Somewhere along the line it seems, reading books about screenwriting became something you’re supposed to be ashamed of.

I can’t remember the last time I went to a screenwriters’ event and didn’t hear a derogatory remark about Robert McKee. Scorned and scoffed at for his over-complicated diagrams, the fact that none of the several screenplays he’s sold have ever been produced, and his insistence that you must never, ever use voiceover, flashbacks or dream sequences – it doesn’t seem to matter that none of these things are actually true.

Except for the thing about the diagrams. I’ll give you that one.

But the details don’t matter anymore. It’s like he’s become a joke – or at the very least, a punchline. At one recent event I went to, the keynote speaker’s obligatory dig at McKee was followed by such sycophantic chortling from the audience, I found myself wondering why.

I’ve read Robert McKee’s Story. Yes, some of it is over-complicated and not all of it is presented very accessibly, but much of what’s in there is good, solid writing advice.

I’ve also read Christopher Vogler’s The Writer’s Journey, based on an internal memo circulated in the Disney Story Department which, in turn, was based on Joseph Campbell’s The Hero With a Thousand Faces which I’ve read as well.

I’ve read Aristotle’s Poetics, and Vladamir Propp’s Morphology of the Folktale. I’ve read Christopher Booker’s Seven Basic Plots, Syd Field’s Screenplay and Blake Snyder’s Save the Cat.

I’m a screenwriter. I read books about screenwriting. It’s ok. IT’S ALLOWED.

I’ve also read hundreds of scripts, produced and unproduced, amateur and professional, as well as memoirs and biographies that contain screenwriting advice like William Goldman’s Adventures in the Screen Trade and Which Lie Did I Tell, and Russell T Davies recent The Writer’s Tale.

These, however, are more acceptable ways to take an interest in my profession so I’m not required to apologise for them.

Most of the so-called “how to” books say pretty much the same thing, they just use different words to describe it, and it’s by no means necessary to read all of them – or even any of them. Unless you really want to or, as was my case, you’re writing a thesis comparing classical narrative theory to modern day screenwriting advice. (I wouldn’t recommend the latter – it’s really hard work, it takes bloody ages and, you know, who cares?)

But having read all of these books, and many more besides, I can tell you that I personally found every single last one of them to have had something useful to say on the subject of screenwriting. To deny this fact or to suggest otherwise seems to me to be just ever so slightly arrogant.

We have brains in our heads. We are capable of forming our own opinions based on the gathering and analysis of information. If we read something we disagree with, we can ignore it. If we read something that makes sense to us, we can assimilate it into our knowledge base.

We do it every day when we read the newspapers. I hope.

No-one is saying you must take an interest in the advice these books are offering. But why shout another writer down for it? Is it right to suggest that they have nothing sensible or useful to add, just because you personally didn’t take anything from it? Of course not.

So if another writer has made you feel bad or naive or silly or amateur for reading screenwriting books – don’t listen to them. It doesn’t matter if they’re famous or very experienced or simply just opinionated. Visit your local library and make your own mind up before you decide whether they have anything useful to say.

Or don’t. It’s up to you.

But to prove my point, I’m going to post a few extracts or summaries of passages from well-known screenwriting books over the coming days and you can decide for yourself whether you think any of the advice is helpful or if you think it’s worth reading more, before you go throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

I won’t comment on the books I choose, or the authors who wrote them.  I’ll leave it up to you to form your own opinion.

McKee on Exposition

Vogler on Midpoints