MICHAEL GONZALEZ
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MICHAEL GONZALEZ

What inspired you to write a script rather than a novel or short story?
I've always believed some stories are meant to be seen rather than read. What draws me to screenwriting is the collaboration between image, performance, music, and silence. A screenplay is only the beginning of a much larger creative journey, where
actors, directors, cinematographers, composers, and editors each bring something to the story that words on a page alone never could. My screenplay, The Last Stuntman is a good example. Donald "Shorty" Shea's story isn't just about what happened to him, it's about what remained unspoken. His loneliness, the danger he kept chasing, the hope he refused to surrender, and the life he never got the chance to live all become more powerful when experienced visually. That's why I write screenplays. I love stories that invite an audience to feel something together in a darkened theater rather than simply
imagine it alone
.
Was there a specific film, TV show, or personal moment that first made you say, “I want  to write like that”?
Zorba the Greek was the first film that made me realize stories could ask bigger questions than simply "What happens next" Zorba is joyful, impulsive, deeply flawed, and fully alive. He reminded me that memorable characters aren't perfect, they're profoundly human.
That realization has stayed with me throughout my writing. I'm drawn to characters who carry invisible wounds, wrestle with impossible choices, and discover that the greatest battle isn't against another person, but against themselves. Whether it's Shorty in The Last Stuntman, Garrett in Red Hawk, or Sean in Love and Led Zeppelin, I'm fascinated  by people searching for the courage to become who they're capable of being. Zorba the Greek was the first film that made me want to write stories that linger long after the credits roll.

What’s your writing routine like? Do you follow a strict schedule, or are you more intuitive about when and how you write?
I'm pretty disciplined. I plant myself in front of the computer five days a week and write six to eight hours a day. Weekends are for recharging that, many times is interrupted by an idea and am compelled to craft into workable notes. Once I commit to a story, it rarely leaves me alone. My process is a little like listening to an old radio full of static. Images, scenes, snippets of dialogue, and connections keep flashing through my mind. I write, rewrite, and keep digging until the static finally clears
and the story reveals what it was trying to become all along. I've learned not to force that process. My job is simply to show up every day and keep writing until the story starts answering its own questions.
One habit I've found invaluable is ending each writing day at the most exciting point in the story. It gives me something to look forward to. And when I sit down the next morning, I'm able to pick up with the same excitement and momentum instead of
staring at a blank page wondering where to begin.

When you're starting a new script, how do you shape your ideas? Do you use outlines, beat sheets, or dive right into scenes? What inspires your scripts? Characters? Plot? Theme? Action?
I was incredibly fortunate to spend two years being mentored by Robert McKee, and later had the opportunity to co-write a feature screenplay with him. That experience taught me that great screenplays aren't discovered by accident—they're built.
Every screenplay starts with an idea, but I don't begin writing pages. I begin building the story. I develop an outline that changes constantly, sometimes several times a day, as I search for the strongest dramatic spine.
Once the story holds together, I expand it into a step outline, writing one paragraph for every scene. That becomes the blueprint for the screenplay. Even then, it continues to evolve.
I think of my first draft as an advanced version of the treatment. The real writing begins in the rewriting. Every draft teaches me something I didn't know before. When I believe a screenplay has reached a new level, I seek thoughtful professional feedback. The most valuable notes don't tell me what story to write—they help me discover the story that's already trying to emerge.

How do you handle writer’s block or those inevitable moments of self-doubt?
A lot of writers disagree with me, but I don't believe writer's block is a permanent condition. If I'm stuck, it's usually because I haven't solved the story. That's why I spend so much time outlining before I write a screenplay. A solid blueprint gives me endless options. Trying to skip that work is the longest distance between two points.
Self-doubt is different. Every writer experiences it. I've learned not to think of it as something to conquer but something to manage. The best antidote is to become a student of storytelling. Learn the mechanics. Study structure. Seek honest feedback. Then write, rewrite, and rewrite again. Confidence doesn't come from believing you're talented. It comes from knowing you've done the work to make the story better.

What tools—software, methods, rituals—do you consider essential to your writing workflow?
I use industry-standard screenwriting software, but the most important tool in my workflow isn't software, it's discipline. I set daily page goals and specific writing objectives that move the screenplay forward.
During an initial draft, writing 20 or 30 pages isn't unusual because I'm working from a detailed blueprint. As the screenplay matures, my goal shifts. Near the final polish, I'm satisfied if I improve ten pages a day because that's where the real work begins.
To me, polishing a screenplay is where the rubber meets the road. That's when I seek professional analysis. Good feedback can be frustrating because it often reveals problems you didn't know were there. The challenge isn't reading the notes, it's finding the energy to dive back in and make the story better.
That's where writers make an important decision. They’re what I call the "Scrabble writer", rearranging the words on the page. The writer who continues to grow uses feedback to move the story to the next level. That choice ultimately determines whether a screenplay simply gets revised... or truly evolves.

Do you write with production realities in mind, or do you let the creative vision lead first and adjust later?
Creative vision always comes first. I write the story into the world it naturally belongs in rather than trying to fit it into a production budget. If the story requires a specific setting or scale, I follow where it leads. Fortunately, I'm drawn to character-driven stories rather than effects-driven ones. My screenplays aren't built around spectacles or elaborate action sequences. They're built around ordinary people facing extraordinary moral choices. My goal has never been to impress an audience with spectacle, it's to move them with characters they genuinely care about. I believe that's what people remember long after the credits roll.

When a scene isn’t working, what’s your go-to strategy for fixing it? Rewrite, workshop, walk away, or something else?
First, you have to be ruthless. You have to kill your babies, no matter how much you love  them, if they aren't serving the story.
When a scene isn't working, I don't immediately rewrite it. I start asking questions. Does it move the story forward? What dramatic question does it answer? Who wants what? Who wins? Who loses? Who pays the price? Is the scene really necessary? Would it be stronger with less dialogue, or none at all? Is it simply exposition disguised as drama? If I still don't have the answer, I walk away and let the scene ferment. I've learned that if I've done the hard work, the solution often arrives unexpectedly. Suddenly, a line of dialogue, an image, or a completely different approach flashes into my mind. The longer I write, the more I trust the story itself. Eventually, the characters begin telling me when something isn't true. When that happens, I listen. Then I rewrite. And one last rule: Never fall in love with the solution. Tomorrow, the story may show you a better one.

How many scripts have you completed? How many have you started and not completed (we all have those)... and why are they still unfinished?
To date, I've completed three projects:
The Last Stuntman - Feature Drama
Love and Led Zeppelin - Feature Comedy
Red Hawk - Eight-Episode Limited Television Series
I also have three projects in advanced development: If I Were a Bunny, Beanball, The Last Pass to Berlin - each with completed outlines and treatments. If I Were a Bunny will be the next screenplay I write.
I've also started stories that I ultimately set aside. One of the most important lessons I've learned is that a great idea doesn't automatically become a great story. When I realize I haven't yet found the story beneath the idea, I move on until I do. I don't see those unfinished projects as failures. They're part of the process of becoming a better storyteller. Every one of them taught me something that found its way into the next screenplay.
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Have you earned recognition in this or other competitions? What’s your strategy when submitting your scripts, and how has contest feedback shaped your work?
I’ve been fortunate to earn recognition for several projects:
The Last Stuntman
– Finalist, Santa Barbara International Screenplay Awards
– Quarterfinalist, PAGE International Screenwriting Awards
– Drama Semifinalist, Fade In Awards
Love and Led Zeppelin
– Quarterfinalist, PAGE International Screenwriting Awards
– Semifinalist, Santa Barbara International Screenplay Awards
Red Hawk
– Semifinalist, BlueCat Screenplay Competition
– Top 54 of 813 one-hour television pilots
My submission strategy is simple: don’t enter a screenplay until you believe it is the strongest version you can produce. Then research the competitions carefully and prioritize those with established reputations, experienced readers, and a record of
providing meaningful industry exposure or substantive feedback. I’m cautious about contests that return an analysis within an hour or two. Thoughtful screenplay analysis requires time. The most valuable feedback examines structure, character, theme, causality, and the deeper story beneath the pages—the weaknesses a writer may be too close to recognize.
I often work through several rounds with the same analyst. A first analysis might be fourteen pages. I dissect the notes, decide which observations support what I’m trying to accomplish, and rewrite. A second analysis may narrow to six pages, and a third to two pages. That progression tells me the screenplay is closing in on its strongest form. But there is an important distinction: The analyst is not the author. A strong analyst exposes the screenplay’s weaknesses, questions its choices, and reveals opportunities. The writer must decide how to use that insight while remaining the master of the story. That process was invaluable in moving The Last Stuntman to the next level. The best feedback doesn’t rewrite your screenplay for you. It helps you see the screenplay you were trying to write all along.

Have you done anything at this point to promote yourself or your writing (besides entering online contests)? If so, how would you gauge the effectiveness of those efforts?
I've worked with a marketing company that has helped introduce my work to the industry. An executive from the company attended the Cannes Film Festival and pitched The Last Stuntman, Love and Led Zeppelin, and Red Hawk, resulting in several
follow-up meetings. I've also entered pitch fests, attended countless marketing seminars, and tried to learn every legitimate avenue available to get my work in front of decision-makers. One thing I've learned is that there is no silver bullet. I've learned not to confuse interest with opportunity. A good meeting is simply that—a meeting. I've been in this business long enough to know that today's enthusiasm can disappear by next week. That's not criticism; it's simply the nature of the business. I've also been fortunate to have talented writer friends, and several respected directors read my work and help place it in front of people who can make decisions. Some opportunities have led to meaningful conversations. Many have led nowhere. What has made the biggest difference recently is building a track record in respected screenplay competitions. Quarterfinalist, semifinalist, and finalist placements don't sell a screenplay, but they do encourage people to take a closer look. Recognition doesn't replace great storytelling, but it gives people a reason to read the first page. Social media has never been my strength, so I haven't relied on it as part of my strategy.
Years ago, I asked a respected director, "How on earth do I get one of my stories made?" He smiled and said, "Any way you can." After all these years, I still think that's the best advice I've ever received.

Have you pitched to producers or taken meetings yet? What have those experiences taught you about the business side of screenwriting?
I've participated in pitch fests, but I haven't yet had the opportunity to sit across the table from a producer and personally pitch one of my projects. Through my marketing company, however, my screenplays have been pitched at the Cannes Film Festival,
which resulted in several follow-up meetings. What those experiences have taught me is that screenwriting and selling screenplays are two very different professions. Writing the screenplay is only half the journey. Building relationships, earning trust, and finding the right champion for the right project requires persistence and patience.
I've also learned not to mistake interest for commitment. People in this business read hundreds of scripts and hear countless pitches. A positive meeting is encouraging, but it isn't a sale. The next meeting, the next rewrite, or the next competition placement may be the one that opens the right door. Most importantly, I've learned that the only thing I truly control is the quality of my writing. That's where I choose to spend my energy.

What do you see as your greatest strengths as a writer? Your greatest weaknesses?
My greatest strength is that I became a student of storytelling rather than believing I could ever become an expert. There's an important difference. The more I learn, the more I realize there is still more to discover. Early in my career, I thought like a writer. Today, I try to think like a storyteller. Writing is simply the by-product.
I've always loved the story of Michelangelo accepting the block of marble that other sculptors had rejected. Where they saw a flawed piece of stone, he saw David already waiting inside. His job wasn't to invent David, to reveal him. That's how I approach storytelling. My job isn't to force a story onto the page. It's to keep studying the craft, asking better questions, rewriting relentlessly, and removing everything that prevents the story from becoming what it was meant to be. As for my greatest weakness...I become so immersed in a story that I sometimes forget to eat.Fortunately, my wife eventually reminds me.

How do you balance your writing with your “day job”?
I'm retired, so writing has become my full-time occupation. This may sound a little strange, but when I'm out running errands or having dinner, I'll sometimes take one of my characters out for a test run. I'll imagine how they would react to the people around them, the conversations they're overhearing, or the situations unfolding in front of them. It amuses my wife, but it's one of the ways I discover whether a character truly feels authentic. I also swim 1,500 meters five days a week. It clears my head, keeps me healthy, and has a funny way of solving story problems when I'm not consciously thinking about them. I've found that some of my best ideas arrive when I've stopped trying to force them.

What message or emotional response do you hope audiences walk away with after experiencing your work?
I hope audiences leave my stories asking themselves questions they weren't asking when they sat down.
Whether it's The Last Stuntman, Red Hawk, or Love and Led Zeppelin, I'm drawn to ordinary people standing at moral crossroads. My stories aren't really about stuntmen, lumber towns, or a college prank that became national news. They're about identity, belonging, courage, forgiveness, and the choices that define who we become. If someone walks out of a theater thinking, "What would I have done?" or "Who would I choose to become?" then I've done my job. I don't believe storytelling should tell audiences what to think. I believe it should invite them to see themselves in someone else's journey and leave with a deeper understanding of their own. That's the kind of story I hope to write every time I sit down at the keyboard.

What are you working on right now the world needs to know about?
Right now I'm developing a feature screenplay inspired by my next-door neighbors" thirteen-year-old autistic twin daughters.
Over the years, I've had long conversations with their parents about how differently the girls experience the world. Listening to them has been like watching a wonderful kaleidoscope unfold in my mind. It challenged me to see familiar things from an entirely different perspective.
The girls love competing in cross-country races. They're bright, funny, and endlessly curious. But in the middle of a race, they might spot a rabbit and instinctively leave the course to follow it. Moments like that made me realize they weren't seeing a different world—they were seeing the same world differently. That led me to ask a question I couldn't let go of.
What if two autistic sisters became separated from their parents during a violent wilderness storm?
If I could truly see the world through their eyes... How would they survive? That's the story I'm exploring now, and I think it may become the most challenging—and perhaps the most rewarding, screenplay I've ever written.

Where do you see yourself five years from now as a screenwriter—and how do you plan to get to that place?
Of course, I'd love to see one or more of my screenplays produced. That's every screenwriter's dream. But I've learned there are too many things in this business that are beyond my control to measure success solely by whether a project gets greenlit.
What I can control is my commitment to the craft. I'll continue studying storytelling, rewriting relentlessly, and building relationships with people who share a passion for great stories. I've always believed that if my best keeps getting better, my odds of success will continue to improve. Whether that success arrives next year or five years from now is something I can't control. The work is the reward. If I keep honoring the work, I'll be exactly where I'm supposed to be.

What advice would you give to any aspiring writer hoping to follow in your footsteps?
The first question I'd ask any aspiring writer is, "Why do you want to tell this story?"; Not, "What's your story about?" but "Why does it matter to you?" Over the years, I've met countless people who tell me they have a great idea for a screenplay or that their life would make an incredible movie. They sit down at a computer, start typing, and within a few weeks they've quit. Ideas aren't enough. Passion isn't enough. My advice is to become a student of storytelling before you ever think of yourself as
a screenwriter. Read books by successful writers. Watch interviews and lectures. Attend seminars. Learn structure, character, conflict, subtext, and rewriting. Learn from everyone—but don't treat any single approach as gospel. Discover what serves
your voice.
Then resist the temptation to jump into pages. Build a step outline. Write a detailed treatment. Know your story before you write your screenplay. Finally, understand that writing is rewriting. At some point, if you've done the work, your story stops feeling like something you're controlling and starts becoming a creative partner. Your characters begin surprising you because you've discovered who they truly are. And here's one last piece of advice.
Pay attention to how audiences respond to stories. I sometimes watch reaction videos, not because I'm looking for approval, but because I'm fascinated by what genuinely surprises people emotionally. My goal has never been to write another
good drama or another good comedy. It's to create the moment when someone says: "I've seen hundreds of stories like this... but I've never seen one told quite this way." That's the reaction worth chasing.