Ranting. Precision. Power

It was the first night of class at USC, I was exhausted and the instructor was crazy.

I wanted to take courses at the School of Cinematic Arts (SCA) as an alumni. Though I'd already studied screenwriting in one of USC's other schools, I was required to take an introductory course before I could take more advanced classes in SCA.

Several professors taught intro to screenwriting, and after studying their portraits on the school web page, I chose the person with the kindest expression.

As class began the professor ranted; he swore. He spoke in run-on sentences that made no sense. The second week of class his strange behavior continued.

I watched students line up so he would sign their drop slips, and if I'd had the energy I would've dropped the class too. My commute to USC was over an hour each way and I was working full time. I sat in the back of class, determined to endure the rants and complete the class so I could take the classes I was interested in. 

Then, the deadline for dropping classes without penalty passed. Though the class wasn't exclusive -- any USC student could sign up for intro to screenwriting -- I was surprised how many students remained. They must've really wanted to study screenwriting, or they didn't know much about screenwriting and were intimidated, or maybe the other classes were full.

As class began, the teacher changed. He was kind. He  had written pilot episodes of well-known shows. He was passionate about screenwriting and teaching.

One night I remember turning in an assignment that I wasn't happy with; I knew I hadn't done well. As he began reading my assignment aloud to the class, something happened that I will never forget. Almost immediately he realized that I'd failed. His eyes scanned what I'd written and without pausing he continued to speak, transforming my imperfect narrative and scenes into an amazing story. And I learned and was grateful.

Once, during a break I overheard a visiting student ask him to write a recommendation letter for her; she was applying to the School of Cinematic Arts. He warmly agreed.

I decided to view the class as a master class. And it was fabulous.

One evening, the teacher read an opening scene from a screenplay that a student had turned in. The story opened on a mountain covered with hundreds of trees.

The teacher paused.

"When your story appears onscreen, the screen will be immense," he said. "You describe hundreds of similar trees -- the audience won't know where to look." He then asked us to imagine that on the screen was a hillside filled with trees; an old wood cabin is halfway down the mountain; smoke curling from the chimney.

That evening, for the first time, in an intro to screenwriting course, I understood what it meant to write with precision; crafting imagery with few words that is so powerful that it can compel global audiences to train their eyes -- simultaneously -- on the same, precise spot on the screen.

Great storytelling is more than thinking about what happens next or creating witty dialogue; it's more than creating storyboards that move characters from scene to scene. It is made even more powerful through design.

Incredible.