In a horror script, the scariest possible version of your monster is the one that exists inside your audience’s heads. The one that actually appears on screen is just a consolation prize.

Fuzzy on the concept of the “mid-point”? Here’s one way to do it: the mid-point is when your protagonist finds exactly what she was looking for, but it’s nothing like she imagined.

Don’t set up an urgent goal, then show us the protagonist doing ordinary things for the remainder of Act One. Doing her laundry/taxes/regular job before the inciting incident is fine, and may help reveal character. After the inciting incident, it’s a waste of the audience’s time.

Know what you like and don’t like — not what you think is a good film, but what you like — and be willing to defend it.

Don’t write a twist that fakes out nobody except the audience, i.e. when the characters all know what really happened, but the audience is misled. It’s disrespectful to the audience and it disrupts the fourth wall.

Characters who don’t want or need anything are dramatic dead weight. They may be funny or fun to write, but time spent with them is time taken away from the active characters.

When should you slow the pacing down and focus on the small details? When the small details are vitally important to your protagonist.

If given a choice of characters to identify with, the audience will choose the one who acts the most like them — at least, the way they believe themselves to be. That means the character that’s vulnerable, fair, humble, caring, hiding a secret or making the best of a bad situation. The most human character.

The only cure for feeling bad about not writing is, well, writing. So sit down and do it.

Don’t fight your influences — use them. If you want to emulate the style of your favorite screenwriter, go ahead. If you make it even halfway there, you’ll be halfway to writing like a professional screenwriter.