Genre: Horror?
Premise: Three Korean girls who have been adopted by American suburban families have their friendship tested when they conjure up a spell that releases their “mother.”
About: Today’s short story sold at the end of last year after being involved in a bidding war. Five offers came in, with Fox 2000 and 21 Laps winning the grand prize. The short story was written by Alice Sola Kim who won something called the “Whiting Award” in 2016. This short story was published on tinhouse.com and can be read here.
Writer: Alice Sola Kim
Details: Equivalent of 15-20 pages long
Is the short story the new spec script?
Maybe not. But nothing’s gotten closer to replicating the spec sale in the last two years than the short story sale. They’re all the rage, with a couple of new ones picked up every month.
While I know nothing about today’s writer, I suspect from her name (Alice Sola Kim) that she is of Korean heritage (Kim) adopted by American parents (Sola). If that’s the case, this appears to be a personal story. Isn’t that what they say to do? Write what you know? Or, the R version, “Work your personal shit out through your writing?” I’m excited. If Kim is using her own life experiences to tell this story, doing so through the marketable genre of horror, I’m betting it’s going to be an emotionally moving portrait of adoption that can be marketed to the masses. Let’s check it out.
Teenagers Mia, Caroline, and Ronnie are Koreans adopted into American families. That’s how they met, actually, during a gathering for Koreans adopted into American families. These three understand each other in a way the outside world couldn’t possibly comprehend. Mia is the fun alternative one. Caroline is the sophisticated one. And Ronnie is the misfit.
One day, as teenagers are wont to do, the three chant a spell in a parking lot, only to later realize they’ve unleashed their mother. Not their adopted mother. Not their birth mother. But some nebulous afterlife creature who refers to herself as their mother.
This “mother” communicates to the three of them by taking over their brains and speaking through their mouths. The things she says make less sense than your average homeless man on Santa Monica and Colorado (“THIS IS A SONG MY MOTHER SANG TO ME WHEN I DIDN’T WANT TO WAKE UP FOR SCHOOL. IT CALLS THE VINES DOWN TO LIFT YOU UP AND—“). It’s not clear what this mother is trying to accomplish other than be annoying, which she’s an expert at.
As “Mother” is passed around between the girls, we impatiently wait for some sort of plot to arrive. It never does, unfortunately, making you wonder just how frivolously this was written. Eventually, to teach the girls a lesson, “mother” crashes their car into a tree one night. However, just when we think something substantial has happened in this godforsaken story, we cut back to the car, still driving, to learn that they’re all safe, and that “mother” was just teaching them a “lesson.” The End.
Before I get to my reaction, I want to make something clear. I don’t blame Alice Kim for this. It’s not her fault that she wrote a story that’d be dismissed by 99% of college English professors, yet still was able to sell it. Good for her. We should all be so lucky as to sell our weaker material. I don’t blame the original producer, who did an amazing job conning Hollywood into thinking this story was worth buying. That’s what a good producer does (A famous Hollywood agent once said, “Sell a good script? Pfft. Anybody can do that. Sell a bad script? Now that’s when you know you’re a good agent.”).
I blame the production company and studio that purchased this. If you’re trying to figure out who made the mistake here, they’re the one you point the finger towards.
There are two reasons why this sale annoys me so much. The first is it confuses aspiring writers. Writers read this glorified writing exercise, see that it sold, and believe that this is the bar. When it isn’t. It’s an outlier, a purchase that was likely inspired by reasons that have little to do with the story’s quality. Second, it’s taking the place of material that’s ACTUALLY good. There’s a lot of stuff out there that’s so much more deserving than this. But instead the winning lottery spot goes to Rambling Teenage Girls and Their Ghost Mom.
I mean here’s a typical paragraph from “Daughters.”
Imagine 20 pages of that.
While the rules for short stories are definitely different from screenwriting, there is one commonality. There needs to be a plot. There needs to be a point to it all. The opening to “Daughters,” which dives into our friends’ lives, does so messily. “At midnight we parked by a Staples and tried some seriously dark fucking magic. We had been discussing it for weeks and could have stayed in that Wouldn’t it be funny if groove forever, zipping between yes, we should and no, we shouldn’t until it became a joke so dumb that we would never. But that night Mini had said, “If we don’t do it right now, I’m going to be so mad at you guys, and I’ll know from now on that all you chickenheads can do is talk and not do,” and the whole way she ranted at us like that, even though we were already doing and not talking, or at least about to.” And that’s fine. When we’re meeting our heroes, you can be messy as long as we’re getting to know the characters who will later lead us on our journey.
But at a certain point, you have to introduce the reason the story exists. What is it our characters are trying to achieve (their goal)? Only then does your story have purpose. Doing so here would’ve been easy. You bring in the mother character. You have her do something awful, and now they need to get rid of her. But, instead, “Daughters,” focuses more on the positive aspects of “mother.” Her appearance is championed, her words idolized.
It’s only at the very last second that the group decides Mother is bad, as if the writer realized that she needed to end her story somehow and, oh yeah, if the mother is bad, then they would have to eliminate her. Instead of being a major plotline, however, it’s relegated to the last 500 words of the story. And this is how I know this was written at 3 am with not a lick of rewriting. It’s a story that was thoughtlessly blasted onto the page so it could be turned into a professor before sunrise.
And who is this mother ANYWAY??????
You all have different birth parents. Why do you only have one mother? Why don’t any of them realize that if someone’s claiming to be their unique mother, she can’t be everyone’s mother? Am I speaking alien here? That makes sense, right? And this is what bothers me about this type of writing. The writer doesn’t want to do the hard work of figuring out the answer to that question. It’s easier to keep it raw, place the onus on the audience to do the work, and in the best of circumstances, trick everyone into believing they’ve made some profound statement about motherhood.
So is there a movie here? That’s the only question that matters, right?
The answer is no.
But if I were paid a million dollars to come up with an angle, I guess I would have these girls unleash an evil mother that starts killing those around them and they have to figure out how to put the genie back in the bottle before there’s too much death and destruction. Which is just like every other horror movie but, hey, they paid all this money for the rights. They need a movie. That’s as good as they’re going to get.
[x] What the hell did I just read?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: No story can be saved through prose. No story can be saved through internal monologue. No story can be saved through shock tactics (it’s revealed that Ronnie’s involved in a incestual relationship with her brother late). You need a character goal to drive the plot. Without it, you’re just talking to yourself on the page.
