right, and still only pay him once?

Let's be clear. Most of the rewrites demanded of scriptwriters these days are complete and utter wastes of time. They do not improve the script. They help to turn it into mashed potato. So why do it?

The answer is one that the media has in common with practically every other major industry these days. Too many fecking managers.

The industry is jam-packed with bright young things whose only skills are wearing suits and talking gibberish. They have no proper function. They have elbowed and schemed and arse-licked their ways into pseudo-jobs in the media. They lack training, originality and common sense.

They have no actual work to do. They have been imported for one reason only: to make their management superiors feel more powerful. What's the point of being Head of Department if there's no one in your department? Better to have a staff of thirty, even if they have no actual work to do, as long as they all respect you as the Great Media Fuhrer.

These people get in the way. They contribute nothing. They are a drain on resources.

And they think they know all about scripts. Delicate scripts, works of genius, the blueprints for drama. They think that they know better than the writer.

They keep coming up with rewrites because IT'S THE ONLY THING THEY CAN DO. Is the rewrite necessary? Probably not, unless it's to repair the damage done by the last set of notes dictated to the writer by a roomful of idiots. Even then, the script will never recover the excitement of its earliest drafts. They'll just keep pummelling it, questioning every element in it, changing their minds and, on the whole, treating the writer like shit until a) the writer has a breakdown, b) everyone loses interest, or c) someone actually has to produce the bastard and time runs out on the timewasters in the designer suits.

Even in the 1990s, producers who had a bit of nous and experience would work with a writer on three drafts of a script. Okay, once you go into production there are likely to be script changes - that's life. But the amount of time wasted - and the degree of exploitation to which writers are exposed, and that includes bullying - while 'developing' scripts until they've been trampled to buggery is a modern outrage.

Three drafts is all it needs. Ten or twelve drafts is a form of abuse.

But as long as the industry is stuffed with pointless people and producers are allowed to get away with it, this abuse will continue. And the quality of scripts will continue to decline.

So - how many production executives does it take to change a lightbulb?

I don't know. Thirty, maybe? But they'll just keep on changing it, and changing it, and changing it ...

CAN STORIES HEAL?

Once upon a time - my source says it was in 1794 - a young boy had to undergo a surgical operation. There were no anaesthetics. The boy's mother started telling him a story. As she continued, the doctor successfully removed the boy's tumour.

The boy felt nothing at all. He was too wrapped up in his mother's story (for the record, it was 'Snow White').

It's surprising, really, that the NHS hasn't yet looked into the medical use of stories. Anaesthetics is a notoriously tricky practice. Perhaps the health trusts should look into hiring experienced professional storytellers (of course they do, I hear you say - they're called 'management'.)

Can anyone say for sure how much medical success is actually down to faith? And where does faith come from? Well - stories, mostly.

Stories form our beliefs. Nazism was essentially a welter of very bad stories coupled with a uniform fetish. The world's major religions are all based on books, which are themselves a collection of stories. Those of us who read right-wing newspapers are actively seeking stories which will reinforce our prejudices.

Our beliefs are moulded by the stories we're told. Hollywood has long fostered a belief that most problems can be solved by blowing away the opposition. That's another bunch of bad stories. But then, Americans are prone to believing a lot of strange things.

But if stories do shape our worldview, our belief systems, they can surely be used for good.

I was working with a writing group once when I set them an exercise. The Metaphysical Poets prided themselves on their use of the 'conceit'. This was an image, a metaphor or simile, which was clever because it found similarities between apparently quite different things. So the exercise I set was to write a short piece in which everything is described using the most unexpected images.

Exercises like this work by forcing the writer to lurch away from easy, lazy, cliched thinking. Whatever you're trying to describe, think of something that it is absolutely not like and then make a connection between the two. Genius, it is said, is the ability to make connections between seemingly dissimilar things.

One of my students wasn't getting it. I had only allowed about twenty minutes for this exercise so I asked her what was bothering her.

She was a bit distracted because she had an operation coming up. She'd had several of these operations and she dreaded each and every one of them.

I said, 'Okay, write me a piece entitled "My Perfect Operation".'

Twenty minutes later, she had finished. And her attitude towards her upcoming operation had completely changed. She had re-imagined it. Needles would feel like velvet lightly brushing her skin. Nurses would flit about her bed like butterfly fairies. She would never have felt happier or more comfortable.

She was, she announced, going to frame her little piece - 'My Perfect Operation' - and keep it beside her in hospital.

She had lost her fear by telling herself a story. Instead of repeating the same old story (needles hurt, nurses can be clumpy and brusque, hospital beds aren't designed for comfort) she had imagined a new one. As a result, her world had changed.

I doubt that 'My Perfect Operation' actually cured her. But it made her feel better. It gave her a kind of faith, which meant that she was now disposed to be cured.

Some doctors will tell you that their job is really just keeping the patient amused and preoccupied while the body gets on with healing itself.

That's where we storytellers can be useful. Maybe we can't work miracles. But we can change the way people think. We can make them feel better.

We can distract them while the nurses dance about and the doctors wield their velvet needles. Thanks to us, like the little boy whose mother told him the story of 'Snow White', they might not feel a thing.

THE ABSOLUTE ESSENTIALS

We should be pretty good at stories. After all, we've been hearing them since before we were born.

Stories have been around for thousands of years, and they have changed surprising little over the ages.

We're exposed to stories every day. And yet, amazingly, I receive scripts all the time in which the basics of storytelling have been overlooked or ignored.

Think about it: we're saturated with stories, inundated with them throughout our lives, but when we come to write our own stories we can MISS OUT SOME OF THE MOST VITAL BITS.

And then we wonder why our script doesn't work.

One of the most familiar mistakes made by writers is also one of the most basic. They forget to make sure that they actually have a story.

For a story to happen you need three things:

1) A Character
2) An Objective
3) An Obstacle

Couldn't be simpler, really. Godard said all he needed to make a movie was a girl and a gun. Chaplin felt that all he needed was a park, a pretty girl and a policeman. All any of us actually need is a Character, an Objective and an Obstacle.

Surprisingly, I get to read a great many scripts in which at least one of these three elements is missing. So there isn't a story.

Can you imagine how difficult it is to write a decent screenplay when you don't actually have a story? Uurrrgghhh - !

Never, never, never try to write a script without having first made sure that you actually do have a story. In other words, that you have a CHARACTER, an OBJECTIVE and an OBSTACLE.

Your CHARACTER is probably going to be your 'hero' or protagonist (it's from a Greek word meaning 'first contestant'). This means that the story will be their story.

Your character must have an OBJECTIVE. He, she or it must want something. And there must be something or someone who stands in the way, forming the OBSTACLE to the hero's achieving his/her/its desire.

Here's a game I play with writing students. Everyone writes at the top of a sheet of paper: 'THE STORY IS ABOUT A ...' Then everyone invents a CHARACTER. Five or six words should be plenty to describe an individual. Fold the top of the page over so that the CHARACTER is not revealed and pass it on.

The next person writes: 'WHO WANTS ...' and then invents a goal, desire or OBJECTIVE. Again, five or six words should do it. Fold over and pass on.

The next player completes the sentence. The sentence will end with the words 'BUT ----- STANDS IN THE WAY.' Those dashes represent the OBSTACLE. Make up a good one (no limit on words this time). Fold over and pass on.

Now open the sheets of paper out and read them. You should various versions of something that runs a bit like this:

'THE STORY IS ABOUT AN AGORAPHOBIC HAIRDRESSER FROM BRIGHTON WHO WANTS TO RUN THE NEW YORK MARATHON BUT A PLAGUE OF LOCUSTS STANDS IN THE WAY.'

I don't know about you but I'd probably pay to see that one. It sounds interesting. It's got a CHARACTER, an OBJECTIVE and an OBSTACLE. It has, in other words, a 'hook'.

One thing I often notice, certainly with British writers, is that we don't make our heroes pro-active. They don't tend to want things. Rather, they tend not to want things. They don't want to lose their child. They don't want the building to collapse. They're trying to avoid losing their job.

Always make your character's objective a positive one. Always express it in positive terms.

And always create the biggest obstacles you can. That's what creates the tension, the struggle. The narrative will follow your hero as he/she/it fights to overcome the obstacles in order to achieve their objective. Big obstacles make for big stories.

But without one of the magic three - Character, Objective, Obstacle - you won't have a story at all. For there to be a story, you absolutely must have a recognisable central character (for the audience to identify with), a declared objective (so that the audience will cheer them on) and a daunting obstacle (which creates the suspense, the 'struggle' of the story).

If you have all three, you've got a story.

If you haven't, forget it.

SCREENWRITING SOFTWARE - YES OR NO?

The number of scripts I receive that are written using screenwriting software! You can tell straightaway that a script has been written using formatting software. You can also tell, more or less instantly, that the writer hasn't understood the format.

Which means that the script isn't anywhere near as professional as it looks.

A common mistake. Screenwriting software can organise the formatting for you, but it cannot make the format work. Only the writer can do that.

I remember my first brush with professional screenwriting software. It was ... oooh ... over ten years ago, now. A production executive at a major media company had some scripts of mine which he needed to budget. That meant breaking them down into their various elements and totting up the likely costs.

He had software that could do this for him. But if I had written the scripts using the compatible software package he would hardly have had to do anything at all. My scripts would automatically break themselves down because they were written using software that matched his own budgeting and scheduling software.

He talked me into buying the appropriate software. In dollars. From California. Using Fed-Ex. Just to make his life easier.

At first I was bowled over with the package. It numbered everything for me! It remembered character names and scene headings. It put (CONTINUED) everywhere. Suddenly, my scripts just looked so ... professional!

After a while I stopped using it. You can write screenplays in Word. If anything, it's easier.

But the software has caught on. Many of my screenwriting students ask me, 'What's the best software to use?'

My answer is always, 'Don't bother.' Don't get the machine to do it for you. Learn how to do it yourself. Like I say, it's as easy to format a screenplay using Word - if not easier.

You can only learn how the format works - why scripts are laid out on the page the way they are - by formatting it yourself. That way, you get to understand that there are only three kinds of information on the page:-

1: Where we are (SCENE HEADING)

2: What we see (SCENE DESCRIPTION & ACTION)

3: Who says what (DIALOGUE)

This is all that a screenplay contains. And, properly formatted, the script differentiates clearly between these three kinds of information.

Getting the software to do this for you might make your script look superficially professional. But if you haven't mastered the art of thinking in just three kinds of information - where we are, what we see, who says what - then the format still won't work.

Computers can't do this thinking for you. It's a discipline that can only come with having to think through the layout of the script yourself. Making yourself figure out how your wonderful ideas translate into three basic kinds of information.

We'll look at format again, sometime soon. It's important. Format foxes many a writer. But it's actually as easy as pie.

Just don't expect the software to do it for you.

WHAT IF ...

Everything starts with What If ...?

It's an easy game to play. I've tried it out with all age groups, using the exercise as a kind of ice-breaker at the start of a screenwriting course.

Try it: write out six simple sentences, all of them beginning with 'What if'.

It's often best if you don't try to think about it. Start writing your sentences - 'What if ...' - and then just keep going. See where it takes you.

What if the house was on fire?

What if I turned out to be next-in-line to the throne?

What if I fell down a rabbit hole? (Actually, that one's been done.)

What if my wife was a top-class assassin? (So has that.)

What if war broke out?

What if there was no winter?

What if trees could talk?

What if people couldn't?

I like this exercise. I often think of it as 'Hopes and Fears'. If you listen to six of these 'What If's that have been made up by a teenager, for example, you will get an insight into their mindset. Are they optimistic or pessimistic? Whimsical or negative?

Playing 'What If' reveals the things that scare you and the things that might give you hope. It also provides you with instant stories.

In many ways, every story begins with a 'What If?' Writers are constantly playing 'What If' in their minds, even when they don't realise they're doing it. It is one of the things that makes a storyteller: the ability to look at the world around you and for a part of your brain to be weighing up what you see or hear or encounter, analysing it, looking at it from different angles, asking 'What if ...?'

Stories have to come from somewhere. The fact is they are all around you.

Man is a storytelling animal. He thrives on stories.

Stories are what set us apart from the rest of the animal kingdom. Stories and opposable thumbs - that's about it. Man is the only creature that tells stories.

We've been doing it for thousands of years. Making sense of our world by means of stories.

There are the stories we tell about things which have happened. And then there are the stories which we make up.

The ones we make up invariably start with a 'What if'.

So the way to find a story is to ask 'What if' and then just keep going. Sooner or later, one of those questions, one of those 'What If's, will lodge in your mind. It will take root.

It might take years, but that one 'What If' could one day flower into the most fabulous story.

Try it.

What if ...