At Long Last: Ratchet & Clank, The Movie!

So, 2013 has been awesome. I opened it up with my first Batman story, then announced my first live-action feature starring Charlie Day and Jason Sudeikis (One Night on the Hudson), and now I get to see another one of my dreams come to fruition—a full-length animated Ratchet & Clank feature film. To say this year has been exciting so far is like saying King Geoffrey is sort of a jerk.

This project has been one of the toughest secrets I’ve ever had to keep. Ratchet & Clank has been near and dear to my heart ever since I joined Insomniac as a writer in 2007, and though I’ve completed several projects outside the studio, this is the one I’ve always had my fingers crossed for. Long before I came to LA I knew the R&C universe was special—it was funny when most games were serious. It had heart where most games were callous. It was emblematic of a time where games didn’t have to spill blood to be entertaining, so when I was hired on as a writer, I knew I was just handed something special. It was absolutely terrifying.

To be clear, I did not invent all of these characters. Brian Hastings and Ted Price created Ratchet and Clank when the studio shifted away from the ill-fated platformer titled Girl with a Stick. When I took over several years later, I felt like I was entrusted with the keys to my father’s cherry Cadillac. The car is yours, they said, but don’t you dare scratch it.

I suppose it made sense given my love for Douglas Adams and Saturday Morning Cartoons.  I identified with Ratchet and, yes, even Captain Qwark. So it was easy for me to find their voices when the time came to bring them to life in the Future series. I remember sitting at my desk at two in the morning, writing a scene where Emperor Tachyon offers Ratchet a way back to his family, thinking “This universe could absolutely be a movie. So why isn’t it?”

The truth is, many have tried. At least once a year we had animation houses and producers knocking on our door, making all kinds of promises and drawing up every conceivable plan. A good friend and mentor, Director of Brand Management Ryan Schneider, wanted this just as badly as I did—but he didn’t want this to become just another video game adaptation. He turned down several opportunities because he felt Ratchet & Clank deserved to be brought to the big screen the right way—a way that honored our audience while welcoming new ones. With Blockade and Rainmaker, we finally have that opportunity.

Most video game adaptations are written by guns-for-hire; screenwriters between gigs who take the general idea of a game franchise and adapt it to film in the loosest possible sense. For R&C, I can tell you right now that this is every inch a Ratchet & Clank story. I won’t ruin the surprise by going into the plot, but suffice to say, any fan of the series will see Insomniac’s fingerprints all over this movie. We’ve weighed in on everything from character creation to animation to audio design. We’ve provided our own character and environment assets to be used in the film. And of course, I wrote the script.

So what’s changed? Well, this movie gives us the gift of a do-over. We’ve grown a lot as a studio since the Lombax’s first outing, and we’ve learned more about our own universe as a result. We’re proud of every one of our Ratchet games, and this movie represents an evolution of the series. The canon will be slightly different in certain places, but in a way we feel works best for the medium. The story is essentially a reboot; a story-driven adventure that keeps the Ratchet DNA while remaining accessible for audiences unfamiliar with the galaxy’s greatest duo. If that sounds like a lot of marketing speak, here’s the bottom line: It’s different in some places, but it’s the same Ratchet you know and love. Just BIGGER.

There’s more to come soon, but in the meantime, know that this movie was written with you, the fans, in mind. This is the biggest, boldest Ratchet & Clank adventure yet, and we can’t wait to see it all come together into something truly spectacular. And we have you to thank for it—if you hadn’t been such loyal supporters of our work, we never would have been able to start this train moving. I can’t wait to show you what we’re doing. Until then…

– TJ

One Night on the Hudson

After a year and a half of writing, rewriting, and packaging, we finally announced One Night on the Hudson this past Friday. Needless to say, this marked a red-letter day in my career. I’ve been fortunate to work on a lot of fun projects in video games, comics, and animation—but this is my first live-action project. For many writers (perhaps all), it’s the brass ring. And the cast—well, you couldn’t ask for a better one.

After the agents did their thing and the deal was inked, I couldn’t help but sit on the Insomniac balcony and think about the long road here. Those of you who follow this blog or my ramblings on Twitter know I’ve been working in games and comics since 2007, but throughout the process everyone kept excitedly referring to me as a “new writer.” In a way, they’re right. Yes, I have been writing professionally for some time, but every new medium carries with it a new process, a new set of rules, and a new set of people to prove yourself to. This may not be my first foray into the feature world, but it’s certainly the first to get picked up by a studio. I’m officially in uncharted waters, and I love the thrill of it.

The best part about the project so far is how excited and involved Charlie, Jason, Seth, and producers are. Everyone on board has offered tweaks and feedback that have made the script stronger, funnier, and more engaging. This isn’t a throwaway action-comedy: we want this to be something you remember and enjoy and quote to your friends.

I can’t go into it further just yet, but I’m excited for the road ahead. I’m already taking some interesting meetings, and I have a few more things to announce in the coming months. 2013 is going to be a chaotic year for me—but I look forward to tackling it and hopefully giving you guys something incredible.

Or at least something good enough to keep the phone ringing and the lights on.

– TJ

The Light Switch

About a month ago I started a new feature assignment. The pitch went great, and I had an approved treatment less than two weeks later. When I received the green light to start the script, I felt confident. My character arcs were defined, my plot hammered out, my third act rug-pull neatly planned. The script is going to be a cakewalk. Right?

There’s a certain self-assuredness that comes with reaching this point in the writing process. Maybe it’s because the path to a finished treatment is often a soul-crushing mirror of truth. It forces us to face (and, more frighteningly, fix) every plot hole, inconsistency, and cliché we overlooked when that perfect idea first gestated in our brains. It challenges us by crossing its arms defiantly and saying, “Yeah, sure, the concept was good. But now you have to make it real.” So when we triumph, it’s like we’re wielding Excalibur in a black leather Fonzie jacket while the Dos Equis guy nods approvingly from across the bar.

Feeling confident, I cracked open the laptop, poured myself a whiskey and Coke, and… nothing. No words came, not for an hour. Then two. I finally managed to start a scene—then promptly deleted it. The opening sequence was described in the outline, right? So why isn’t it spilling out of my brain with the unbridled fury of the Ark of the Covenant? I hit a creative wall, and hit it hard. So I took a break. I made coffee. I paced and cursed and played Halo—you know, the usual creative exercises. Finally, with inspiration pretty much on strike, I pushed it aside for a night. I rationalized it by telling myself I could do double the pages in the morning and make up for lost time. But I didn’t.

After several days, I started to panic. I had forced out four pages, but hated every one of them. I pushed another page out and realized I wasn’t writing because the scene moved me; I was writing just to get to the next page. I wanted to feel progress. It was like someone had crept into my Apartment of Solitude and rearranged all the keys on my MacBook Air, and I was learning how to write all over again. And by God, there is no worse feeling for a writer than feeling like you’ve forgotten how to write.

When we hit that wall, a whole bunch of unpleasant words float through our minds—hack being the ugliest. When we imagine ourselves writing, we never think about the struggle. We think about the flow; the endless stream of perfectly-matched nouns, verbs, and adverbs that say exactly what we want to say. So does it make us hacks when we push words out to feel a sense of progress? I submit to you that it doesn’t.

I once read the following quote from Winston Churchill: “When you find yourself going through hell, keep going.” This can easily be applied to writing. Pushing pages out you don’t believe in isn’t a bad idea; submitting pages you don’t believe in is a bad idea. I pushed and I hammered and I wrote until finally, the other day, I noticed a change. I started recognizing my characters’ voices underneath the forced prose. Things started to take shape. I started recognizing not just that certain scenes were wrong; I noticed why they were wrong. And like someone flipped a light switch, I could write again.

There’s still a long way to go on this project. Treatments may help avoid major story pitfalls, but they don’t solve everything. New ideas, characters, and problems bubble to the surface constantly. But hitting the wall reminded me that rocky starts are part of the process. Flow doesn’t come easy; sometimes it doesn’t even show up until the first draft is complete. The key is to keep going and push through until something inside of you flips that light switch on.

– TJ

Questions from the Twitterverse

Hey Everyone!

Today I thought I’d answer a few questions from Twitter. For those of you who don’t follow me, I’m @TJ_Fixman. Yes, it’s the world’s most original twitter name.

@DavidGillette1  Favorite Quantum Leap episode?

So hard to pick! Quantum Leap is one of my favorite TV shows of all time, so there are so many episodes to choose from. A lot of people would probably say the Lee Harvey Oswald episode, but I’d have to go with “The Leap Back.” That’s the one where Al and Sam switch places. Sam becomes a hologram trapped in the Imaging Chamber, and Al is stuck with the Ziggy uplink in 1945. Sam even got to back to the future (1995!) to reconnect with his estranged wife. The episode was so good it almost makes up for the evil leapers.

@nickthebishop15: What do you look for when reading over your first draft?

The honest answer is, everything. Draft One is my throwaway draft—usually I refer to it as “Draft Zero,” as it may have temp dialogue, omitted scenes, script notes that require rewrites to other parts of the story, etc. Thorough outlining can eliminate 90% of your plot holes, but often times you’ll break real ground during the script writing process. This means lots of fixes. I’ll think of that elusive twist, or a new take on a character, or an idea that didn’t occur to me during the outline process. Rather than stop, go back, and rework, I’ll push forward with the idea and note the changes I’ll have to make in earlier scenes. Naturally, I try not to show Draft Zero to anyone since it looks pretty messy, but it’s a process I’ve found works well for me.

@DannyJC13 Insomniac have strongly suggested FFA/QF will not be the final R&C, are you guys already brainstorming for the next game?

As far as I know we haven’t suggested anything of the sort, but I always find it funny how internet rumors get started! Obviously I can’t comment on future titles, but I will say nothing is ever set in stone. Insomniac loves the Ratchet & Clank universe, but we don’t want to churn out titles unless we’re sure we can deliver on a fun, unique experience. So I’ll hit you with the “never say never” response, but I will also confirm that I am just as in love with the Ratchet universe as I was when I first started. So if Insomniac chooses to do another Ratchet game, I’d be interested in writing it.

@WestonAlbert What kind of writing samples should you have trying to break into the game industry, especially if you haven’t worked on a game?

This is a tough question, because it comes with bad news. The honest truth is that if you haven’t worked on a game, sending in your samples is probably not going to get you anywhere. As I’ve mentioned in my blog, getting a job as a game writer means experience in both game production and writing. This means you must have been published several times and have experience in some form of game production. I know this may seem like a long road, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. The key is to develop your portfolio and get yourself through the door. This can mean game design, QA, or animation. Start from the bottom and work your way up. I wrote greeting cards just for experience!

@CooperHeinrichs What are some of your influences for comedic writing? Do you read your dialogue aloud with other writers?

When I was a kid I fell in love with those old Looney Tunes cartoons. I remember being amazed at how much comedy you could get with just a coyote, a roadrunner, and a ton of faulty Acme products. I also love Douglas Adams, Steven Spielberg, and Mel Brooks (Spaceballs is still one of my all-time favorite movies).

As for reading my dialogue with other writers, since I tend to work alone I don’t read my dialogue to other writers. However, I do act out my own scenes to make sure what I’m writing is actable. Since I myself am a terrible actor I try not to do this in front of Insomniacs, but I find that acting out my own material is the fastest way to know if it’s working or not.

@alexislawl Tips for newcomers to narrative design / writing for games?

Start with the basics. When I was 17 I thought my writing was amazing; I read it now and wonder why I ever sent it out. Every sample you write is going to be stronger than the one before, so don’t be too eager. The last thing you want is to send out a sample that is sub-par and earn a reputation as a green writer. Start by writing short stories, entering screenwriting competitions, and magazine articles. When you succeed in one area, jump up a rung. You’d be amazed at how much your writing will improve in just a few years. Then, when you have learned about the landscape of professional writing, make your move.  Everyone hates hearing that they have work to do before they earn the job of their dreams, but being strategic and realistic about your writing will better prepare you for success.

@DrewHolmes Will you read my R&C slash fic?

Drew, please stop sending me your stories. They are borderline pornographic and the paper always smells like cheap bourbon.

@jakesones How did you escape New Jersey?

Who says I escaped? *shudders*

Legends of the Dark Knight: A Game to Die For

Hey Everyone,

Just a quick post this time — and admittedly, a bit of a shameless plug. A few months ago I had the pleasure of writing a Batman story for DC comics. To say this was a dream come true would be underselling it; this was one of the biggest honors a writer could hope for. Like many of you, I had a Batman poster up on my wall as a kid, so to join the fraternity of Batman writers is definitely something to check off the proverbial bucket list. It also doesn’t hurt to be surrounded by great writers like Damon Lindelof and Steve Niles.

Thanks to Chris Mitten for the raw, gritty art, and Ben Abernathy, my editor and friend, for giving me a shot at ol’ Bats. Yes, I made him something of a secondary character — but I wanted to explore a psychological story involving someone who idolized Batman from afar and soon finds himself in over his head because of it.

If you haven’t downloaded it yet, you can find it here:

Legends of the Dark Knight: A Game to Die For

If you like it, please tweet, post, facebook, etc. it so I can keep the lights on and the laptop in business. With any luck (and time permitting) I’ll be able to jump back into another graphic novel soon. Until then, enjoy, and let me know what you think!

How I Became a Writer Cliché (and Survived)

Hey everyone! Sorry I’ve been away for a while. I’ve been hammering away on Fuse and Ratchet & Clank: Full Frontal Assault, so the past few months have been some of the most hectic of my life (as evidenced by the Leaning Tower of Dishware in my sink and the sticky notes that still seem to be snowing from no discernible origin).

This is a story I’ve been meaning to tell for some time, as it’s something I’m asked on Twitter at least once a week. Game writing is one of those bizarre niche jobs you never think anyone has. It’s a tough-to-crack profession inside a tougher-to-crack industry, so finding out where to start is like trying to find the island on Lost. Even my own path to game writing was bizarre and circuitous. So let’s take a look at how I ended up writing at Insomniac.

It was 2004, and I had been renting a room in my friend’s house in Orlando trying to get my writing career off the ground. By this time I had seen fleeting periods of “success” in the freelance world: a magazine article here, a technical manual there. During the day I went to class to learn Maya and work on my 3D portfolio, and at night I’d crack open an embarrassingly outdated copy of The Writer’s Market and pitch ideas to any editor who would take a query from an unknown. I wrote screenplays and greeting cards and short stories. I was unfocused, but hungry.

One day, out of the blue, I received an email from an exec from LA who had read one of the scripts I submitted to a screenwriting competition. He couldn’t develop it, as they already had something in that genre in production, but he wanted to track my career as a writer and offered to refer me to some agents in Los Angeles. By that summer, I was repped by a small boutique agency. To this day, this remains the second-grandest gesture from a stranger I’ve ever had (Number #1 is on its way).

* * *

My first agent was no Ari Gold, but he was young and hungry like me. So when he told me he had several show runners itching to hire me, my entire world began to spin. By now I also earned a degree in Computer Animation, so I knew both industries lay in the same city. I immediately sold off everything I owned and moved to Los Angeles with no job and less than a thousand dollars in my savings account. Yes, my friends, I was a rucksack and a Bob Dylan soundtrack away from being the total writer cliché. And I loved it. But if I had known what would happen next, I probably would have held off on the pilgrimage.

After one exciting meeting with my new agent, I found out he was fired. Not because of me, mind you—in fact, I don’t think I ever got a reason why he was let go. My agency told me they’d love to continue representing me, but they never returned another phone call or email again. And like that, I was back where every struggling writer in LA is: on the outside of a locked industry with no clue how to find a key.

 * * *

2005 is what I lovingly refer to as “The Dark Time.” I suspect I was not very pleasant to be around during this chapter in my life. I found work as a file clerk at a hospital in Glendale. I delivered packages for UPS. I toiled away in my tiny studio apartment in Van Nuys, smoking Parliaments and using what remaining hours of the day I had after work to develop my 3D portfolio and write. I was flat broke to the point where I was sleeping on an air mattress and selling everything I owned on eBay to make rent. I was in a strange city and knew nobody. Okay, now, I thought, I am a writer cliché.

It was then I decided that maybe writing would be something I did on the side, just for me. I started focusing more on video games and grabbed a game testing gig at Electronic Arts. I started learning as much as I could about video game production, but never once stopped to think about who did all the writing. At EA, the testers are (or possibly were, since this was a long time ago) in a separate room away from the rest of the production team. So it was difficult to see firsthand how things were done. Then, in 2006, I switched over to Insomniac.

 * * *

I started Insomniac as a tester on the first Resistance, but didn’t do much testing. About a month in my lead turned me over to the design team and had me nav-meshing levels. For the uninitiated, this means I was marking areas where the enemies could traverse. I also handled collision and a few other small details. To me, this was a testament to how incredible Insomniac is. At Insom there were no locked doors or secret meetings. If you wanted to know something, you walked up to that person and asked them—even if that person was Ted Price.

At the same time my writing career took an unexpected turn for the better; a producer had read my samples and sent them to another agent. Suddenly, the Dark Time was over, and I had two careers taking shape. I quickly fell into the rat race of “generals” — meet and greets with execs who liked my work and wanted to discuss future projects. There’s a feeling of success the first time you get a drive-on to a studio lot. I remember standing under the water tower at WB and hoping the Animaniacs would jump out. It was exciting and empowering. And endless.

Yes, friends, when I say it’s a rat race, I mean it’s a rat race. There are meetings all the time, and when you have a full-time job, managing this can be tricky. Somehow I was able to multitask, and even landed a script with a producer. This came right at the perfect time, as Resistance was done and QA was staffing down. My time with Insomniac was drawing to a close…

And then, I discovered another irritating fact about the movie business no one ever talks about: everything takes a really, really, really long time. It’s never as simple as writing a script; there are rewrites, note sessions, and all the politics of packaging. I had made a leap forward, but hadn’t made any money— and soon I would be without a job or means to pay my rent.

Then, the Number #1 grandest gesture came around. Adam Moore, the writer Insomniac hired for Tools of Destruction was leaving the company. He was a fantastic writer who was frustrated with the mercurial nature of game production (see one of my previous blog entries) and was shifting back to the feature world. But before he left, he recommended me for his position. There’s a ton of competition between writers, so the fact that he was let go and recommended his own replacement is something I’ll never forget.

I spent the entire weekend unemployed, came in for an interview on Monday, and was hired on Wednesday. When Brian gave me the good news I had $200 left in my bank account and half my belongings boxed up. From there, the rest is history. And that script I was working on? When the writer’s strike hit a month into my tenure at Insomniac, all projects were put on pause. Mine was one that was never taken off of it. Welcome to Hollywood!

 * * *

Now, in 2012, things couldn’t be more exciting. I’ve gotten to work on some killer projects at Insomniac, and even worked on some exciting feature and comic book projects. I’m still geeking out about getting to write a Batman story for DC, and have some crazy stuff lined up for 2013.

So why am I going into all this now? Well, if you’re trying to get into the video game industry, I wanted to bring up an important piece of advice: you need experience not just in writing, but also in game production. Being a good storyteller isn’t enough; you need to learn a trade that will help you interface with the team. Amy Hennig, Steve Jaros, Ken Levine – these talented folks aren’t just writers; they’re designers. My writing got me the interview, but my knowledge of 3D animation and basic design got me my job.

If you’re a feature or TV writer, my advice to you is to stay focused and persistent. Even during the Dark Time I knew I had to keep writing. Not to sound schmaltzy, but life will throw so many hurdles at you you’ll wonder if you’re living in some cosmic reality show. When that happens, just pick up that rucksack, put on some Bob Dylan, and accept that sometimes success means becoming a cliché for a while. It’s persistence that will turn you into a professional.

Rejection: Making it Your Bitch

Rejection is the toughest part of professional writing. If you’ve been in this business longer than a week, you’ve undoubtedly received the dreaded Form Letter of Doom™. Dear so-and-so, it starts, thank you so much for your interest in our publication. Though we found your article/novel interesting, we regret to inform you that at this time it is not right for us…

And that’s it. You toss the letter, lean back, and ruminate. What happened? How could something you were confident enough in to spend months (or possibly years) developing not be good enough for publication? Disbelief turns to doubt. And like that damn earwig from Wrath of Khan, it bores its way into your brain and sets up shop. Self-pity rents the room upstairs, making you reexamine your skills as a writer and inspiring less-creative endeavors like watching a 24-hour marathon of Cheaters. Or so I’ve heard.

Rejection will always be the toughest part of what we do because it causes us to question what we do. It takes us out of the safety of our offices and reminds us that our words are subject to scrutiny. It assigns value, or lack of it, to our passion. Someone out there who has been in the industry longer than you has decreed that you suck, and should never write again – at least, that’s how it feels.

So how do we beat it? My prescription is tripartite: you beat it by accepting that it happens to every writer, finding humor in it, and learning from the experience.

There is not a single working writer who hasn’t received enough rejection letters to wallpaper their house with. When I was in college my entire room was literally plastered with form letters from every magazine, publisher, and agent who rejected me. It’s the cost of doing business, and accepting that it’s going to happen takes away its gravitas. You will be rejected – a lot – but so was Stephen King (side note: read On Writing for some great perspective on what writers go through while trying to break in).  Laughing it off and moving on is the key to keeping your sanity.

Of course, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t learn from these rejections. The people sending these letters are professionals, so chances are there’s improvement that can be made on your end. Ask yourself why you may have been rejected, and what you can do to improve your chances next time. Was your pitch brief and impactful? Was your manuscript appropriate for that particular publisher? Was your sample as polished as possible? Be brutally honest with yourself, as the answers will help you get more positive results next time. Most importantly, keep working on your craft. If you asked the best writers in the world if they felt they were any good, they’d all tell you pretty much the same thing: “No, but I’m working on it.”

We can all be better. We are never “ready.” There will never be a day where I don’t try to learn a new word or improve my prose. It’s this never-ending search that keeps us humble and hungry. I choose to let rejection motivate me instead of beat me down. And even though I don’t have the wall anymore, I know that every one of those letters is partly responsible for where I am today.

TJ