Go Into The Story Interview: Sam Boyer

My interview with the 2022 Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting winner.

Sam Boyer wrote the original screenplay “Ojek” which won a 2022 Nicholl Fellowship in Screenwriting. I had the opportunity to chat with Sam about his creative background, his award-winning script, the craft of screenwriting, and what winning the Nicholl Award has meant to him.

Scott Myers: First off, congratulations on winning Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting. That must be a nice way for you to go into the holiday season.

Sam Boyer: Oh, yeah. It still feels totally surreal, like it hasn’t happened. Like, there’s a clerical error and there’s some other Sam Boyer out there somewhere, who wrote a good script, and I feel for him.

Scott: I’d like to learn more about your background and especially your creative aspirations. Let’s start with this. Where’d you grow up and how did you discover your interest in writing?

Sam: Let me see. I was born in George Washington Hospital in Washington, DC. My due date was a fourth of July. I was named Sam, after Uncle Sam. Needless to say, I was a very American baby.

My mom was an immigrant. She’s Indonesian and my dad is White. They both met in Maryland, actually. They were in architecture school. I grew up around the Maryland, DC area, mostly.

My parents divorced when I was 10 years old. I grew up between two very different houses, different cultures. That was a big influence in my writing and my life, but my parents, despite being very different people, shared a love of story and a love of movies. It took me a while to put two and two together. I don’t think I grew up thinking, I would be a writer or in the film business.

When you grew up on the east coast and both of my families are from science background, movies were something we knew that people made them, but we didn’t know how or who is involved in a way there.

I grew up about as far from it as you possibly could, while still being in the country and having a dad with an original blockbuster card membership. We watched a ton of movies growing up, but I thought they’re something people enjoyed and not necessarily a career in anyway.

Scott: Do you remember some of the movies, when you were a kid, growing up that made a strong impression on you?

Sam: It’s such a classic answer, but The Shawshank Redemption is one of my favorite movies of all time. I share the very universal experience of walking in while TNT is playing it. No matter where you are in the store, you’ve got to sit down and finish the rest of it. I’ve started and finished Shawshank Redemption every possible interval within there.

That’s a seminal, classic, beautifully‑done film, and Frank Darabont knocked it out of the park. I’ve never written a prison movie. I probably never will. I think the themes of that are so timeless, and resonated with me a ton despite being a 12‑year‑old who had never been in those conditions.

Scott: That’s one of my favorite memories in Hollywood. I went to the premiere of The Shawshank Redemption.

Sam: Incredible.

Scott: It is one of those movies that when you watch it, you keep discovering these new little grace notes that are in there. It’s not surprising it’s the number one movie of the IMDb 250.

Sam: That’s one of the times I do believe in democracy. We’ve all gotten it right on that one.

Scott: You got a BS in Business Administration, and a BA in Film and TV from USC. Was that in that order?

Sam: It was concurrently, at the same time. I applied to both the business program, and the film program. I’ve decided that if I got into one, I’d do that. I, through another clerical error, got into both. Discovered I just wasn’t very good at most aspects of film production. Whether it was cinematography, or editing, or directing, I didn’t have a lot of talent for it.

I had much less knowledge than my peers just because I hadn’t grown up with those aspirations. I fell in love with writing while I was in that program.

Scott: That’s where you discovered screenwriting then?

Sam: Yeah. I remember my first screenwriting class, taught by Siavash Farahani, who is still a mentor of mine to this day. I remember having to do one of the first assignments where you would go eavesdrop on a conversation and try to write a scene based off of that.

Immediately, I felt like, “Oh, this is something I gravitate towards that I want to do.” It didn’t feel like schoolwork at all. It became what I thought about whenever I was doing something else. That said, I still wasn’t sure it was the right thing for me throughout school.

I started to get encouragement. I would say, towards the end of undergrad, I wrote a few short film scripts. I got grants from the school to be produced and then working with other students as a writer while they’re producers and directors and all those other craft elements.

It was so invigorating and exciting, and it took me years and years after that to be in a position where someone would be making something I wrote again. I should have cherished that more, but I got the bug then, and I haven’t lost it since. Some people graduate and they get their degree and they’re not even sure they want it.

Film school can be that intense and discouraging at points, but I definitely still knew or felt it was something that I wanted to do.

Scott: You followed this up by going to a very prestigious MFA program, the Michener Center for Writers at University of Texas at Austin. Was that directly after USC?

Sam: No, there was a period in between. I went and lived and worked in Jakarta, actually, at the time, which served as the fuel that inspired this script. That helped to reinforce one, that I had stories I wanted to tell that I wanted to come back to the US and try writing.

Two, I worked a number of different jobs that weren’t writing related, and I feel like getting that life experience is key and continues to inform what I write. In LA, I worked for a brand consultancy for a while, and both in Indonesia and in LA, I was putting that business degree to use. I was so grateful for it. It was a fantastic experience, just as important as film school.

Scott: How long were you in Indonesia, then?

Sam: Not super long, honestly. It was maybe five months or something like that.

Scott: When you read the script, it’s like, “Wow, this guy knows this place.”

Sam: I think a lot of that is a credit to…It’s not like I was going to school there. I was truly working a traditional 9:00 to 5:00 job. My family is Indonesian, and in Jakarta there, too, so I was spending a lot of time with them. I got indoctrinated with a local perspective really early, and it left a huge impression on me.

It’s been years, and there’s still very strong memories. When I came back, I immediately wanted to commit them to paper or at the very least, final draft file.

Scott: That’s a great segue into your Nicholl winning script: “Ojek.” Here’s the plot summary that the Nicholl people provided.

“In Jakarta, a local motorcycle taxi driver struggles to build a better life through a deadly new business that tests his transporting talents and inner humanity think drive in Indonesia.”

Do you remember the original inspiration? Because the protagonist is one of these motorcycle cabbies and they’re known as Ojeks. Why that character? What was it about that that appealed to you that generated the story in the first place?

Sam: Good question. Let me see. I guess, I rode an Ojek to and from work every single day. I was interacting with Ojek drivers on a daily basis. I thought that Indonesia was this vast, sprawling city that had not been committed to film in a global way before.

In terms of the right (pun-intended) vehicle to capture that, I thought Ojek drivers were perfect because of their almost superhuman ability to navigate the world’s worst traffic. I lived in DC and LA. It’s truly like these guys would be on the X Games or something if they were in the US.

Their ability to get around these very dangerous situations amazed me to no end. There are certain scenes in the script. At one point, he’s driving towards an oncoming train and that’s not even fictionalized. I was on a motorbike doing exactly that and it saved us 10 minutes in our commute and left a memory. [laughs]

Certain Ojek drivers would cut me better rates or certain drivers were faster and had these good reputations. All those things varied. Now it’s becoming much more streamlined and universal. That whole notion of Ojek is a straight-up profession has begun to die out because any college can join the new Uber-for-ojeks startup and become a Gojek now.

Scott: Here’s how you describe that traffic because Indonesia is the fourth most populous country in the world.

Sam: Exactly. You’re dead on. Very similar to United States.

Scott: Very close to United States. Here’s how you describe that traffic situation in the script. “Imagine a road paved 10 years ago tread on by 1,000 elephants every day since. Replace the elephants with a horde of cars, motorcycles and pedestrians all vying for the same piece of pavement. This is afternoon in downtown Jakarta.”

I was thinking, putting my producer’s hat, you could probably find some points of connection with LA studio executives and producers because of the traffic on the 405.

Sam: No, absolutely. I had lived in LA prior to living there. The whole thing of like, life is this thing that happens between traffic felt very universal in both locales.

Scott: Your protagonist is an Ojek…

Sam: Gede.

Scott: Here’s how he’s introduced in the script.

“Our driver comes to a stop in front of a row of parked motorcycles. Six other drivers squat in the shade of a small tent smoking Clove cigarettes. This is their rank, where Ojek drivers congregate, so they may be easily found.

Our driver comes to a stop, removes his worn helmet. This is Gede. Like the other drivers, Gede is dark and of average build. Unlike the others, he’s under 40 years old, and his motorcycle, while nothing fancy, is spotless.”

Could you give us a little thumbnail sketch on Gede’s personality and his situation of life at the beginning of the story?

Sam: Yeah. Gede is almost prototypical in terms of what you think a fantastic Ojek driver should embody. He’s loyal to a fault. He’s incredibly skilled and he’s very true to his customers and his profession. I think that in any script or story, and it was important for me that this would feel universal, because Jakarta is such a different place. I wanted Gede to feel very universal by the notion that we can easily relate to characters who are very good at their jobs.

I thought that it would be interesting in terms of an arc, to have someone who is a driver and can get anyone anywhere they need to go. At the same time, with Gede’s problem over the course of the script is, steering his own craft, driving himself and knowing where he should be.

I think that whether you’re a struggling writer in Los Angeles or an Ojek driver in Jakarta, seizing control over the navigation of your own life is a very universal experience, but can be more cinematically powerful when you’re piloting a motorcycle, like 100 km an hour down crowded Jakarta streets.

Scott: It reminds me of Joseph Campbell talking about The Hero’s Journey, that there’s that outer journey, but it’s really an inner journey. The outer journey is, and some of you say, it’s incidental in a way to what’s going on inside. There are several other Ojeks as part of this rank, their group. Mo, Yandi, I think Johan.

I was reminded of, I don’t know if you remember in Taxi Driver, the Scorsese film. Travis Bickle has got that little group that he hangs out with. They go to the coffee shop and stuff. I’m reminded of that. I don’t know if that was ever an inspiration for you. That camaraderie, could you maybe talk a little bit? Because he is loyal to these guys.

Sam: If we’re to distill characters down to attributes, loyalty is Gede’s. It’s very much also this thing in Asian families of loyalty to one’s family too.

He embodies that to the maximum possible extent, but I thought that these other Ojek drivers would be important to give you a sense of what a rank is like, because it’s a tough thing to describe and you can see that there’s community within this.

Each of these people, they’re independent contractors in their own way, but they’re all united in the fact that they share profession, they often share customers. In a big city you need people looking out for each other. It’s one of those families-we-choose to a certain extent.

Scott: The plot summary that I read mentions the 2011 movie Drive, a film starring Ryan Gosling. That plot:”

A mysterious Hollywood action film stuntman gets in trouble with gangsters when he tries to help his neighbor’s husband rob a pawn shop while serving as his getaway driver.”

What about Drive? Did that inspire you at all? Were you influenced by that at all?

Sam: Truly, Drive was totally a lodestar for me. It was one of the first movies I watched when I arrived at USC, actually. I remember seeing it in USC’s theater, and thinking, “Man, are all movies this good? Is this what I can expect going forward?” Spoiler alert, no.

I later read Hossein Amini’s script, which I thought was beautiful, sort of in that sparse, evocative, Walter Hill style. It had genre elements, like the crime-thriller, elements of action, elements of noir. It also had a very powerful sense of place. Los Angeles features very heavily in there.

I thought that it would be a useful frame in terms of genre hallmarks to base Ojek off of. Help introduce an unusual profession, an unusual setting, and an unusual array of characters, but having that common ground to anchor things.

The dream has always been, even though this exists right now as a script, is having it one day made in a way where my family, my Indonesian‑American family, and then my family in Indonesia can all go see it one day. Using Drive as a guiding star has always helped me express it to people.

It’s been cool after this situation with the Nicholl. People who thought that, “Oh, it’s impossible to make a movie in Indonesia. There’s no way.” Some of the people are like, “You know, we’ve always wanted to make a movie in Indonesia.” It’s been funny to watch those opinion shift.

Scott: I was struck by the tone, the tonal comparison. If you go on IMDb, it says, “Action, Drama.” That’s what it says about Drive. Your script is also action and drama. It’s got a lot of action in it, because of the motorcycle stuff. Really, at its heart, it’s got this dramatic dynamic.

There are at least three points of emotional connection with Gede with groups of people or individuals. We’ve talked about that one with the other Ojek drivers. That’s a connection, but there’s the two other relationships I want to talk about. One is the relationship he has with his brother Bejo. Could you describe Bejo and the nature of Gede’s relationship with his brother?

Sam: A lot of this, it’s a story about two brothers. Action is fun, and brings people to theaters, but drama keeps us in it scene‑to‑scene. This has always been, at some points, more drama, and at some points, more an action movie. If Gede is our loyalty to our family, Bejo is our unfettered ambition.

Bejo, to borrow from Drive again, he’s like the fable of the scorpion. He can’t help but sting himself inevitably. I thought that it was such a good metaphor for my own family’s journey from Sulawesi, an outlying island, to Jakarta. How the elders covet the wealth they’ve been able to obtain by moving to the big city. Then, the young have dreams of making it big somewhere else, but it’s so hard to leave this town.

There’s a certain entropy to these big cities where your whole universe is localized in a single place. Bejo is kinda like a human manifestation of this phenomenon — he’s sort of defined himself by this trauma that Gede accidentally inflicted upon him. Gede did something he’ll never forgive himself for and now Bejo’s whole life now is based around being able to manipulate Gede and keep him close.

On one hand, he’s able to do bold, interesting risky things that Gede would never dare to do. There are points at which you think they would complement each other, but these things only stay good for so long, because he can’t help but reach for more and Gede can’t help but say yes. Truly they’re doomed together without the advent of Lia in the story.

Scott: He strikes me as being a Trickster, Bejo. He’s like a schemer and a dreamer. He could be an ally, he could be an enemy, but he’s fundamentally out for himself. Of course, he comes up with a scheme, he comes up with a plan.

That actually, for a while is legitimate, I guess you could say, a business enterprise. What’s interesting about it, he’s basically using Gede and his talents to deliver things. Initially, it’s an illegal type of thing, but then gets even worse. Isn’t that a fair description?

Sam: Yeah. Goes from deliveries that are risky to deliveries that are wrong, and things that are beyond simply being illegal or breaking the letter of the law. They’re breaking basic human moral codes. It’s based on Bejo is able to turn a blind eye to it — and convince Gede to do the same.

Scott: Well, I thought what was interesting about Bejo was…because he’s a very complex character too. He’s got rationale. He’s got a sense of logic about…Like he says, every day he’s talking to his brother. “Every day you risk your life on that motorcycle driving people you don’t know, and for what?”

Our lives are hard because we’re taking the wrong risks, because he’s talking about we could do this and you could make a lot more money than you’re making now. He also says, “How many trips do you make now?” This is after Gede’s like, “Wait a minute, what exactly am I taking on these things?”

Bejo says, “How many trips do you make as an Ojek every year? One thousand? Do you think not one of them was carrying anything illegal?”

He’s crafty, and he’s got some rationale to what he’s doing.

By the end of Act One, here’s Gede, he finds himself being a delivery man, and then you meet this other person. You met this other person: Lia. Could you talk about what you see her role being in the story.

Sam: Lia as an attribute represents our own need for independence. I think that in past drafts, I fell into the trap like a lot of writers do, where there is this love interest, because I needed someone who would bring Gede to a better place. I could tell that wasn’t going to happen internally on his own. He needed this external stimulus.

He needed another character who could bring that out of him. I worked really hard making Lia a dynamic character with her own wants, needs, and interests and arc in the story, ultimately.

What’s great about Lia is, she knows what she wants pretty much the entire time, which is the opposite of Gede’s arc. He doesn’t know what he wants. Of course, he wants his brother to be happy. He wants to build a better life.

Lia is much more certain of what is right or wrong. What she was ultimately in it for in terms of trying to make money for her mother who ended up dying. Then by the end of the script, by the third act, she doesn’t know where to go when the nightclub burns down.

She is the one who after all this time talking to Gede about, “What more do you want out of life? Where do you want to go? Do you want to be at your brother’s back and call doing morally dubious things forever?” To really not being sure where she should go.

I knew even in the beginning of writing it, that I wanted those two perspectives to shift and for him to bring something to her as well where it isn’t one of these one‑sided relationships and could feel like it’s two humans and characters meeting. I wanted someone who could grow just as much as Gede was, while also pushing him to grow.

Scott: One of the interesting things about the script that you do so well is that, first half of act two is on the one hand, he seems to be doing pretty well. He’s making money and he’s got himself a new super‑duper motorcycle. He’s found this girl, but you plant these seeds and you’re like, “No, this is going to go south.” That looming sense of dread.

How conscious were you of that to try and I guess, forestall the ultimate move into dangerous stuff and yet at the same time allow him to at least explore this seemingly positive arc or moment in his life?

Sam: It’s astute of you to observe that. I think that I’ve read almost every screenwriting book out there. I’d encounter some writers were like, “Oh, I don’t read any screenwriting books or writing books. They’ll totally poison your mind with all this. They’ll make your work generic.” I’ve never been above any form of information or help.

I think it’s Blake Snyder’s “Save the Cat!” that talks about delivering the promise of the premise in that second act with the “fun and games” segment. I knew I wanted to bring that very early on. That’s a moment where you can have Gede being this incredible transporter. There’s all this fun and action involved in that.

In earlier iterations of it, it was too much of him transporting someone somewhere and things work out and that’s nice. It’s exciting the first time, but it’s ultimately not very interesting we’ve had those seeds of doubt that you plant. It’s so nice to hear that worked, but it’s one of those things that only happens at least for me in the rewriting and the re‑visitation of it.

Scott: I don’t want to go too far into the plot because it has some wonderful twists and turns and I would encourage people to read the script and hopefully the movie will get made. They’ll be able to see it. I do want to talk about your Nemesis figure, the Australian. Where did this guy come from?

Sam: I think you know that basically there are some of these characters in Jakarta of, someone is depicted solely by their nationality. I wanted a character who could represent this “other.” I like this foreign influence that we don’t even have to give this person a name. They can be identified and kept somewhat vague and keep danger through that.

In my mind, who I’d always pictured was, a Guy Pearce-type. Someone who’s made up of angles, sharp, menacing and able to represent all these foreign controlling interests that drive the illegal trade in Indonesia.

Initially, he was too generic. I ultimately had to give him these deeper relationship ties in the third act so he could, like a good villain, surprise us in some way.

The fact that he speaks fluent Bahasa and he’s much more keyed in on everything than you could possibly expect made him that much more dangerous and that much more interesting. Again, it’s another situation where characters grow in subsequent drafts, but he needed to represent something that was bigger than anything else going on in Jakarta.

One of those chances for a character to expand the scope and then make your protagonists feel that much smaller from the danger they’re in.

Scott: One theme that runs through the story the allure of money. People who don’t have it, people who struggle to make it, people who do have it, people who do whatever to make more of it. In fact, there’s a little short subplot with this guy Irwan, who lives near Gede and is fishing in the stream.

At one point Gede buys him a nice fishing rod, but Irwan persists in using his old rod, and he says, “A fish doesn’t care how much the rod costs or what money you use to buy it.” He reminds me that he’s like a mentor figure in a way, or at least having a mentor moment.

Reminds me of that biblical verse, “The love of money is the root of all evil.” You talk a little about money as a theme or a dynamic in the story?

Sam: Oh yeah. I think in any big city, truly, there’s this universal quest for money because money is like a unit of freedom. In this situation, it’s the one thing that governs everybody.

Everyone wants money. Gede wants/needs money, Leo wants/needs money, Bejo wants/needs money, the Australian does as well. It’s truly the one thing that can get you whatever you want, whatever you need. It can buy you happiness. It can buy you misery. It manages to do both for these characters at different points.

It’s great that you bring up Irwan, because he’s the one character who isn’t guided by money in the entire script. That’s one of the ways in which he exists is the foil. This person who can actually survive in Jakarta.

There’s this moment at the end where he’s fishing. There’s this notion like, could a fish possibly survive in these waters? I remember living in Jakarta, and seeing the canals strewn with trash. There’s no way there’s a single living fish in there.

The truth is you can, but you have to not be governed by the one thing that is the lifeblood of the city. I thought he, in some ways, is the fish at the end, but also the idea that nothing can survive. Nothing that needs water can live here. I don’t know.

I wanted a question at the end of the script that people could go out and get a piece of pie after the movie, and talk about whether something is possible or not. Erwan and his quest for the mythical fish is kind of that.

Scott: That was fun. One last thing I want to talk to you about, because we said this is an action drama story.

A lot of action set pieces in today’s expert driver, and there’s all the ever‑riskier motorcycle escapade. Do you consider yourself an action writer? What did you do to prepare yourself to write these things? Did you read a lot of action scripts? How did you go about doing that? It’s quite evocative and well‑written.

Sam: That’s a really kind question. This is the first action script I’ve written. I don’t know if I’ve ever had more fun writing a script. But I’ve read a lot of scripts that I’d say have great action.

I was an intern at Steven Zaillian’s company for a little while. It left a huge influence on me. I read so many fantastic scripts from so many excellent writers.

Guys like Dennis Lehane, who were able to write scenes that weren’t necessarily action scenes, like they were action scenes. Those little tricks and techniques stick with you. I was subconsciously trying to put some of those onto paper.

I don’t know if this answers your question or not. Truly, you’re learning a little bit from every script you read.

Scott: Let’s talk about the Nicholl experience.

Sam: Sure.

Scott: Talk me through the two parts of it. First, learning that you won the Nicholl, and then the Nicholl Week in L.A..

Sam: I remember that becoming a finalist felt surreal. Just being in that Top 10, and thinking there was a possibility I could win this. I’ve been writing for a while ‑‑ longer than some people, shorter than others ‑‑ but for me, it felt like a while. I’ve worked a bunch of other different jobs to make ends meet. I was honestly at the point where I wasn’t thinking about the Nicholl that consciously anymore. I’d submit every year or so, and wouldn’t get my hopes up for any reason.

Then, for it to suddenly happen now out of nowhere, it truly feels like a dream I haven’t woken up from yet. My girlfriend was in the room with me when I found out that I won. I was flabbergasted, and we were literally up and dancing afterwards.

I remember finishing the first draft of Ojek in a friend’s laundry room that I was living at the time. For it to happen with this script has felt absolutely crazy.

Then, the actual week itself, we’re so lucky to have been the beneficiaries of that. It was a cool week of events and Zooms with members of the Nicholl committee and Nicholl Fellows past who shared their advice.

It culminated in this day at the Academy Awards Museum where we got to each thank the academy — — despite not even having a produced script! How often does that ever happen? Then, we saw these wonderful actors read scenes from our scripts, which truly had me tickled.

I’ve never had that happen before. You’re so used to reading the words either in your imagination in your own head, or out loud like a crazy person. Then, to have someone in a movie you saw three months ago reading one of your lines is absolutely incredible.

Then, all the other Fellows were so talented, kind and gracious. You feel like you’re being inducted into this fraternity of incredible writers. It reminded me of my days at that MFA writing program where it is this community of letters and words. It’s so cool to find that as a writer, because it’s such a solitary pursuit most of the time.

Scott: What scene did they read, the table read?

Sam: [laughs] It was the exact scene you were quoting from with Bejo in the nightclub where Gede meets Rocky for the first time, talks to Lia in depth for the first time, and Bejo’s able to make his pitch to Gede on why they enter this illegaly delivery business.

Scott: Congratulations. That’s wonderful. What about in terms of representation?

Sam: I got new managers shortly after the Nicholl. It’s been off to the races since then.

So many cool meetings with companies whose movies I’ve grown up watching and admiring. To be in the same room with these people, and let alone, having them say congratulations or compliment my writing, it’s been wonderfully surreal.

Totally, knock on particle-board, I’m excited about what could potentially happen for Ojek in the future in terms of its path towards getting made.

Scott: That’s great. Let’s ask some craft questions for you. How do you come up with story ideas?

Sam: Oh, man. A lot of writing, you do when you’re not writing. It’s truly whatever you can do to get yourself in that act of mesmerism. To the point where you’re not thinking intently about anything else is when a story idea comes to me. A bunch of them have come to me in I‑10 and I‑405 traffic, too. A bunch have come in the shower, and a bunch have come in absent‑minded walks around the neighborhood.

The less you actively focus on thinking, the freer your mind will be. Especially for any bigger concept or movie idea, or if you’re working out a scene. One of the worst things you can do is be chained to your chair trying to write it out when you’re stuck.

Scott: That’s subconscious writing. Like Stephen King says, “Idea is like a fish floating over your head. You, every so often, put a net out there, and catch it.”

Sam: Exactly.

Scott: What about your prep‑writing process? Breaking story, how intense is that? Are you one of those pantsers that starts in on it?

Sam: Oh, man. I have nothing but admiration for those people. I never could. I need an outline before I can write a script. It’s non‑negotiable. I went through this period where I would write a movie a month for a little while to try to get the structure down. Don’t worry, I didn’t do this for long. It made me very tired, and they weren’t very good.

What I would do is the first week, I would spend outlining. Using an index card method, basically, to keep the broad strokes and beats of a script down. I like those because you can visualize them. I like to put them up on the corkboard.

You can play around with them, see if it looks like the shape of a movie. Once you’ve written a few, you know what the general shape of a movie looks like, and if you’re way off or getting close. You can move things around at will.

Then, once I’m reasonably comfortable with the outline ‑‑ it’s never perfect, so I never shoot for that ‑‑ then I start writing. I try to write as much each day as I can. I used to do this thing where I do, in the first draft, 10 pages a day. That felt like a good goal. Some pages are sloppy, and inevitably, you’re going to have to rewrite this anyways.

I truly, after a few scripts, stopped worrying about it. I’d try to write it wrong as fast as possible. That’s been my method ever since. I do not worry about being perfect, or even being very good. I do put a lot of effort into getting it done, because so much rewriting is involved.

The one thing I’d tell myself…I am a big fan of your blog. I’ve read a bunch of the Nicholl interviews. It’s always been so cool to see, as an aspiring writer, what techniques people use.

The one thing I’d tell a 22‑year‑old or 20‑year‑old who’s about to start their first script, or anyone, is, “Don’t worry about getting it right. Just get it done. Then making it better can begin.”

Scott: That’s exactly what I tell my students. It’s like, “The first draft is a journey of discovery. That’s all it is. Get to the end. You’ll know more about your characters, and know more about your story than you would in the beginning. Don’t be precious. You’re going to have to rewrite it anyhow.”

Sam: I celebrate every step, honestly. When I finish the first draft, my girlfriend and I, we go out to dinner, or we have a good time. I truly don’t let myself get bogged down by whole, “Well, it’s not good, and then also, these 10 things need to happen for it to work” thing. Don’t get in that mindset, or you won’t be encouraged enough to continue.

Scott: How do you go about developing your characters? Are you thinking more archetypes, or are you more instinctual?

Sam: That’s a good question. A lot of it for me, in the development of a character, it’s subconscious. A bunch of these characters are assembled out of people I know from my own life.

I remember hearing this thing that you can’t dream a new face. Your dreams can only have existing faces of people you already know from real life. A certain amount [laughs] of that winds up in our imagination when writing scripts, too. We aren’t dreaming that many new faces. They are versions of people that we already know, or sometimes, amalgams.

I think that in terms of building characters, you often feel like they come to you, but they’re pulled from different aspects of the most memorable people you know.

Scott: How do you go about writing dialogue?

Sam: The one thing I don’t do is say it out loud when I’m writing it. Some people who hate this script might be like, “Yeah, man. We could really tell.” In terms of dialogue, I try to make characters feel distinct from each other.

The thing I saw early on in film school is you’ll start to read student scripts, and everyone will sound like the student that wrote it.

The one goal has been ‑‑ especially, if I’m revisiting pages, and I would encourage myself to be better about this ‑‑ is make sure that someone could blind point to a piece of dialogue in your script, and go, “That’s from that character. That’s from this other character.” Things feeling distinct is all that’s key.

Scott: How about theme? You strike me as someone who, when you are writing the script, think thematically. Like money and morality, and that sort of thing. Is that stuff that’s more upfront, or is that stuff you discover along the way?

Sam: Man, saying I think of it upfront makes me seem smarter, more cerebral than I really am. And I’m not really sure I do think of theme at the very outset.

When I’m sitting down to write something, it’s always…I start with concept, what this story is about in a couple of lines. I do start off the logline. Then, I do try to think of the characters, and what themes they could play with from there. Sometimes, it surprises me.

I don’t think money was the very first thing I thought of with Ojek. It wound up being a guiding plot principle that worked its way into every character’s code of belief, too.

A lot of theme, at least in my scripts, is one of those things I almost discover in retrospect, but I try to keep the character journeys front of mind.

I really want them to have an arc where they end up in a different place and are authentically navigating through a setting. Whether that’s Jakarta or some fantasy universe, I really want those things to feel true, and then they lend themselves to honest themes as well.

Scott: You mentioned that for you, a not authentic or effective way to write a scene is to sit down and write it. Like you’re doing something else, or out walking, or taking a shower.

What are you thinking about when you’re thinking about a scene? What are some of the things you’re trying to accomplish when you’re writing a scene?

Sam: The truth is if my girlfriend walked in this room, she’d go, “You’re full of crap with that. I see you sit at a computer all day trying to think of new ideas.” I would tell her, “I’m thinking of them when I’m not sitting, too.”

Scott: When you’re sitting down to write a scene, what are your goals? What are you trying to accomplish?

Sam: One of my goals is to get to the end. What’s beautiful about outlining is I know where I want to go next. I’ve already solved a bunch of those problems in my head.

The thing that scared me and screwed me up the first couple of times I tried writing a feature was I would blind go into it, and not know where I was supposed to go next at the end of the scene. It leaves so much less room, at least, for me, in terms of the craft that you can put in there.

I rarely, if ever, go into a scene without knowing what the next scene will potentially be. Because of that, I feel totally free. I know where I need to get by the end, and the characters can say almost whatever the heck they want during that process. You allow yourself to discover these things. You’re bowling with guardrails, and you’re going to hit a pin.

I am generally having a lot of fun when I write, because I’ve worried so much in the outlining stage. I also know that it won’t be perfect or a lot of times it won’t even be good.

A lot of the best things I’ve written, just in terms of scene work, have been times where I’ve just felt totally unencumbered, or every now and then, to borrow that Bejo example, I know he needs to convince Gede because other people who’ve read this, and I’ve read this, I have all these questions about why would he agree to do this.

Then you know he needs to tackle these concerns. You can think of where I’m coming from as a discerning audience member or someone who’s challenging this part of the story right now.

When characters can anticipate the audience and you’re deep enough into a script where you know where the audience is or the reader is, then you have a lot of fun because it’s like Fleabag talking to the reader to a certain extent. I just finished that for the first time yesterday, by the way.

Scott: What a show.

Sam: I was so late to the party. Oh, my God. When you’re really engaged and you’re in the flow, you feel are in an act of dialogue with a potential reader.

Scott: A couple more questions. Five, ten years from now, perfect world, what are you doing?

Sam: Oh, man. I’m doing this for health insurance [laughs] — — is the short, sassy answer. In five years, I’d love to have something produced. I’d love to be gainfully employed writing scripts for features and TV. The goal ten years is I’m helping other people do it too, in a producing role.

There are so many brilliant writers out there. One thing I’ve learned through all of this journey, there are so many talented people. We all have our own story to tell. Helping other people commit theirs to screen, or at the very least to paper, is something I’m totally interested in as well. Years down the line, that includes teaching.

Scott: As they say in Hollywood, from your lips to God’s ears. What advice do you have for aspiring screenwriters to hone their craft and hopefully break into the business?

Sam: Sorry. I’m trying to think on this, and make sure it’s something useful.

My friends and I in LA, we say this all the time ‑‑ it’s a war of attrition. You truly only lose by giving up. That said, there’s nothing wrong with deciding your dream is different. Dreams change.

In terms of the goal of screenwriting, you probably aren’t giving yourself enough years. [laughs] I would say give yourself a good, long time. You only ever are out of the game by giving up. Also, you can give up, and then get back into it.

Then, the last thing is I would honestly try to enjoy the craft, and enjoy writing more. Give yourself moments where you can celebrate and compliment yourself, and surround yourself with a community.

It can take any shape or form of people who are similarly guided and motivated by writing, because, absolutely, no one does it alone. I’ve never seen anyone get close to where they want to be alone.

Ojek is ‑‑ and I said this at my speech ‑‑ it’s like the thank‑yous are the story here. That there are so many people who’ve helped me write the script, or become a better writer. It’s all due to that support in that community.

Surround yourself with people who will motivate you, and stop worrying so much. Enjoy writing because it’s a lot of fun, and it’s not that big a deal. At the end of the day, you should be in this because you love it. There’s so many other ways to make an easier living.

For my interviews with every Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting winner since 2012, go here.