The Screenwriter’s Guide to Doing Nothing

Oops! Been a tad remiss in updating this blog because we've been busy writing, and, yes, walking, and sometimes talking out loud. I'm on page 80 of another RomCom feature set in San Miguel and coming up for a breath of fresh air in this early kick-off to rainy season... and enjoying a cool 80°. And as I sat on a shaded patio this morning with coffee in hand, not exactly writing, not exactly doing nothing, I remembered something important.

Sometimes, the script needs space. And so do we.

Why Slow Travel Might Be the Rewrite Your Script Needs

Your Movie Magic Screenwriter file is open. You’ve written a handful of solid scenes. The setup is there, the characters are moving, and you know where you want the story to go. A few research tabs hover in the background: a map of a coastal road, a Wikipedia page on rare neurological conditions, a transcript of an old interview you're using for tone. And if you happen to be writing a period piece, as one of us recently did, set in Renaissance Florence, then you know how deep the rabbit hole goes. A tab with Savonarola’s writings stayed open for months.

You shift a line of dialogue. Question your midpoint. Rethink the act break you thought was working. You are writing, but not quite flowing. The page feels a little tighter than it should. Your script is asking for air.

Sometimes, the best way forward is to stop. Not quit. Just pause. Step back. Let the pressure fall away so your mind can find its own rhythm again.

This is where the idea of la dolce far niente comes in. The sweet art of doing nothing. Not laziness. Not delay. Just stillness. Spaciousness. A conscious choice to create room for the story to speak back.

At EatWriteRoam, we build this into the structure. From 10:00 to 1:00, we teach. This is the heart of our intensive workshop. In those three hours, we help you skip months, if not years, of trying to figure out what it really takes to write an award-winning screenplay. We dig into structure, craft, genre, and clarity. And once you know the rules, you’ll start to see exactly how and where you can break them.

Then we let go.

From 1:00 to 4:00, the afternoon is yours. There’s no schedule, no pressure, no agenda. That freedom is deliberate, albeit we may suggest an experiential exercise to augment your creativity. Maybe you’ll take a slow lunch with someone you just met. Maybe you’ll sit in the shade in front of the Parroquia and eavesdrop. Maybe you’ll stare into a cocktail at Hortus and suddenly understand your protagonist's next step at the sixty-minute point. This is where the lessons settle. This is when your story starts to shift in the background, often when you least expect it.

At 4:00, we gather again. We reflective. We share. We critique. We keep it positive and collaborative. No one is there to impress. You share what surprised you. You notice what has shifted. These conversations often lead to breakthroughs because the pressure to produce has been replaced with curiosity.

Evenings, apart from the welcome dinner and final night celebration, are completely open. Maybe you disappear into your script. Maybe you don’t touch it at all. Maybe you drink wine on a rooftop and doodle while you eavesdrop. That counts too. Every part of the day is designed to support your voice, your rhythm, your process.

Doing nothing is not a break from writing. It is a deeper form of it. This is how you find the story under the story. This is how you make room for surprise.

Eat. Write. Roam.

Excerpt from "Every Ripple On The Water" © Lorraine Flett

And when in doubt, do nothing on purpose.