Category Archives: Nonfiction Work


We habitually underestimate the effects of randomness. Our stock broker recommeds that we invest in the Latin American mutual fund that “beats the pants off the domestic funds” five years running. Our doctor attributes that increase in our triglycerides to our new habit of enjoying a Hostess Ding Dong with milk every morning after dutifully feeding the kids a breakfast of mangoes and nonfat yogurt. We may or may not take our stockbroker’s or doctor’s advice, but few of us question whether he or she has enough data to give it. In the political world, the economic world, the business world – even when careers and millions of dollars are at stake – chance events are often conspicuously misinterpreted as accomplishments or failures.

Hollywood provides a nice illustration. Are the rewards (and punishments) of the Hollywood game deserved, or does luck play a far more important role in box office success (and failure) than people imagine? We all understand that genius doesn’t guarantee success, but it’s seductive to assume that success must come from genius. Yet the idea that no one can know in advance whether a film will hit or miss has been an uncomfortable suspicion in Hollywood since the novelist and screenwriter William Goldman enunciated it in his classic 1983 book Adventures in the Screen Trade. In that book, Goldman quoted the former film executive David Picker as saying, “If I said yes to all the projects I turned down, and no to all the other ones I took, it would have worked out about the same.”

That’s not to say that a jittery homemade horror video could become a hit just as easily as, say, Exorcist: The Beginning, which cost an estimated $80 million. Well, actually, that is what happened some years back with The Blair Witch Project: it cost the filmmakers a mere $60,000 but brought in $140 million in domestic box office revenue – more than three times the box office of Exorcist: The Beginning. Still, that’s not what Goldman was saying. He was referring only to professionally-made Hollywood films with production values good enough to land the film a respectable distributor. And Goldman didn’t deny that there are reasons for a film office’s box office performance. But he did say that those reasons are so complex and the path from green light to opening weekend so vulnerable to unforeseeable and uncontrollable influences that educated guesses about an unmade film’s potential aren’t much better than flips of a coin.

Examples if Hollywood’s unpredictability are easy to find Movie buffs will remember the great expectations the studios had for the megaflops Ishtar (Warren Beatty + Dustin Hoffman + a $55 million budget = $14 million in box office revenue) and Last Action Hero (Arnold Schwarzenegger + $85 million = $50 million box office). On the other hand, you might recall the grave doubts that executives at Universal Studios had about the young director George Lucas’s film American Graffiti, shot for less than $1 million. Despite their skepticism, it took in $115 million, but still that didn’t stop them from hving even graver doubts about Lucas’s next idea. He called the story Adventures of Luke Starkiller as taken from The Journal of the Whills”. Universal called it unproducible. Ultimately 20th Century Fox made the film, but the studios faith in the project only went so far: it paid Lucas just $200,000 to write and direct it; in exchange, Lucas received sequel and merchandising rights. In the end, Star Wars took in $461 million on a budget of $13 million, and Lucas had himself an empire.

Given the fact that green light decisions are made years before a film is completed and films are subject to many unpredictable factors that arise during those years of production and marketing, not to mention the inscrutable tastes of the audience, Goldman’s theory doesn’t seem all that far-fetched. (It is also one that is supported by much recent economic research.) Despite all of this, studio executives are not judged by the bread-and-butter management skills that are as essential to the head of the United States Steel Corporation as they are to the Head of Paramount Pictures. Instead, they are judged by their ability to pick hits. If Goldman is right, that ability is mere illusion, and in spite of his or her swagger no executive is worth that $25 million contract.

Deciding just how much of an outcome is due to skill and how much is luck is not a no-brainer. Random events often come like the raisins in a box of cereal – in groups, streaks, and clusters. And although Fortune is fair in probabilities, she is not fair in outcomes. That means that if each of 10 Hollywood executives tosses 10 coins, although each has an equal chance of being the winner or the loser, in the end there will be winners and losers. In this example, the chances are 2 out of 3 that at least 1 of the executives will score 8 or more heads or tails.

Imagine that George Lucas makes a new Star Wars films and in one test market decides to perform a crazy experiment. He releases the identical film under two titles: Star Wars Episode A and Star Wars Episode B. Each film has its own marketing campaign and distribution schedule, with the corresponding details identical except that the trailers and ads for one film say Episode A and those fro the other Episode B. Now we make a contest out of it. Which film will be more popular? Say we look at the full 20,000 moveigoers and record the film they choose to see (ignoring those die-hard fans who will go to both and then insist there were subtle but meaningful differences between the two). Since the films and their marketing campaigns are identical, we can mathematically model the game this way: Imagine lining up all the viewers in a row and flipping a coin for each viewer in turn. If the coin lands heads up, he or she sees Episode A; if the coin lands tails up, it’s Episode B. Because the coin has an equal chance of coming up either way, you might think that in this experimental box office war each film should be in the lead about half the time. But the mathematics of randomness say otherwise: the most probable number of changes is 0, and it is 88 times more probable that one of the two films will lead through all 20,000 customers than it is that, say, the lead continuously seesaws. The lesson is not that there is no difference between films but that some films will do better than others even if all films are identical.

Such issues are not discussed in corporate boardrooms, in Hollywood or elsewhere, and so the typical patterns of randomness 0 apparent hot or cold streaks or the bunching of data into clusters – are routinely misinterpreted and, worse, acted on as if they represented a new trend.

One of the most high profile examples of anointment and regicide in modern Hollywood was the case of Sherry Lansing, who ran Paramount for many years. Under Lansing, Paramount won Best Picture awards for Forrest Gump, Braveheart and Titanic and posted its two highest-grossing years ever. Then Lansing’s reputation suddenly plunged, and she was dumped after Paramount experiences, as Variety put it, “a long stretch of underperformance at the box office”.

In mathematical terms there is both a short and a long explanation for Lansing’s fate. First, the short answer. Look at this series of percentages: 11.4, 10.6, 11.3, 7.4, 7.1, 6.7.  Notice something? Lansing’s boss, Sumner Redstone, did too, and for him the trend was significant, for those six numbers represented the market share of Paramount’s Motion Picture Group for the final years of Lansing’s tenure. The trend caused BusinessWeek to speculate that Lansing “may simply no longer have Hollywood’s hot hand.” Soon Lansing announced she was leaving, and a few months later a talent manager named Brad Grey was brought on board.

How can a surefire genius lead a company through seven great years and then fail practically overnight? There were plenty of theories explaining Lansing’s early success. While Paramount was doing well, Lansing was praised for making it one of Hollywood’s best-run studios and for her knack for turning conventional stories into $100 million hits. When her fortune changed, the revisionists took over. Her penchant for making successful remakes and sequels became a drawback. Most damning of all, perhaps, was the notion that her failure was due to her “middle-of-the-road tastes.” She was now blamed for green-lighting such dogs a Timeline and Lara Croft: The Cradle of Life. Suddenly the conventional wisdom was that Lansing was risk-averse, old-fashioned and out of touch with the trends. But can she really be blamed for thinking that a Michael Crichton bestseller would be promising movie fodder? And where were all the Lara Croft critics when the first Tomb Raider took in $131 million in box office revenue?

Even if the theories for Lansing’s shortcomings were plausible, consider how abruptly her demise occurred. Did she become risk averse and out of touch overnight? Because Paramount’s market share plunged that suddenly. One year Lansing was flying high; the next she was a punch line for late-night comedians. Her change of fortune might have been understandable if, like others in Hollywood, she had become depressed over a nasty divorce proceeding, had been charged with embezzlement, or had joined a religious cult. That was not the case. And she certainly hadn’t sustained any damage to her cerebral cortex. The only evidence of Lansing’s newly developed failings that her critics could offer was, in fact, her newly developed failings.

In hindsight it is clear that Lansing was fired because of the industry’s misunderstanding of randomness and not because of her flawed decision making: Paramount’s films for the next year were already in the pipeline when Lansing left the company. So if we want to know how Lansing would have done in some parallel universe in which she remained in hr job, all we need to do is look at the data in the year following her departure. With such films as War of the Worlds and The Longest Yard Paramount had its best summer in a decade and saw its market share rebound to nearly 10 percent. That isn’t merely ironic – it’s […] regression toward the mean. A Variety headline on the subject read, “Parting Gifts: Old Regime’s Pics Fuel Paramount Rebound,” but one can’t help but think that had Viacom (Paramount’s parent company) had more patience, the headline might have read “Banner Year Puts Paramount and Lansing’s Career Back on Track.”

Sherry Lansing may have had good luck at the beginning and bad luck at the end, but it could have been worse. She could have had her bad luck at the beginning. That’s what happened to a Columbia Pictures chief named Mark Canton. Described as box office savvy and enthusiastic shortly after he was hired, he was fired after his first few years produced disappointing box office results. Criticised by one unnamed colleage  for being “incapable of distinguishing the winners from the losers”and by another for being “too busy cheerleading,” this disgraced man left in the pipeline when he departed such films as Men in Black ($589 million), Air Force One ($315 million), The Fifth Element ($264 million), Jerry Maguire ($274 million) and Anaconda ($137 million). As Variety put it, Canton’s legacy pictures “hit and hit big.”

– The Drunkard’s Walk (2009), Leonard Mlodinow. (p. 11-16)



Mocteroof [English]: Term of obscure origin used in the mid-1800s for the craft of ‘frubbishing’ or dressing up damaged fruits and vegetables, used by produce ‘kramers’ or peddlers . Noun.

Beeswax, for example, was applied to chestnuts by shaking the two together in a box. Some other nineteenth-century tricks of the trade used by a shady London costermonger:

“I’ve boiled lots of oranges,” chuckled one man, “and sold ’em to Irish hawkers  as wasn’t wide awake, for stunning big uns. The boiling swells the oranges and so makes ’em look finer ones, but it spoils them, for it takes out the juice. People can’t find that out though until it’s too late. I boiled the oranges only a few minutes, and three or four dozen at a time.” Oranges thus prepared will not keep, and any Irishwoman, tricked as were my informant’s customers, is astonisged to find her stock of oranges turn dark-colouered and worthless in forty-eight hours.

A seventeenth-century mangonist was a market-person who “tricked up” various types of inferior goods, such as fruit and vegetables. This term was inspired by a sinister verb, to mangonize, or to pamper slaves with extra food and rest to make them appear stronger and healthier in preparation for their sale.

– Forgotten EnglishJeffrey Kacirk. (p. 113-14)


Tartle [Scottish]: To hesitate in recognising a person or thing. Verb.

We have all found ourselves, at least once, in the embarrassing position of talking to somebody who has been introduce before but whose name temporarily escapes all attempts at recall. If you recover quickly enough to avoid terminal embarrassment and remember the name of your fellow partygoer or business acquaintence, you have committed an act common enough for the Scottish people to have coined a word for it: They would say that you tartled (TAR-tul).

– They Have a Word For It: A Lighthearted Lexicon of Untranslateable Words and PhrasesHoward Rheingold. (p. 39)

WRITING Quick Tip: The War of Art

Every writer, particularly any writer who struggles with procrastination, needs to read the first 100 pages of Steven Pressfield‘s The War of Art. Part 2 is skippable, and Part 3… really wasn’t my thing. But Part 1, those first 100 pages, are absolutely essential.

WRITING: Stop Pretending Art is Hard

So quit the bitching on your blog
And stop pretending art is hard.
Just limit yourself to three chords
And do not practice daily!

– Amanda Palmer, Ukelele Anthem [2012]

This lyric, one of my favourites, is clearly bullshit, yes? Art is hard, right?

I mean, really. Art is totally, mindbreakingly difficult. Except when it’s astonishingly easy. Creating your next masterpiece can be easy as breathing one day, then you can find yourself struggling just to do anything the next. Art is easy and art is hard.

The thing is, that’s not what Palmer is saying here. She’s not saying, “Art is easy.”

Take another look – do not practice daily, she says. Why? Why is Amanda Palmer, an internationally known musician, recommending you buy a $20 ukelele and barely learn to play it?

Because she’s saying, “Art doesn’t have to be hard, doesn’t have to be good, to be worth the effort.”

She’s saying, play the ukelele badly as long as you play it. Sketch terribly as long as you sketch. Write and sing and dance and play terribly, because the art isn’t the thing, sometimes. Sometimes doing the art, creating the art, is the thing. Don’t give a shit if what you’re creating is worthwhile, sometimes, because it’s the process of being creative that enriches you and awakens you.

Plus: You can’t do good art until you do bad art. Just like, if you’re learning a language, there will be a time where you are terrible at speaking that language. But you keep going because you know, if you keep going, that you’ll be fluent.

(Unless you’re a savant and instantly are perfect at something. In which case, do me a solid and pick something you’re capable of being bad at, here.)

Good art is hard. And it takes work, and effort, and time, and probably money if you’re really serious about it.

But bad are, mediocre art, who gives a fuck art? That’s also important, because it takes the pressure off. There’s no audience, no grand goal, no big intention. Just you, creating something because you want to.

Buy a ukelele. Write some fanfiction. Sing in the shower. Write awkward, misshapen poetry about your earliest memory. Sketch some passing visual fancy of yours. Take photos of trees and street signs and your lunch. Create. Because creation is inherently valuable, even if you don’t share it, even if you aren’t trying to make Great Art. Instead, take some time to experience art.

Trust me. It’s worth it.

WRITING: Love Your Writing

“The best thing about writing fiction is that moment where the story catches fire and comes to life on the page, and suddenly it all makes sense and you know what it’s about and why you’re doing it and what these people are saying and doing, and you get to feel like both the creator and the audience. Everything is suddenly both obvious and surprising (“but of course that’s why he was doing that, and that means that…”) and it’s magic and wonderful and strange.” – Neil Gaiman

One thing nobody says is that it’s okay to love your writing.

So, here goes: It’s okay to love your writing. Honestly. I mean that. Without disclaimer, you are allowed to love what you’ve created. Unabashedly and without downplaying it or peppering it “but”s.

I can’t count how many times I’ve heard the opposite: that it’s okay that you hate your writing. Don’t worry, they say, I hate my writing too. All real writers hate their writing, because their standards are too high and they’re artists and nothing’s ever perfect and– the list goes on and on. To the point, sometimes, where it feels like if you don’t hate your writing, then maybe you should.

Nobody will tell everyone else that it’s okay if you love your writing, and nobody – for fear of not being humble enough, for fear of being called out as not a real writer – will publicly say they love their own writing. It’s an extension of Imposter Syndrome: Everyone’s afraid that if they let on that they’re enjoying themselves, everyone will realise it’s not real work and take their writing away somehow.

So let me start: I love my writing, and it’s okay for you to love yours too.

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WRITING: Season Arcs and Season Formulae

Television has changed dramatically in the last 10-15 years. Not only the standard storytelling methods of the typical day-to-day procedurals, but the existence of the purely-serialised and partially-serialised series. Now, many shows don’t just have episodic arcs and formulae, but seasonal ones. The funny thing is, it’s in a way a longer form of what is done at the episodic level, with a seasonal formula repeating every season with new elements.

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WRITING: How I Develop Projects

Every writer has a different process for falling in love with a new story, character, world. For some it’s instant, like lightning; from the moment a character appears, they loom large, taking up all available space until the writer relents and digs in. For others it takes a catalyst. I bet some can choose which to fall for and when; I envy them.

For me, it’s about visualisation and music connecting me to character.

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TV: On Identification and HBO’s “Looking”

“You’re a pervert now. You gotta wear those colours with pride!”

I’ve watched the pilot for HBO’s Looking a few times now. Not because I planned to review it, or because I’ve watched it with other people, or out of particular fondness for a member of the cast.

I keep rewatching it because I identify with it, so much so that it’s forced me to reconsider my view of what it means to identify with a piece of fiction.

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SCRIPT SHOWCASE: The Good Wife 1×16, “Fleas”

It’s important for screenwriters to read pro scripts. TV, movies, webseries, the works. We have to see how they work. Not just the functions of the various formatting elements (slugline, action, parenthetical…) but the interplay of the language. The expression of a complicated idea in simple actions and dialogue.

Sometimes I want to share the love for a really good, well-written script. Right now, it’s the episode of The Good Wife that convinced me the show was truly something special.

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