Why So Many Scripts Suck (And How to Fix Yours)

Or: What I Learned in Aaron Sorkin's Writers' Room That They Don't Teach at Film School

I didn’t set out to be a writer. I moved to LA to attend USC’s producing program, thinking I would combine my left-brain BA in economics with my right-brain propensity for creativity. But then I realized how bad most scripts are. Truly. I was working in an agency mailroom in 2002 and one of my jobs was to read incoming scripts from writers who were repped there. And the number of scripts that made me want to flip the table is... well, I’d have needed a lot of tables. I was determined to crack the code of screenwriting and just do it myself.

Here’s what I discovered: Most writers are too busy trying to figure out what happens next instead of what could happen. There’s a big difference.

The “What Happens Next” Trap

Picture this: You’re in a writers’ room (or your kitchen table, which is basically the same thing but without the free snacks or entertaining coworkers).

You know your protagonist inside and out. You know what they want. You even know what’s stopping them. But then you hit that wall — the dreaded “and then what?” So you start building scene by scene. They call this type of story breaking “brick by brick.” Logical, sure. But it’s tedious to work that way and when you hit a dead end, you have to rip it all up and pave a whole new brick road, hope this is the one to Oz, until… nope. You have to tear up that one too . You end up with a process that feels like homework, not creativity.

The Aaron Sorkin Solution (Sort Of)

Studio 60 was the first place I was introduced to INPO. The room didn’t call it that, I learned the term later, but when Sorkin approved a pitch, we carded it and placed it loosely on a board. The part that was unique to Sorkin is that he wouldn’t approve half-baked pitches. We couldn't just say “What if Nate Corddry’s character’s brother was kidnapped in the next episode?” We had to research all the reasons he’d be kidnapped, how they’d get him back, and what it meant for the show-within-the-show. Annoying? Absolutely. But it taught me something crucial: stop thinking about what happens next and start thinking about all the things that could happen. All of them.

Enter INPO (The Game Changer)

I didn’t learn the term INPO until I worked with the amazing Rina Mimoun on Pushing Daisies. INPO stands for “In No Particular Order.” It's the writers’ room tool that cracked the code for me, and now for my students.

Here's how it works:

Step 1: Forget about structure. Forget about acts. Forget about “what happens next.”

Step 2: Brain-dump every beat you might want to see in your story. Emotional beats (“Jane finally tells Dick she loves him”), action beats (“Dick gets hit by a train”), character beats (“Jane realizes she’s been lying to herself”), set pieces (“the train sequence”), everything, by character.

Step 3: Put them on index cards by character or a digital board. Don't worry about order yet. Choose a color for each character.

Step 4: Now—and only now—start arranging them in the order that feels right. What must happen first? What must happen last? What creates the most interesting character journey? What builds to the most satisfying climax? You will organically find that in order for Will’s friends in Stranger Things to look for him, they must first discover he is missing. You will organically find that for the boys to run into Eleven, she must be on the run.

Step 5: Now blend the beats by character. I lay down all the first beats first, and the last beats second, and everything else in the middle, fluidly rearranging until the beats are in an order that makes sense. Along the way, you’ll find you’re discarding beats that don’t work. That’s great! You can use those ideas when you get notes or when you get a 10-episode order.

Magic happens in Steps 4 and 5. What happens next emerges organically out of what could happen. Not from some formula.

Why This Works (And Why Everything Else Doesn't)

Most writing advice treats structure like a medical prescription. “This happens on page 10, that happens on page 30, your midpoint is exactly here.” But that's like saying every person should be exactly 5’8” tall. Some stories need longer setups. Some need faster pacing. Some need to break the rules entirely.

INPO lets the story tell you what it wants to be.

I use this process for everything now. Season arcs, individual episodes, even taking network notes. When an executive tells me “we need more action in Act 2,” I don't panic, tear up the entire thing and start rewriting scene by scene. I go back to my INPO beats, add their ideas, see what stays, consider what can go or how the new beats can replace, what I can add, what I can combine.

It’s like having a GPS for your story. You can take detours without getting completely lost… or tearing up the road you’ve traveled.

Actual cards from teaching INPO to TV writers in Saudi Arabia in 2019.

The Real World Application

Last month, a student came to one of my one-day intensives with a pilot she’d been struggling with for two years. TWO YEARS. She knew her characters, she had a solid premise, but every draft felt flat. A litany of “and then…” We spent 90 minutes doing INPO with her story. Not writing. Just figuring out what could happen. By the end of the session, she had a structure that excited her. More importantly, she understood why her previous drafts hadn’t worked—she’d been so focused on hitting the plot points, she’d forgotten to include the emotional journey that made her want to write the story in the first place. I can’t wait to read the next draft.

The Thing They Don't Tell You

Here’s what film school doesn’t want you to know: voice is teachable. But I really believe the better you get at craft, the more useful tools you have in your box, the more help you have to find your unique voice.

Think about learning to drive. At first, you’re so focused on not crashing your brand new VW Jetta on your way across the country (yes, I did that), you can barely think about where you’re going. But once the mechanics become second nature, you can actually enjoy the journey. You can take the scenic route. You can discover places you never knew existed.

INPO is like learning to drive stick. It’s a little tricky at first, but once you get it, you have so much more control over your story. (Dear Reader: I can barely drive stick, but I can INPO like nobody’s business).

If you’re stuck on a script (and who isn’t?), try this:

1. Take everything you think you know about your story and put it aside.

2. Journal as the protagonist/antagonist: What do I want? What is stopping me from getting it? What will happen if I don’t?

3. Ask yourself: “What are all the things that this character could do to get what they want? What could keep taking it away? What could happen to this character?” “What are the scenes and set pieces I need to have for my pilot to satisfy audience expectations?” (In Stranger Things, you’d need to see a D&D scene. You’d need to see boys on bikes. You’d need a monster. These are obligatory elements to put on cards.)

4. Write them down. All of them. The good, the bad, the weird, the impossible.

5. Now ask: “Which of these would create the most interesting journey?” “Which of these tragic emotional beats can occur during one of these cool set pieces for an undeniable character/story punch?”

6. Arrange those beats in an order that excites you.

7. Blend them on a four-act board.

Don’t worry about page counts or themes or what your professor said about the inciting incident. Just tell the story you actually want to tell.

Your script will thank you. And so will anyone who has to read it.

The Bottom Line

Most scripts suck because writers are trying to build stories the way they think they’re supposed to, instead of the way those stories actually want to be built. Stop worrying about what happens next. Start thinking about what could happen.

Your story is in there somewhere. INPO will help you find it.

P.S. - If you want to dive deeper into this stuff, I’m running my next one-day intensive in LA next month. Eight hours of INPO and other practical tools you can actually use the next morning. Not theory. Not prescription. Craft. Because the worst part about most writing seminars isn’t what they do teach, it’s what they don’t. DM or message me for details.