1. Make me love you by page 2. You're asking me to spend an hour or two of my time reading your script. Let me know I can trust you not to waste my time by writing an opening that shows you care enough about mine to craft something beautiful or moving or terrifyingly original. 2. Description matters. Don't be glib. Write with craft. Don't waste my time with anything that doesn't truly matter. Every word should either advance plot, reveal character, or create atmosphere. If it doesn't do at least one of those three things, cut it. 3. Your brilliant idea is going to suck. That thing that felt like a gossamer cloud that would write itself is going to collapse like a popped balloon very soon after you start writing it. That's okay. It's like having children. If you had any idea how hard and expensive it would be, very few people would sign up. Your job is to stay with it, even when the inspiration is gone. To see it through the slog, even on days when you produce nothing worthwhile. Especially on those days. 4. If you feel lost and alone and stupid, that's not an indication you're lost and alone and stupid. It's an indication you're a writer. 5. Hoard your secrets. With very rare exceptions, don't talk about your ideas to other people. You don't even know what they are yet. They need to germinate and cross pollinate and wither and die on the vine and be reborn again. Keep them in your hothouse. You know that place earth was hundreds of millions of years ago, moist and hot and weird creatures crawling from the sea to the muck of earth, fighting for air, eating each other, dying and transforming. That's your creative process early on. A confused beautiful mess. The last thing you need is someone peering into your mudhole saying, "Why are you growing wings? No one's ever flown before." 6. It damn well better matter. I don't care if it's animation—Woody's love for Andy is all consuming. He's panicked at the very thought of losing it. The Cowgirl Jesse is utterly destroyed when she's left in a donation box on the side of the road. I still can't talk about that scene without crying. That love is everything. When Woody tells her he has to go back to Andy because he's still Andy's toy, she responds: "Let me guess, Andy's a real special kid. And to him you're his buddy, his best friend. And when Andy plays with you, it's like even though you're not moving, you feel like you're alive. Because that's how he sees you."

The Forge isn’t a class. It’s not a PDF. And it sure as hell isn’t some self-anointed guru handing out formulas. There are no shortcuts. Think of The Forge as a dojo: • A place to train. • To sweat. • To break lazy habits. • To get your ass kicked and come out sharper. We don’t just build scripts here. We build writers. Who I Am (and why I’m doing this) I’m J. David Stem. For 20+ years I’ve made my living as a screenwriter: Shrek 2, Rugrats, Jimmy Neutron, The Smurfs, Are We There Yet?, Disenchanted, Mission Hill. $2.5 billion at the box office, plus an Emmy nomination and a Cable Ace Award. It’s been an incredible ride. But don’t get it twisted — I wasn’t a prodigy. I made every mistake you’re making now: • Jumping into drafts too soon because the idea felt “so good it would write itself.” • Stalling out by page 30. • Rewriting the same dead script, clinging to broken pages I’d “worked so hard on.” We call that Polishing a Turd. Polite society calls it Putting Lipstick on a Pig. But we know better. I built The Forge because if I’d known then what I know now, it would’ve saved me years of struggle. Some of those great ideas might have become great scripts. Instead, they sat in my attic until they burned in the Pacific Palisades fire. Out of the ashes, new things rise. That’s what The Forge is about. Who I’m Looking For: The Forge isn't for dabblers. It’s for writers who: • Know the loneliness of the page… and keep going anyway. • Are willing to bleed on the page — to get past clever, past safe, into something primal and human. • Can take real notes, not empty cheerleading. • Show up, rewrite when it hurts, hit deadlines, and genuinely want each other to succeed. If you’re looking for quick fixes or “Save the Cat” shortcuts, The Forge isn’t for you. But if you’re ready to train like a pro, this is where you belong. My Mission: Here’s my commitment -- I’ll bring every hard-won lesson I’ve learned in 30 years of writing at the highest level. I’ll teach you how to forge scripts that are undeniable.