Scott Adams, the creator of Dilbert, systematized humor with the rigor of an engineer, right before he torched his legacy in a blaze of social media "honesty." 

I read Scott Mendelson’s article about the tech patents Amazon has been locking down for AI tools to make movies and shows. It made me wonder: are we looking at the end of human creativity, or the birth of a tireless, idea-generating, doesn’t-eat-all-the-M&Ms scribble partner?

Story scribblers love our character arcs and emotional beats, but in multiplayer video games? Too much scripting can kill the magic. Players don't want to be told their story. They want to live it.

I pitched my agent an idea for a Western. He paused, then said, "It’s a cool idea, but it doesn’t really align with your brand, and a period piece like that could confuse buyers." It got me thinking: What is my brand?

I’ve spent my life writing stories. TV, games, movies. Now the same tech that lets me prototype a story faster could one day replace the job entirely. Not just for me, but for millions of people who thought they had “creative” or “safe” careers.

Let’s go inside the early 2000s digital spy thriller that unfolded alongside TV's hit show Alias, not in prime time on ABC, but on hidden websites, in chat rooms, MP3s, and JPEGs.

This week’s Google I/O was a whirlwind of AI innovation. They unveiled over 100 AI advancements. Tools designed to empower creators, offering unprecedented capabilities to create cool stuff. Watching these announcements, I was struck by the contrast to the early 2000s when we were DIY crafting the ARG for the TV show, Alias. 

A look at two storytelling styles. Mystery Box keeps you hooked by hiding answers, while Magic Show shows its hand but surprises you with how it all pays off. One teases the trick, the other delivers it. Both can work, but some folks in the audience are getting tired of endless mysteries with no real payoff.

In your favorite flicks, there’s a hidden framework holding all that emotion, action, and drama together. And no, it’s not just good luck or a room full of caffeinated writers. It comes down to three core building blocks: Scenes, Sequels, and Sequences.

Sometimes a non-reaction can say more than a paragraph of inner monologue ever could. These moments create space for the audience to connect with characters on a deeper level.

What if I told you there's a secret cinematographic expansion pack waiting in the comic book world? I'm talking about Wally Wood's legendary 22 Panels That Always Work - that gritty, ink-splattered cheat sheet comic artists have used for decades.

Hola, my fellow prose peeps, here's the deal about screen scribbling – you don't need to be Fong, Libatique, or Deakins behind a camera. But even in those deep workflow moments of keyclacking, you must never forget - it’s a visual medium!

Roger Ebert once called movies “empathy machines” because they let us walk a mile in someone else’s shoes. So before we throw in the towel and accept a future of apathetic scrolling, let’s dig into why empathy is on life support and how we scribblers can bring it back from the brink.

Like many artists and storytellers, I’ve often felt a deep connection to artifacts. It’s like they held some creative energy I could tap into when needed. But lately, I’ve been questioning whether they’re serving me or silently weighing me down.

As a scribbler often working in science fiction and genre entertainment, sometimes I hear writers shrug off the value of their work as just stories. A bit of escapism. Nothing serious. Kind of like the protagonist in Preston Sturgis’ classic “Sullivan’s Travels.” But history tells a different story. Fiction doesn’t just entertain. It builds blueprints for reality.

False flag operations - those carefully crafted deceptions that blur the lines between reality and fiction. As a scribbler immersed in espionage thrillers, I can't help but see the familiar beats of storytelling woven through these real-life covert acts.

Luck gets a ton of credit in the scribbling racket, but it's way less random than people think. Most folks who "get lucky" are already out there grinding. They're in the trenches, honing their craft, building their network, watching how the game is played.

You know what's weird? No matter how many TV shows, movies, and video games I've scribbled, I keep getting pulled back to the same damn story.

For years, I’ve been following the video game development game for tips and tricks I can apply to my screen scribbling. Recently, I saw a pipeline for game design and thought I’d take a crack at re-skinning it for the screen trade.

Screenwriting is often a collaborative commercial art. What if you could build your own virtual room of “specialist scribblers”? They could punch up your dialogue, tighten your structure, or finesse your action scenes without ego or creative fatigue.