Jo Buckman » Story Making

It’s been 312 Friday nights without booze…

March 5, 2020

312 Friday nights. 72 months. 6 years. Without booze. Pills. Anything “fun”. CONTINUOUSLY.

There was a time, a bit over 6 years ago, when I couldn’t imaging getting through a Friday night without drinking. I didn’t think I one of those “alcoholics” – I didn’t drink in the morning, I had work, a roof over my head. I had all my teeth. I told myself I didn’t drink during the week – on school nights. The truth was school nights were becoming less and less frequent. Annoying things – like missing the early train home or a surly friend – were happening more often and they required a few glasses of wine to take the edge off. Still, I kept it pretty even during the week.

But come Fridays, all bets were off.

By 4pm, I’d be twitching in my office swivel chair. If I didn’t have plans and no one had texted me by 4:27pm (exact times made me seem desperate), I’d whip out a flurry of texts, “Wanna meet at the local for a few after work?”, “up for a drink? ” or “thirsty?”. It didn’t matter if it was that arrogant lawyer guy who never shut up, or my roommate who had just got a new girlfriend and wanted to go home. I just wanted someone – ANYONE – to “let off steam” with. And so my Friday nights went off.

I’d frequently come home as birds started chirping. Sometimes not at all – there were a few strange and awkward Saturday mornings on strange floors, couches and the odd bed. But this was single me having fun! I was enjoying my new found freedom! If I was doing the walk of shame at noon on a Saturday, that was the definition of success! I was a boring failure if I was home by 1am the night before.

But eventually, what happened is that my drinking buddies would want to go home early. After only a couple. Or they would get hungry and want to go to dinner – instead of just staying in the bar and drinking until it closed. And I didn’t. I wanted to keep going. And nobody seemed to be drinking as quickly or as much as me – or even wanted to. It was easier (and cheaper) to go home and drink how I wanted. And frankly, less embarrassing.

Most Saturdays I was too hungover to go out. To even stand up, if I’m being honest. I was starting to get a bit shaky by Saturday afternoons. Even a bit paranoid. Sundays I’d wake up and the sheets would be drenched with sweat – probably withdrawal. My hair was falling out. I’d stopped eating because I got drunk quicker and I weighed about 120lbs.

But I was still convinced that Friday nights were fun.

When I first decided to try this not drinking thing and get some help, it was a Tuesday. Some guy had made a crack about us being “functional alcoholics” and without realizing it, he’d hit a nerve. For some reason, I didn’t drink the rest of that weekend. Or Monday. But Tuesday, my one remaining real friend dumped me with a card in the post and it was 11am and I wanted a drink. And I somehow knew if I picked up a drink, I wouldn’t put it down and I didn’t want to pick it up.

So I went looking for help. Not really to stop altogether. Just some tips to control it and learn how to stop after a few. Then they told me it would mean not starting at all. That I couldn’t stop once I started, so it was best not to start at all. I told them there was no way I was giving up drinking forever. They said, I didn’t have to. It was just for today.

I thought they were crazy.

Of course I’m not going to drink today! It’s Tuesday! It’s a school night!

But what about Friday night? How was I not going to drink on Friday nights for the rest of my life?

Then they told me, I didn’t have to not drink every Friday night. I could just not drink for this Friday night.

That first Friday night without anything was sooooo weird. My flatmates weren’t home. It was quiet. And I was alone. Edgy. Tired, but restless at the same time. I paced. I jitter-ed. Then I got so anxious and wound up by the thought of how pathetic my life was going to be without alcohol, I got emotionally exhausted and I was asleep by 9pm (which just reinforced how boring life was going to be without booze). But I didn’t drink.

That first Saturday morning I woke up sober was a revelation.

I made it through an entire Friday night without drinking! I might be able to do this thing for a while! And a week later I made it through a second Friday night. Something I hadn’t done since I’d started drinking at 17 (baring the odd illness).

I had no idea simply “not drinking” would change my life as much as it has. I honestly thought people who didn’t drink were boring. I felt sorry for them. But seriously, it’s the best and most fun thing that’s ever happened to me. It has to be, otherwise I wouldn’t keep doing it.

I wake up in my own bed. I remember conversations. I’m present. I have fun. I still go out. I prefer rustic pubs to night clubs. I prefer those small back rooms with bad 80s where you and your girlfriends can daggy dance around your handbags.

I don’t wake up with this impending sense of doom and desperate loneliness. I do things on weekends with friends. Real ones. We have beach days. We go surfing. Camping. Go to the movies. 18 months ago, I got my PADI certification and went scuba diving (my life long dream).

Got up at 4am on a Saturday to do this. That used to be when I was going to bed.

It hasn’t always been easy. I’ve had people I love die. I’ve met people in recovery, come to love them, then watched them pick up and spiral back into self-destruction and struggled to let them go. I’ve dealt with depression. Last year I celebrated 5 years of continuous abstinence and the next day I was fired from a new job.

It’s not easy coming home after a bad day and

having nothing but your wits to take the edge off

But I’ve had to learn how to deal with anxiety and self-soothe better these days. I’ve also learned how to avoid getting into situations that cause anxiety in the first place. For instance, I’ve learned that I’m worried or scared about asking my boss something and I put it off, it’s likely going to bite me on the arse later, so it’s best to bring it up earlier – even if it is a bit uncomfortable. It’s funny that when I do, it’s never as bad I as think it’s going to be. If I deal with stuff earlier, then it doesn’t turn into this big monster that my head makes it. I exercise. I do things I love. I eat normally – most of the time.

I didn’t really mean to quit drinking for 312 Friday nights (and counting). But I’m so glad I did.

Upright and running on a weekend. Who knew this was possible?

I was raised by a village… And I only just realized it

January 7, 2020

So if you’ve read my bio, you’ll know I was born in London, UK. My Mum (that’s “Mom” in American) was South African but moved to England to finish her medical residency (and get away from apartheid), which is where and when she met my very English Dad (that’s “Dad” in American) and they had me, and then my sister.

When I say I don’t really know where I’m from, I mean it.

When I was 8 years old, they divorced and my Dad moved to Toronto, Canada. My Mum, being sick of English weather (and by a miracle having survived 10 years of it), moved me and my sister to Brisbane, Australia. I could tell you she later married a Canadian who turned out to having being born in the same hospital my Dad once worked at, but this whole thing is probably confusing enough as it is.

UK Grandparents, cousins and sister pre-Australian immigration. (Author is bottom left)

As an immigrant, I was always envious of my friends who had external family – Aunts, Uncles, cousins – a stones throw away. Their life seemed to to be an endless whirlwind of informal visiting and eating – birthday parties, bbqs, engagements, weddings. Our family functions were much more sporadic – they were often years (sometimes decades apart), involved a long haul overseas trip, lots of planning, money and weeks of living out of suitcases, and was never on my birthday, so there were rarely presents involved.

Don’t get me wrong, these were wonderful trips – there were weeks of time with cousins, endless chats, adventures and new places to explore (plus of course the odd fight to keep things interesting). Added bonus: By the time I was 12, I was a pretty seasoned world traveler. The downside were the times in between. Christmases at “home” felt a little odd and empty.

For years I focused on the fact that I didn’t have this external family around me. I didn’t have an Aunt I could go to for tea and sympathy, or cousins I could I complain to.

(Honestly, it’s probably what made me a writer. I couldn’t figure out a way to connect with the world around me, so I lived inside my head.)

Except, I just realized, I actually did.

When we first arrived in Brisbane in the middle of a hot, humid summer, I was thrown into a local Catholic primary school. An odd choice considering I was not only un-Christened but had divorced parents (The deal my parents made was that if I was a boy, I was to be circumcised and Bar Mitzvahed, but if I was a girl, I would be Christened. However, despite receiving an engraved silver christening cup, my parents never got around to it).

I was damned to Hell on my first day in school.

Well if not damned, certainly in a weird purgatory. I was banished to back rows of the church and doomed to watch, with envious eyes, my classmates lining up to take the sacrament. Then disappearing, one at a time, into a dark corner booth to confess and be absolved of all their sins. For years, I wondered what that little wafer tasted like and what it felt like to have my numerous sins lifted off my chest with a few Hail Mary’s.

Sitting uncomfortably in that back pew at 8 years old is where I first met Ben. And later, by extension, his brother, Rene, and parents Jan and Roger. It turns out that Ben’s Dad, Roger, was also originally from Africa. And Ben was also un-Christened. And it also turned out, that like my Mum and stepfather, Ben’s parents liked doing all this outdoorsy stuff I’d never heard of – like canoeing, sailing and camping. (After 8 years of living in London, I barely went outside.)

Before I met Ben’s family, I’d only really seen camping on TV

Suddenly weekends were sailing on a handmade dingy, running up and down sand dunes, body-boarding or snorkeling. (Though it was seriously uncool to spend ones spare time hanging with the opposite sex, so Ben and I denied each other’s existence during school hours).

Circa late 80s

Over the years, our two families became increasingly intertwined. Inseparable even – Ben was even mine and my sister’s date to the formal (yes, it was like taking my brother). We met Roger’s brother and his wife, Jan’s family, Ben’s cousins, his grandparents, etc. We all spent so much time together, when Ben’s parents bought a yacht to live on, Ben and Rene came to stay with us for a while. Our biological external family always asked after Ben, Rene, Jan and Roger. By name.

1994 Formal (Prom). Ben on left, author on right.

And over the 35+ years, since I first met Ben, it has stayed that way. He got married, had kids (we were never really romantically involved). His brother got married had kids. My sister had a kid.

Now his parents have a house on Stradbroke Island. So Ben and his wife Chihiro wrangled their 2 kids, and I trailed along for a night on Stradbroke Island. And we walked in the door, with Jan offering Christmas Cake and tea, and Roger already lining up a game of Scrabble to cheat at. And we gathered around the table, laughing and chatting and I suddenly realized…

The years fall away…

I did have this external family all along. These are the people who helped raise me.

The people who helped raise me from left to right: Author (left), Jan, Author’s Mum, Roger

And it was like I’d never seen it before.

Ben and Me 2019

I like to think Ben’s family is better than family in some ways. Your biological family technically has to like you – it’s harder to denounce blood. Ben’s family – they like me anyway. Even when they don’t have to. When I needed a place to crash, I always had a bed. When I was a drunken mess, they never shunned me or stopped inviting me to parties (though I’m sure they hid their booze!). They always accepted me for who I am/was and were just simply there. They’re the family I/we didn’t get born with, but somehow got chosen for me. For us.

I can’t believe it took me 36 years to figure this out…

P.S This is not in anyway to suggest my biological external family isn’t all kinds of awesome – they are and they know it. It’s just they aren’t a stones throw away.

Location, location, location

October 14, 2019

I was at Costco on the weekend – something I usually try to avoid at all costs – and it was packed as usual. Teeming with dazed looking Dads, mission-charged Moms with long lists and determined expressions, huge families with frazzled parents (grandparents in tow) roping their multiple kids in as pack mules to maneuverer overfilled carts. Chaotic consumerism at its finest.

In the midst of it all, was this couple in their mid-30s standing next to a display of baby blankets. They were completely frozen – locked in their own world, oblivious to the impatient masses streaming around them. The man was leaning into the woman, hand on her arm and he was murmuring intensely. She was nodding. Fighting back tears. Her face immobile. Eventually, she gave a small smile, he squeezed her hand, gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek and they slowly moved along. Neither of them, saw me watching. A private moment on display for everyone to see. But nobody did – they were also locked in their own worlds.

When I was battling a bout of depression (years ago now), I did a lot of my crying on public transport. For me, this was the perfect solution to the overwhelming sadness that needed to be expressed – I didn’t want to be a downer and constantly cry to my friends, but I also didn’t want to cry alone (interestingly enough, I don’t recall anyone ever asking me if I was alright).

Are you seeing where I’m going with this yet? My point is how much a particular location can add to and emphasize your story. Some people enjoy sex in public because of the risks involved in possibly getting caught. In the same way, two characters having a very private moment in public can also add dramatic tension to a scene. Will a kind stranger intervene? Will everyone notice? Will someone shame them for yelling at each other? Or do they lower their voices and lean in so no one can hear them?

A bigger location doesn’t necessarily mean a more dramatic scene either. A confined location can equally add tension. I’ve been stuck in a car at the Mexico border, with someone in the passenger seat consistently screaming angrily at me. For hours. People in neighboring cars occasionally glanced over with curiosity, but no one intervened. I had no escape and no way of getting them out of my car. I just sat there with tears rolling down my cheeks, waiting for them to get tired and stop. Normally, in any sort of argument, I could walk away. Or kick them out of the car. But not this time. In this instance, the setting (my car at the Mexican-US border) added another layer of tension to an already volatile situation and I was trapped by circumstance. When you write a scene, think about how the location or setting can add tension or emphasize the general theme of your story. (Another good example is the fight scene in the elevator in Captain America: The Winter Soldier – just don’t write a spec script with a bunch of characters stuck in an elevator – it’s such an overused device these days).

Anyway, that was a little insight my recent trip to Costco brought me. The resultant slow-cooker pot roast turned out pretty good too (totally worth it).

Now let’s write.

Just bleed.

August 10, 2019

Are we bleeding yet?

“Writing Is Easy; You Just Open a Vein and Bleed” – Red Smith

Just bleed. Dig deep. Give that uncomfortable conversation you never had to your characters. Make your main character yell that painful, honest truth that you’ve never had the courage to say out loud. Bare your soul on the page. Go deep. Be fearless. Doesn’t have to be depressing. Doesn’t have to be serious. The deepest darkest truths can actually be hilarious when you put them on a page and give them to a quirky character to speak. Yes, bleeding your heart out over your keys is difficult. But this is where the universal truth of writing comes from. This is why I write.

IRL I’m kinda funny. Quirky. People tend to view me as someone who’s witty, upbeat, who has their shit together and is relatively stable (apart from my mildly unhealthy Star Wars obsession). I don’t often get emotional and lose my cool. That said, I do feel things. I have all the feels and unlike many people, I don’t have the ability to use the usual tools to drown them (like booze or Xanax). I have to do things – like sit with them. And fricking meditate. Anyway, I digress. The thing is, I wasn’t one to share my feelings openly. And as a result, for a long time, people found it hard to get to know me and vice versa. I thought the way I felt and viewed the world was entirely unique, and I felt very lonely. Then this thing happened. I took what I felt and how I saw things and I started writing.

And eventually this got layered into a story that became a script. And I showed it to the world. And this weird thing started to happen – first with friends and family and then with incredibly smart, talented people in various production companies and agencies – people related to my script and started to share their own very personal experiences with me. I discovered my feelings were actually universal. By putting a bit of my blood on the page, I’d (without realizing it) given other people a chance to open up too and helped them feel a bit less lonely. I’d given us both a bit of validation. And I suddenly felt a little less crazy in this crazy world. It was/is such a gift. (This is not to say that I think my writing is life changing or anything, I’m just pointing out that by me being vulnerable through my writing, I’d unwittingly allowed other people to be vulnerable too).

Truth be told, I don’t get people who say writing is easy. To me, it might start that way. And then it gets hard. Is this scene boring? What is this character struggling with? What does she/he really want to say but doesn’t? I also have this tendency that I’ve only just become aware of to subconsciously break dark moments with humor instead of letting them play out. Truth be told, I’ve been doing this my whole life. Then there’s structure – it’s vital. You gotta have it. But you gotta make the script refreshing enough that it’s entertaining and surprising, but not so out there that you literally don’t lose the plot. That stuff right there, is hard enough. Now layer in characters that need to be real and relatable – complexity, themes, etc. It just gets harder. But like most things in life, the hard stuff is the most rewarding. And that’s why you/I need to bleed. That’s where the good stuff is. Consider this blog the leech-pin to good writing. So stick a knife in your fingers and start bleeding…

How are your characters feeling?

July 23, 2019

To me, how your characters are feeling – the emotional core of their journey – is just as important as structure, if not more. It’s the heart and soul of any script or story, the main driver for our characters, and what motivates them into action. In broad strokes: characters feel things, and in order to change the things they feel strongly about (or the situation that causes their strong feelings), they take actions, which have consequences, which result in personal growth, a change in outcome or a change in how they feel. Just like us, really.

In classic Westerns, our hero is motivated to go on a quest to seek bloody revenge as a result of some sort of devastating personal loss – the brutal death of their wife/brother/sister/father/mother etc. Their emotional core is anger/betrayal/grief. And it drives them ever onwards into darker and bloodier confrontations. In Aliens, Ripley feels a strong maternal bond for Newt, so she takes on the aliens, risking her life to save her (and her crew). In Star Wars, Luke Skywalker is bored with rural farming, and then despondent after the death of his Aunt and Uncle, so he agrees to go on a quest with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

What I’m really getting at here, is what actually motivates the character to act in the first place? What feelings are they having that motivates them to take x, y or z action and what are the consequences? How do they feel about the consequences? For me, what makes a compelling story is understanding how a character feels in each scene. Even if I don’t agree with their behavior or particularly like the character, being able to understand where they’re coming from is important if I’m to be able to engage with their story at all.

Adding another level, sometimes what makes a scene even more compelling is watching a character struggling to take action in spite of how they feel (something we all have to do on a daily basis). One of my favorite examples of this, is Love Actually. Emma Thompson’s character sneakily opens a jewelry box in her husband’s coat to find a gold necklace. She’s excited and touched – convinced he’s finally giving her the romantic Christmas present she’s always hoped for. But later, under the Christmas tree, he hands her a similar shaped box, which she excitedly opens to reveal… a Joni Mitchell CD. And her face falls. In the bedroom, behind closed doors, she fights back tears, before she pulls herself together and re-joins her family in the living room, hiding her breaking heart from her children with big hugs and smiles.

Her obvious struggle to appear happy and grateful, against her realization that her husband is likely having an affair and the gold necklace is intended for someone else, is highly emotional and compelling. The fact she’s fighting down her true feelings of sadness, raises the stakes and makes the scenes even more dramatic. These scenes also remind me that moments don’t have to be BIG and LOUD to be impactful, emotional and dramatic. Sometimes the most drama comes from seeing a character fight their true feelings and hide it from the people around them. Watching someone on screen trying not to cry, can be much more compelling than watching someone just all-out sobbing – their own internal struggle adding another layer of tension.

(Love Actually is actually one of my favorite films for this reason – I understand and know how each character is feeling in every scene.)

Personally, when I first start breaking a story, I start with the emotional core or journey of the main character. Where are they at the start? What do they want? How do they get it? And what do they get at the end? In really broad strokes, I assign it to an act and sort of overlay a structure. E.g: They feel out of place => they want to fit in => they do a, b or c => d, e and f, h, i and j gets thrown in, but eventually they find w, x, y and feel z.

When I get to the scene writing/breaking stage, I’m always asking myself: How does the character feel about what’s going on in this scene? What are they going to do about it? I know we like to believe us humans are practical and logical creatures, but the truth is we are often driven by our emotions (whether we realize it or not). For my characters to be more realistic and relatable, they have to be human too. So that means they need to have emotions and be motivated by them as much as we are.

It’s very easy when writing to get into the “and then she does this” and “then this happens” and to have a story driven by plot. Plot is essential, don’t get me wrong, but if the plot isn’t driven by the character’s motivations and their underlying emotions, then it can feel a bit contrived. You know, kind of cookie-cutter-paint-by-numbers, formulaic. It won’t be as engaging. Sometimes when I’m stuck, if I focus on what the character’s feeling in a particular scene, this will often lead to what they would do, which will help unlock a new and more natural way to drive the plot forward – other than what I might have already outlined.

So, how do you and your characters feel about that?