Skim over any book about how to write a screenplay and you’ll quickly discover that it’s full of instruction on what you need to include into your screenplay. After reading through the majority of the screenwriting books available on your book shop shelf, you’ll have a wondrous idea of what a screenplay consists of, but at this point you’ll probably have read about story analyst or readers – the gatekeepers screening the work of writers – in Hollywood, and therefore be interested in learning what not to include in your script; that’s to say, you’re probably interested in what readers are trained to spot so that you can avoid including such flags in your work.

First off, it should be said that readers and story analysts are loosely used titles, but the way I see it is this: Both read screenplays, manuscripts, novels, and any other literary work with potential for success in Hollywood, and both develop intuitive eyes for what makes a piece of work good and bad – or, consider or pass. A reader might be anyone from a producer’s assistant, agent trainee in the mailroom, or even interns – as long as they read submissions for their boss, then they’re a reader. A story analyst on the other hand is a professional reader who reads for a living. They’re at production companies, studios, and resources for screenwriters. I’ve been on both sides of the fence; I started reading as an intern and worked my way up to reading professionally for ScriptShark.com and production companies around town. Regardless of the type or position of a reader, they’re all develop an intuition for what belongs and what doesn’t belong in a screenplay. Below is my quick list of what I consider the top five things you should avoid including in your work if you aspire to push on beyond the gatekeepers of Hollywood and start your writing career in Hollywood.

1. A bad story
It’s common practice to tell good stories, in all fields, so it’s best to be sure you have a good story before setting out to write your masterful screenplay … Okay, just kidding … kind of. )

Here we go. Remember, these are just a few basics things to avoid including in your screenplay, for they draw negative attention to your work, and may result in a “pass” from your reader.

1. Title inserts
This is only first because it’s usually one of the first things a reader notices. While it’s not the brightest of flags, it’s a flag nonetheless. Screenwriting is build on a foundation called concision, and its every screenwriters job to avoid redundancy as possible – hence the absence of the page number on page number one. Inserts fit in this category simply because there’s nothing an insert delivers which can’t be delivered in the scene heading. Notice the example below makes use of the insert, which steps over the bounds of the screenwriter’s craft.

EXT. PETITE VILLAGE – NIGHT

INSERT: HALLOWEEN

Children run along a knoll of dead grass.

This example delivers the same information, which can be visually translated for the screen by the director later, as the first example, yet it a more concise fashion.

EXT. PETITE VILLAGE (Halloween) – NIGHT

Children run along a knoll of dead grass.

Think of it this way, if there’s a chance for a smart reader to huff, “Duh,” it’s probably best to avoid including it.

2. Micro-description

You’ve heard of micromanagement, right? Not fun is it? Well screenwriters have their own form of this, and it’s called micro-description, and it forms when a screenwriter describes each and every movement, beat by beat, moment by moment, scene by scene. Here’s an example:

EXT. PETITE VILLAGE (Halloween) – NIGHT

Children run along a knoll of dead grass. They pass JACKIE, 16, a young woman with short black hair, who pulls a match, igniting it instantly, lifts it to the cigarette between her thin, pale lips, and exhaling both smoke and warm breath in one white plume, as she shakes the flame from the match.

She removes her hand-rolled cigarette, spits a wad of moist paper off to the side, spots a baby pot belly piglet oinking behind the twisted ironclad gate, moves her short hair from her eye, takes a step forward, while removing a crumbly piece of soggy biscuit from her long overcoat, and holds it down under the piglet’s snout.

The piglet sniffs the biscuit, steps forward, looks up, and gently accepts the biscuit.

The problem here is simply that there’s too much detail in the action, or in other words, it’s micro-description. The problem that arises is that your corner the actor by allowing no room for interpretation and no room for blocking. Consider the alternative below … remember, while description is a wonderful way to color in the page, you’re not writing a novel:

EXT. PETITE VILLAGE (Halloween) – NIGHT

Children run along a knoll of dead grass. They pass JACKIE, 16, a young woman with short black hair, pressing a cigarette to her thin, pale lips.

She spits to the side, and spots a pot belly piglet behind the twisted ironclad gate. She removes a soggy biscuit from her overcoat and tosses it to the piglet.

3. Capitalized sound
While most screenwriting books out there – especially “the bible” – will instruct you to capitalize any and all sound effects, however, it’s my opinion that this, too, falls into the category of the redundant. There’s exceptions of course, but for the most part, I’d suggest avoiding capitalizing your sounds. Why do the books tell you to do so? Because it assists the sound design team. While this answer might be true, it oversteps the bounds of the screenwriting craft. You’re a writer; you’re job is to tell a story. If a specific sound helps tell a story, such as the tone from Close Encounter of the Third Kind, then perhaps you might want to consider this technique – though, it’s still not necessary. Sound design artists are professionals; they can handle their own. Here’s an example of what this particular red flag looks like:

EXT. PETITE VILLAGE (Halloween) – NIGHT

Children run along a knoll of dead grass. They pass JACKIE, 16, a young woman with short black hair, pressing a cigarette to her thin, pale lips.

She spits to the side, and spots a pot belly piglet behind the twisted ironclad gate. She removes a soggy biscuit from her overcoat and tosses it to the piglet.

She wonders past the piglet and into the bustling market. The ducks QUACK as a young boy watches the butcher decapitate one after another. She passes without notice, though the distant OINK, OINK, OINK of the piglet catches her attention as it runs up to her.

She swoops the pig up, and hides it away in her satchel as she passes a fire pit with pork SIZZLING on the stakes – let’s just say, the pig’s name is BAMBI.

So not only are these flags red, but capitalized as well. In my opinion, the capping of sounds simply draws to much attention to small detail – another form of micro-description. Though it’s not wrong, and many will let you get away with it, I simply point this out because, quite frankly, I wouldn’t let you get away with it. I wouldn’t pass on your work just because of it, but it would pinch my nerves and patience. Here’s a form of the same script, simply without the distracting, redundant capping.

EXT. PETITE VILLAGE (Halloween) – NIGHT

Children run along a knoll of dead grass. They pass JACKIE, 16, a young woman with short black hair, pressing a cigarette to her thin, pale lips.

She spits to the side, and spots a pot belly piglet behind the twisted ironclad gate. She removes a soggy biscuit from her overcoat and tosses it to the piglet.

She wonders past the piglet and into the bustling market. The ducks quack as a young boy watches the butcher decapitate one bird after another. She passes without notice, though the distant oinking of the piglet catches her attention as it runs up to her.

She swoops the pig up, and hides it away in her satchel as she passes a fire pit with pork sizzling on the stakes – let’s just say, the pig’s name is BAMBI.

4. Music
Again, avoid overstepping your screenwriting domain, and stick to the story. Just as you might bleed over to commanding the actor and sound design team, overstepping this aspect both hands the director and composer instruction. Again, there are always exceptions, but the song better be damn important in order to include it in your script … that, or the next Casablanca. See for yourself just how distracting this flag is:

EXT. PETITE VILLAGE (Halloween) – NIGHT

Children run along a knoll of dead grass. They pass JACKIE, 16, a young woman with short black hair, pressing a cigarette to her thin, pale lips.

She spits to the side, and spots a pot belly piglet behind the twisted ironclad gate. She removes a soggy biscuit from her overcoat and tosses it to the piglet.

She wonders past the piglet and into the bustling market. The ducks quack as a young boy watches the butcher decapitate one bird after another. She passes without notice, though the distant oinking of the piglet catches her attention as it runs up to her.

She swoops the pig up, and hides it away in her satchel as she passes a fire pit with pork sizzling on the stakes – let’s just say, the pig’s name is BAMBI.

A sudden burst of LEIBESFREUD fills the market as a large old man plays a shoddy violin.

First of all, who the heck knows what that sounds like? What’s the tempo like? What’s the mood? All of these unnecessary questions about the music unfold simply because some unknown song was included. Conversely, a sudden distaste overcomes us when a trite song is included. Without it, there’s not a question other than, “where is Jackie going with that pig?” Yes, there are always exceptions, but unless you plan to write the next, “Play it, Sam. Play … As Time Goes By,” which has enough power to turn to “Play it again, Sam” over the long test of time, I’d suggest lowering this red flag.

EXT. PETITE VILLAGE (Halloween) – NIGHT

Children run along a knoll of dead grass. They pass JACKIE, 16, a young woman with short black hair, pressing a cigarette to her thin, pale lips.

She spits to the side, and spots a pot belly piglet behind the twisted ironclad gate. She removes a soggy biscuit from her overcoat and tosses it to the piglet.

She wonders past the piglet and into the bustling market. The ducks quack as a young boy watches the butcher decapitate one bird after another. She passes without notice, though the distant oinking of the piglet catches her attention as it runs up to her.

She swoops the pig up, and hides it away in her satchel as she passes a fire pit with pork sizzling on the stakes – let’s just say, the pig’s name is BAMBI.

The sound of a musical violin fills the noisy market air as a large old man plays a shoddy violin.

5. Camera direction
Yep, definitely last but not least. By the looks of the scripts out there, it seems most screenwriters have grown an understanding of this, but it’s still in the top 5.

As an aspiring screenwriter, it’s understood that you’re excited to showcase your talent, and even use your screenplay as a directing vehicle, however, it’s unacceptable to include camera direction. In fact, there really aren’t any exceptions in my book. Part of the fun of writing is guiding the mind’s eye of your reader to see what you imagined as you wrote. Our last example will reveal a few ways of how to do this for the sake of story. But first, let’s take a look at a few examples of what not to include in your screenplay.

EXT. PETITE VILLAGE (Halloween) – NIGHT

Children run along a knoll of dead grass. They pass JACKIE, 16, a young woman with short black hair, pressing a cigarette to her thin, pale lips.

She spits to the side, and spots a pot belly piglet behind the twisted ironclad gate. She removes a soggy biscuit from her overcoat and tosses it to the piglet.

She wonders past the piglet and into the bustling market. The ducks quack as a young boy watches the butcher decapitate one bird after another. She passes without notice, though the distant oinking of the piglet catches her attention as it runs up to her.

She swoops the pig up, and hides it away in her satchel as she passes a fire pit with pork sizzling on the stakes – let’s just say, the pig’s name is BAMBI.

The sound of a musical violin fills the noisy market air as a large old man plays a shoddy violin. In CLOSE UP, WE SEE that there’s a white mouse on the man’s shoulder, nibbling at his shabby jacket.

PAN across the market to Jackie as she looks through a few kiosks. ZOOM IN on a young man, THEODORE, 18, who pockets a fresh apple unnoticed by the merchant. Jackie makes her way toward him as we PULL OUT to a WIDE of the market.

Now here’s what this might look like without upsetting your potential director.

EXT. PETITE VILLAGE (Halloween) – NIGHT

Children run along a knoll of dead grass. They pass JACKIE, 16, a young woman with short black hair, pressing a cigarette to her thin, pale lips.

She spits to the side, and spots a pot belly piglet behind the twisted ironclad gate. She removes a soggy biscuit from her overcoat and tosses it to the piglet.

She wonders past the piglet and into the bustling market. The ducks quack as a young boy watches the butcher decapitate one bird after another. She passes without notice, though the distant oinking of the piglet catches her attention as it runs up to her.

She swoops the pig up, and hides it away in her satchel as she passes a fire pit with pork sizzling on the stakes – let’s just say, the pig’s name is BAMBI.

The sound of a musical violin fills the noisy market air as a large old man plays a shoddy violin. A small white mouse nibbles at his shabby jacket.

Jackie scans the smokey market until spotting a young man, THEODORE, 18, through a series of kiosks. The young man pockets a fresh apple unnoticed by the merchant. Jackie makes her way toward him.

The key is to visualize what you’re writing and hone your description into one area at a time, thus directing the mind’s eye of your reader. In other words, and once again, this is merely a form of redundant information.

By following these tips, you’ll avoid displaying obvious red flags readers and story analysts have a keen eye for, and thus, enhance your chance of getting past the gatekeeper and into Hollywood!

1. Inserts
2. Micro-description
3. Capitalizing sound
4. Music
5. Camera direction

Remember that redundancy is literally the number one rule – as demonstrated by the absence of every number one in every script in Hollywood.

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