She Had It Coming

I killed a woman Sunday night.

Granted, she was one of the characters in my screenplay, but it was still a gut-wrenching experience. In the end, I didn't actually show her death, since the conversation between the characters at her death-bed was the important part of the scene, but that didn't make it any easier.

In fact, not showing her death felt a little like I was holding something back. I don't pull my punches on the rest of the screenplay; it's not gritty or edgy, but its examination of some topical and sensitive issues will certainly draw criticism from the Religious Right and quite possibly from women's rights organizations. Some of it will be decidedly difficult to watch.

So, why did I hold back from showing her issuing that last, long sigh as she passed? As I wrote the scene, and the two characters at her bedside talk, it became apparent that I didn't need to. No matter how I tried to steer the scene in that direction, the characters' conversation wouldn't let me go there. The dialogue was good, powerful, meaningful stuff; it just didn't mesh with the moment of this woman's death. Suddenly, I was at the end of the scene, and she was still alive.

And I realized that I didn't need to show it. It may be more powerful because I don't show it. One moment on screen, she's alive but on life support. The next, her sister is putting her personal effects in a box.

I'm learning a great deal about story telling as I write this screenplay, and one of the most important lessons is that what you don't say, what you don't show, can be even more moving than what you do.

I had known all along, since the morning I first outlined this story, that this woman was going to die. Her death carries important lessons for all the other characters...lessons about how we connect with each other, lessons about hate and intolerance and ignorance, lessons about love.

From a purely storytelling standpoint, her passing came at the climax of the story, the point at which the film moves from the second act into the third. We're into the home stretch, now.

Still, when the moment came, it was painful, and I found myself grieving the loss. I sat in the dark for a while. I got up and poured myself a glass of Pinot Noir, then sat in the dark a while longer.

I'll be finished with the first draft by Sunday at the latest. After that, it's out to my readers, then back for rewrites and adjustments. I won't see her in quite the same way I did when I was writing the first two thirds of this first draft, though. I'll know where she's going, how she ends up. Our relationship won't be as innocent as it was.

I guess that's to be expected. After all, I did kill her.

Even if she did have it coming.