Archive | December, 2012

A Scene I Can’t Use

5 Dec

I’m so disappointed. I wrote this scene to try to open this screenplay I just started. I’ve been kicking this idea around for years, but I have no idea how to begin it, since there’s so much back story between the two main characters before the story starts. I thought this was a nice way to introduce it, but it’s completely out of character for the girl in the scene to be rational and thoughtful and polite, so it has to go. 

I apologize for the lack of formatting. It got messed up when I copy pasted the text in here.

Ext. The beach -night

VLADIMIR is walking on the beach, next to the shadowy outline of the fishing pier. The sky is a deep, dark navy blue, studded with stars and partially obscured by wisps of clouds. The inky black ocean crashes violently in the background.Vladimir screams, a raw sound that tears through his throat.



He stops for a heaving breath, and breaks down into tears.


(raspily, quietly)

I made a mistake. I’m sorry.

He sinks to his knees in the wet sand.

Int. A 24-hour diner- night

BRIDGITTE sits at the counter with a mug of coffee in front of her. In her hand is a DIAMOND RING. She plays with it, staring at it with an inscrutable expression. Her emotions aren’t readily apparent, but it is clear that whatever they are, she is not happy.

A TRUCKER sits down near her and places an inaudible order to the waitress. He is not smart, but he is kind, and empathetic. He notices Bridgitte, and sees that she is both beautiful and sad. She reminds him of his daughter. He watches her for a few more moments.


That’s a pretty ring you have there, miss.



Hmmm? Oh, thank you.


I remember when my daughter got a ring like that. She was so happy her smile almost broke her face in two. I don’t think she’s stopped smiling since.


(polite smile)

That’s really nice.


That ring don’t seem to be making you that happy. You don’t want to get married to the fella who gave it to you?


I’m already married to the fella. For the time being.

She lapses back into pensive silence. The trucker’s PIE and a POT OF COFFEE are placed in front of him.


Thanks, ma’am.

He turns to Bridgitte.


Would you like me to freshen your coffee, miss?

Bridgitte looks guarded, not sure if she will have to ward off the advances of this unpolished man or if he’s just being kind.


I ain’t trying to be anything to you except to offer a friendly ear to hear your story, if you want to tell it.

Bridgitte slides her mug towards him on the counter.


Thanks. But it’s not my story. I’m in it, but… I don’t think it’s about me.


(genuinely confused)

Then whose story is it?


I think it’s hers.