Screenwriter’s Almanac: What We Give...The Real Reason We Keep Creating

The act of creating is an act of giving.

There’s this moment every writer knows.

It’s hour seven of what was supposed to be a two-hour writing sprint. Your coffee’s gone cold, your neck is locked in a permanent crooked angle, your back aches, and your Final Draft file has a name like “THIS_better_work_5.2.2_REALLY_IM_SERIOUS_THIS IS FINAL”. You forgot to eat lunch. You forgot to exist outside of the document. And yet… you keep going.

Why?

Because, deep down, you know that creating, and I mean really creating, is an act of generosity. It’s an act of offering yourself to the universe. It’s an act of giving.

We writers, we artists, we crazy dreamers who talk to ourselves about structure and theme and a third-act payoff… we speak of our work like it’s something we have to do. That it’s who we are. That we’ll never be happy unless we’re writing. And that’s all true. But here’s what we forget far too often:

What we create is not just for us. It’s for others. It’s a gift.

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

— Maya Angelou

That’s why we do it. To give a feeling.

The hours, the rewrites, the tears, the existential crisis at page 72, the dread of needing to hit a deadline. We don’t do it just for the agent, the producers, the contest, the career, or the even dumb algorithm. We do it because someone, somewhere, needs to feel seen. Because a line of dialogue or a scene about two broken people at a diner might remind someone that they are not alone. Because our work can shift something inside another human being. Even if they don’t know who we are. Even if we never hear or know about their reaction.

And listen, I’m not above wanting success. I’m a Capricorn, for cryin’ out loud. I like a win. I want a lavish lifestyle, and maybe even Scrooge McDuck’s giant vault so I can swim in money (which would be terribly painful, by the way, but nonetheless). And yes, I want my clients and students and YOU to get staffed, to get repped, to sell a script, to get your move made…to find the audience that finally gets you.

But today’s Almanac is about taking a beat. A breath. A big, long, grateful inhale to remember this:

We are not machines. We’re vessels.

And when we overwork, burn out, grind ourselves into dust, convinced that the hustle is what earns us love or success, we forget what we already are: worthy, necessary, valuable, successful.

“Art is not a handicraft, it is the transmission of feeling the artist has experienced.”

- Leo Tolstoy

“You must be a burning light to the people. That is why you suffer. That is why you labor. Not for yourself, but for the people.”

- Fyodor Dostoevsky

“The artist is not a special kind of person; rather, each person is a special kind of artist.”

- Ananda Coomaraswamy

We give. Through stories. Through worlds. Through our characters’ heartbreaks and victories. We give people new lenses through which to see the world, and maybe, if we’re lucky, themselves.

The irony? It’s the act of giving that gives us the most return. A clearer sense of self. A little more meaning. A little more grace. An abundance we always we knew we had. And that’s the beauty of wanting something, ironically. If we want success, then we need to show and give the success we already have. We can’t give what we don’t have, so when we give, we show the universe, the world, the audience, what we want...and yet, we already have it!

I digress - I’m getting a little deep for a Saturday morning. So… if you’re exhausted, unsure, stuck in the process, remember: your effort isn’t meaningless. Even if it feels like no one’s watching. Even if the industry isn’t calling back right now. Even if your draft is a disaster.

You’re building something sacred.

And whether or not your name ends up on a poster or a marquee, you are part of a long, generous lineage of storytellers who said, “Let me show you a truth I’ve found.”

“Your thoughts are not contained in your head - they are broadcast into the field.”

— Bruce H. Lipton

Our stories don’t just stay on the page - they ripple out, energetically, affecting others more than we know.

So write not only to receive or get something. But to give something. That’s the real return. That’s the real investment. That’s why we do the work.

Now go drink some water. Stretch a little. And maybe eat lunch. You’ve earned it.

—

Want to join me for my upcoming Rewrite Class on July 12? It’s live on Zoom and comes with a full read, notes, and 1-on-1 call with me once your rewrite is finished all for $497 (less than what a one-time call and evaluation would cost). Comment here or reply to this email to sign up (you can email me at max@thestoryfarm.org). You’ll also get access to my Circle.so Story Farm community for free classes and office hours.

I also have room on my roster for 1-on-1 coaching clients. Let’s build, develop, and write together.

Until next time! Have a great weekend, everybody.

—Max Timm & The Story Farm