Where Have I Been? A Message Board Run-in Leads to Self-Censorship
So, Klein, why so long between blog entries? Good question. Here is another one, “why don’t you mind your own business?” No, no, I joke. I joke because I kid. But seriously, why the lag? Well it’s an interesting story—and by “an interesting story” I mean, “not really that interesting, and barely a story.” But you asked, so I’ll tell you.
I had a recent run in with censorship. Now who could be censoring my own blog? Well, me, of course. I find myself carefully weighing what I post, even what I write, because of an unpleasant experience I had recently in an online community. To name the community would be indiscreet, but it was Triggerstreet.
Triggerstreet is an online community started by actor Kevin Spacey’s company. The online community is for aspiring filmmakers and writers to post material, receive feedback, and hone their craft, and hopefully get discovered in the process. So, hey, I’m aspiring. I joined.
I had a fair number of extremely frustrating technical difficulties in joining that took on a Kafkaesque quality. And now in hindsight, I guess that should have served as a warning flag, but I missed it at the time. Essentially, you sign up and build a profile. Then they email you an activation code. I never got my activation code. The website tells you that before you contact customer care you MUST look for a solution to your problem and post questions about it in the message board. They say failure to do this will result in your email to customer care going ignored. Okay, I can look for a solution to my problem on the message boards—“To access the message boards, you must sign in.” I can’t sign in, I don’t have my activation code. “Check the message boards for information about your activation code.” So I need my code to get on the boards to find out where my code is? “The answer to that question can be found on the message boards.” Around and around we went for several emails, eventually some customer service person grew tired of hearing from me and just sidestepped the whole thing and activated me.
So now I’m in.
Like other communities of this ilk, you have to earn your keep. Triggerstreet has a complex system of credits. You earn credits by reviewing other people’s work, then you can spend your credits by having your work randomly assigned to other members for review. I found it a little complicated, but I understood the principle—no freeloaders. You want feedback? You need to give feedback.
So, hey, I want feedback. I’ll give feedback. So I start downloading and reading scripts. And there were some clunkers. Of the first ten I was assigned, I could only complete two. One was so badly constructed it was nearly impossible to follow. But to the writer’s credit, he or she said right up front in the logline, “this is really hard to follow.” But then didn’t really give any advice for how to follow it. Nothing like, “but if you stay with it, by page 22 all will become clear.” Deleted.
But finally I was able to get through two. They were only halfbad. One had a really interesting concept, but fell apart, the other had pretty good dialogue but an utterly pointless and boring story. I posted my reviews—I don’t think they were harsh—I always started with a positive and then expressed criticism as very personal: “this didn’t feel right to me” or “maybe it was just me but…” And I didn’t just criticize, I offered a potential solution to every issue I raised.
I was on my way to earning enough credits to be able to post my own script and start receiving valuable feedback. And then it started to go horribly wrong.
I could not find another script to read. They say agents and professional readers give you ten, maybe twelve pages to hook them, then you go in the trash pile. Well, I’m not reading for an agency or studio, and as a writer trying to break in, I’ve always hated that seemingly arbitrary make-or-break page number. But now I get it. I’d pay my fellow aspiring writers more respect. I’ll read 30 pages! Okay, 25. Alright, 20. Okay, look, if this moron can’t get the story going by page 18, I am out of here! Another five scripts started and dumped. Then another five. And another. I was tearing my hair out. Oh, and I should mention that as a new user, I was only able to decline reviewing a script once every 48 hours. But I need to get through scripts to earn credits for myself. I’m getting very frustrated. So I tell myself, okay, no matter what, I am getting through the next script.
And I did. Another boring story with one-dimensional characters who really don’t do anything. Ever. But I could get through that and review it, find something nice to say, “you gave your characters really interesting names,” or “the page numbers were all in order.” Except for one thing. The typos.
Oh, the typos. I’m not talking about typing “hte” when you mean to type “the”. I can deal with that—even though in the age of computers I shouldn’t have to. (In fact, it took me several tries to type that wrong just now, Microsoft kept fixing it for me.) Maybe calling these “typos” is wrong. Maybe that is where I went wrong. These weren’t really typos, they were more an indication that the person was…well, for lack of a better term…a moron. And not just a few. I noted more than 50. In a 90-something page script. That’s a lot. And every one was distracting. Every single one jarred me, took me out of the story, and made me shake my head and make a note of it. When I got to mistake number 50 I stopped writing them down and decided to just make a general comment about them and then send the author the list I had compiled if he or she asked for it.
But the experience really steamed me. I was personally offended that the writer thought so little of me and my time that he or she would post something so far from being ready for somebody else’s eyes. Call me a perfectionist, or tell me I have OCD tendencies, whatever. I am personally mortified if I give somebody something to read with my name on it and even a single typo in it. Writers write. Writers make mistakes, but then we fix them. If I’m paying someone to edit my work, okay. But if I’m passing something off as indicative of what I can do with all the words and stuff—well then I want it to represent me…well.
Before I posted my review I went in to the message boards (ah, that promised land finally open to me through my long lost activation code) and posted a question. I asked the community at large if people were having bad luck with scripts assignments, because most of what I was assigned was unreadable, and that typos played a huge part in that. I admit I was harsh in this posting, however, I didn’t name anybody or any script, just posted this general steam release query.
Well, the floodgates opened up. I was called all kinds of names and told I was a jerk and an egomaniac and a snob, etc, etc. A few people remained rational, and actually even tried to mount a defense of the boobs. He/she pointed out that these scripts are often early drafts and why should the writer comb through them for typos when substantial rewriting is likely on the horizon? I bought that for a second, but then rejected it—the scripts people post there are essentially resumes. Would you send out a resume full of typos because you are going to revise it after you get your next job anyway? I don’t think that’s a great way to go about it.
To me it was not about a script that didn’t resonate with me. It was about respect. I kept saying, “look, a poorly told story, or badly drawn characters, or an ill-conceived plot, those are actual script problems that the writer works through with help from the outside. This is somebody either not respecting my time enough to re-read and check his or her work, or somebody who is just an imbecile.” And the war was on.
Finally, one kindly fellow reviewer gave me two very practical pieces of advice, both of which I took.. He/she said, “read the first five or six pages without making a single note. If you feel like you can’t get through it, chuck it and move on. If you can get through it, do it.” The other piece of advice he gave me was to cancel my account and rejoin with another name because the masses were now out for my blood. In fact, some in the Message Board Mafia even came here to this blog and reported back to the message boards about me from here. (It was somebody whose script I had reviewed—positively actually.)
But I felt like the damage was done. I was a marked man. I dumped the account and my hard earned credits to that point and rejoined. (I will say I received my activation code immediately, no problems.) I now follow the Six Page Rule—which is even harsher than the policy of studio readers I decried recently—but I feel like I have to do it to keep my sanity.
But the experience scarred me. I’m not as excited about logging on to Triggerstreet anymore. If I get my credits and can post my stuff, I will, but I’m not rushing to do it. The experience in the message boards had a “chilling effect” on me. Not unlike the chilling effect the media talks about after the FCC levies new fines on them. I’ll never post something on those message boards again and I will be a less active participant in that entire community (some of my old “friends” would be happy to hear that). It also made me stop and think about what I post here. I’m working on a series of essays that I call the “We’re Trying to Have a Society Here Essays” about all the little anti-social things people do that I think signal a society on the ropes. But will posting them make people mad? I guess it’s silly, nobody is actually reading this blog anyway, but what if people start to read it? Am I going to have to apologize for the way I think? Or take the blog down and start a new one? I already had business cards made. Decisions, decisions.
This is a very long-winded way of explained why I hadn’t posted anything in awhile. I didn’t want it to seem like I don’t care about this space or I’m not taking it seriously. I take it very seriously. Too seriously perhaps. But there it is, I have been censored myself because I offended a few people in the Triggerstreet community. (I should say there are thousands of participants on Triggerstreet and my run-in was only with a handful, but then again, nobody came to my defense, so perhaps the opinions expressed were those of the majority of members.)
Food for thought. For me. For message board posters, and for the defenders of imbeciles everywhere.
1928 words.
So, Klein, why so long between blog entries? Good question. Here is another one, “why don’t you mind your own business?” No, no, I joke. I joke because I kid. But seriously, why the lag? Well it’s an interesting story—and by “an interesting story” I mean, “not really that interesting, and barely a story.” But you asked, so I’ll tell you.
I had a recent run in with censorship. Now who could be censoring my own blog? Well, me, of course. I find myself carefully weighing what I post, even what I write, because of an unpleasant experience I had recently in an online community. To name the community would be indiscreet, but it was Triggerstreet.
Triggerstreet is an online community started by actor Kevin Spacey’s company. The online community is for aspiring filmmakers and writers to post material, receive feedback, and hone their craft, and hopefully get discovered in the process. So, hey, I’m aspiring. I joined.
I had a fair number of extremely frustrating technical difficulties in joining that took on a Kafkaesque quality. And now in hindsight, I guess that should have served as a warning flag, but I missed it at the time. Essentially, you sign up and build a profile. Then they email you an activation code. I never got my activation code. The website tells you that before you contact customer care you MUST look for a solution to your problem and post questions about it in the message board. They say failure to do this will result in your email to customer care going ignored. Okay, I can look for a solution to my problem on the message boards—“To access the message boards, you must sign in.” I can’t sign in, I don’t have my activation code. “Check the message boards for information about your activation code.” So I need my code to get on the boards to find out where my code is? “The answer to that question can be found on the message boards.” Around and around we went for several emails, eventually some customer service person grew tired of hearing from me and just sidestepped the whole thing and activated me.
So now I’m in.
Like other communities of this ilk, you have to earn your keep. Triggerstreet has a complex system of credits. You earn credits by reviewing other people’s work, then you can spend your credits by having your work randomly assigned to other members for review. I found it a little complicated, but I understood the principle—no freeloaders. You want feedback? You need to give feedback.
So, hey, I want feedback. I’ll give feedback. So I start downloading and reading scripts. And there were some clunkers. Of the first ten I was assigned, I could only complete two. One was so badly constructed it was nearly impossible to follow. But to the writer’s credit, he or she said right up front in the logline, “this is really hard to follow.” But then didn’t really give any advice for how to follow it. Nothing like, “but if you stay with it, by page 22 all will become clear.” Deleted.
But finally I was able to get through two. They were only halfbad. One had a really interesting concept, but fell apart, the other had pretty good dialogue but an utterly pointless and boring story. I posted my reviews—I don’t think they were harsh—I always started with a positive and then expressed criticism as very personal: “this didn’t feel right to me” or “maybe it was just me but…” And I didn’t just criticize, I offered a potential solution to every issue I raised.
I was on my way to earning enough credits to be able to post my own script and start receiving valuable feedback. And then it started to go horribly wrong.
I could not find another script to read. They say agents and professional readers give you ten, maybe twelve pages to hook them, then you go in the trash pile. Well, I’m not reading for an agency or studio, and as a writer trying to break in, I’ve always hated that seemingly arbitrary make-or-break page number. But now I get it. I’d pay my fellow aspiring writers more respect. I’ll read 30 pages! Okay, 25. Alright, 20. Okay, look, if this moron can’t get the story going by page 18, I am out of here! Another five scripts started and dumped. Then another five. And another. I was tearing my hair out. Oh, and I should mention that as a new user, I was only able to decline reviewing a script once every 48 hours. But I need to get through scripts to earn credits for myself. I’m getting very frustrated. So I tell myself, okay, no matter what, I am getting through the next script.
And I did. Another boring story with one-dimensional characters who really don’t do anything. Ever. But I could get through that and review it, find something nice to say, “you gave your characters really interesting names,” or “the page numbers were all in order.” Except for one thing. The typos.
Oh, the typos. I’m not talking about typing “hte” when you mean to type “the”. I can deal with that—even though in the age of computers I shouldn’t have to. (In fact, it took me several tries to type that wrong just now, Microsoft kept fixing it for me.) Maybe calling these “typos” is wrong. Maybe that is where I went wrong. These weren’t really typos, they were more an indication that the person was…well, for lack of a better term…a moron. And not just a few. I noted more than 50. In a 90-something page script. That’s a lot. And every one was distracting. Every single one jarred me, took me out of the story, and made me shake my head and make a note of it. When I got to mistake number 50 I stopped writing them down and decided to just make a general comment about them and then send the author the list I had compiled if he or she asked for it.
But the experience really steamed me. I was personally offended that the writer thought so little of me and my time that he or she would post something so far from being ready for somebody else’s eyes. Call me a perfectionist, or tell me I have OCD tendencies, whatever. I am personally mortified if I give somebody something to read with my name on it and even a single typo in it. Writers write. Writers make mistakes, but then we fix them. If I’m paying someone to edit my work, okay. But if I’m passing something off as indicative of what I can do with all the words and stuff—well then I want it to represent me…well.
Before I posted my review I went in to the message boards (ah, that promised land finally open to me through my long lost activation code) and posted a question. I asked the community at large if people were having bad luck with scripts assignments, because most of what I was assigned was unreadable, and that typos played a huge part in that. I admit I was harsh in this posting, however, I didn’t name anybody or any script, just posted this general steam release query.
Well, the floodgates opened up. I was called all kinds of names and told I was a jerk and an egomaniac and a snob, etc, etc. A few people remained rational, and actually even tried to mount a defense of the boobs. He/she pointed out that these scripts are often early drafts and why should the writer comb through them for typos when substantial rewriting is likely on the horizon? I bought that for a second, but then rejected it—the scripts people post there are essentially resumes. Would you send out a resume full of typos because you are going to revise it after you get your next job anyway? I don’t think that’s a great way to go about it.
To me it was not about a script that didn’t resonate with me. It was about respect. I kept saying, “look, a poorly told story, or badly drawn characters, or an ill-conceived plot, those are actual script problems that the writer works through with help from the outside. This is somebody either not respecting my time enough to re-read and check his or her work, or somebody who is just an imbecile.” And the war was on.
Finally, one kindly fellow reviewer gave me two very practical pieces of advice, both of which I took.. He/she said, “read the first five or six pages without making a single note. If you feel like you can’t get through it, chuck it and move on. If you can get through it, do it.” The other piece of advice he gave me was to cancel my account and rejoin with another name because the masses were now out for my blood. In fact, some in the Message Board Mafia even came here to this blog and reported back to the message boards about me from here. (It was somebody whose script I had reviewed—positively actually.)
But I felt like the damage was done. I was a marked man. I dumped the account and my hard earned credits to that point and rejoined. (I will say I received my activation code immediately, no problems.) I now follow the Six Page Rule—which is even harsher than the policy of studio readers I decried recently—but I feel like I have to do it to keep my sanity.
But the experience scarred me. I’m not as excited about logging on to Triggerstreet anymore. If I get my credits and can post my stuff, I will, but I’m not rushing to do it. The experience in the message boards had a “chilling effect” on me. Not unlike the chilling effect the media talks about after the FCC levies new fines on them. I’ll never post something on those message boards again and I will be a less active participant in that entire community (some of my old “friends” would be happy to hear that). It also made me stop and think about what I post here. I’m working on a series of essays that I call the “We’re Trying to Have a Society Here Essays” about all the little anti-social things people do that I think signal a society on the ropes. But will posting them make people mad? I guess it’s silly, nobody is actually reading this blog anyway, but what if people start to read it? Am I going to have to apologize for the way I think? Or take the blog down and start a new one? I already had business cards made. Decisions, decisions.
This is a very long-winded way of explained why I hadn’t posted anything in awhile. I didn’t want it to seem like I don’t care about this space or I’m not taking it seriously. I take it very seriously. Too seriously perhaps. But there it is, I have been censored myself because I offended a few people in the Triggerstreet community. (I should say there are thousands of participants on Triggerstreet and my run-in was only with a handful, but then again, nobody came to my defense, so perhaps the opinions expressed were those of the majority of members.)
Food for thought. For me. For message board posters, and for the defenders of imbeciles everywhere.
1928 words.
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