Standard format is the entry ticket; the edge cases are where scripts get flagged. These guides cover the core rules and the situations that trip writers up, from montages and intercuts to text messages and foreign dialogue.
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Convert a screenplay into AI video prompts: split each slugline into setting, place and time, turn NIGHT into a light source, write one action per clip and drop what the camera can't see.
A copyable Fountain template for vertical drama scripts, the episode header convention, the page-to-second math, and a worked 90-second episode line by line.
A slugline is the all-caps heading that opens every scene: INT. or EXT., location, time of day. What each part does, copyable examples, mini-slugs, and the rules readers actually check.
Copy the Fountain title page block, or fill five fields and export a PDF. Both give you a standard title page, plus what each field does and what changes for contests and pilots.
If you use a WGA registration number at all, it goes bottom-right, 1 inch from each margin. Most working screenwriters skip it entirely on a spec title page, and here is why.
For a screenplay, a cover page and a title page are the same plain page: title, byline, contact info. The confusion comes from other industries, where a cover page means designed artwork.
A shooting script title page adds a draft label, revision color, and date on top of the standard spec fields. Here is what changes, and the standard Hollywood revision color order.
A TV pilot title page puts the series title on top, largest, with the episode title (usually 'Pilot') centered below it. Here is the full layout and the hierarchy mistake to avoid.
Most major fellowships require a blind title page: title only, no name, no contact info. Here is why anonymity exists and the common ways writers accidentally break it.
There is no single correct title page, there are nine common ones: standard, represented, anonymous contest, adaptation, multi-writer, TV pilot, production, WGA-registered, and staffing sample.
The one-page-per-minute rule holds within about 5% for balanced standard-format scripts, but drifts 10-20% for dialogue-heavy or action-heavy scripts. Here is when to trust it and when to override it.
A music video treatment runs 1 to 3 pages of prose plus 8 to 15 pages total with mood board images. Here is why timing means song structure, not runtime.
A 30-second commercial runs about 60 to 75 spoken words, a 60-second spot 130 to 150. Here is the words-per-second convention and why silence and read pace change the real count.
A 5-minute short runs about 5 pages, a 10-minute short 9 to 11, and a 15-minute short 14 to 16. Here is why short film page counts have the least slack of any format.
A 2-hour movie script runs about 110 to 125 pages, with 118 to 122 the safest professional target. Here is the genre breakdown and why the 125-page ceiling is partly psychological.
A 30-minute script runs 25 to 38 pages in single-camera format and 45 to 55 in multi-cam, where dialogue is double-spaced. Here is the band by format and why multi-cam, single-cam, and streaming half-hours differ.
A 90-page script runs about 90 minutes, the one-page-per-minute baseline for a feature. Here is how genre and content mix shift that number in practice.
The fastest accurate way to time a screenplay: page count, the one-page-per-minute rule, and the dialogue vs action adjustments that keep your estimate honest.
Feature, TV pilot, short film, micro-budget: the exact page count range for every format, why the one-page-per-minute rule holds, and what actually moves your number.
Every screenplay formatting guide in one hub: sluglines, title pages, montages, flashbacks, phone calls, text messages, V.O., and the edge cases nobody teaches, plus free formatting tools.
On-screen text is part of the story grammar. Title cards vs chyrons vs lower thirds, capitalization rules, and when text on screen beats dialogue exposition.
Time-lapse is montage with a clock visible. Seasonal markers, transformation verbs, and the format line between poetic compression and unreadable blur.
Underwater action has different physics and reader expectations. Depth markers, breath logic, visibility limits, and format choices that keep submerged fights legible.
News scenes need anchor lines, chyron logic, and control-room geography. TV formatting patterns for live breaks, B-roll inserts, and the exposition that feels like coverage.
Opening crawls carry exposition that has to feel mythic, not instructional. Page format, word economy, and when to let the crawl do work your first scene cannot.
V.O. is not a crutch for unfilmable prose. When to tag narration, how to separate voice from scene, and fixes for the voiceover that explains what we already see.
The title page is your first handshake. 2026 spec standards for contact blocks, draft labels, and the mistakes that make readers think you downloaded a template yesterday.
Found footage is a camera contract, not a genre garnish. REC markers, operator logic, discovery framing, and failure modes that break immersion on the page.
Mockumentaries need a page grammar for interviews, B-roll, and breaking the fourth wall. Format patterns, moderator beats, and fixes when your docu-comedy reads like a sitcom.
Montages compress time on screen but often jam the page. MONTAGE vs SERIES OF SHOTS, lean beat blocks, and failure modes that make readers skim your training sequence.
Fade In vs WriterDuet is a workflow choice: solo file ownership vs live co-writing, subscription math, and export rituals that keep FDX and PDF handoffs boring.
TEASER, ACT ONE, END OF ACT ONE, TAG: what broadcast module labels mean, how to format them, and how to write act outs that survive interruption.
Multi-cam and single-camera sitcoms share jokes but not page grammar. CAPS action, set geography, act outs, and 2026 page bands for the half-hour lane you are actually writing.
Casting sides are performance documents, not mini-scripts. How to cut excerpts, format title pages, and avoid the audition mistakes that waste everyone's time.
White, blue, pink, yellow: what WGA revision colors mean on set, how to mark changed pages, and export habits that keep production from reading the wrong draft.
INT/EXT, time of day, and location errors sink reads before dialogue starts. A slugline checklist, formatter workflow, and fixes for the heading mistakes readers flag first.
Half-hour and hour-long pilots use different page bands for a reason. 2026 targets by format, how to audit act modules, and fixes when coverage says you read short or long.
Split-timeline scenes can create deep emotional resonance or temporal confusion. A practical framework for paired beats, timeline labels, and transition logic that keeps interwoven time clear and compelling.
Bodycam scenes can deliver procedural intensity or collapse into chaotic metadata. A practical framework for constrained POV formatting, evidentiary clarity, and consequence-driven interpretation beats.
Courtroom transcript inserts can sharpen evidentiary tension or stall pacing. A practical guide to formatting record excerpts, speaker labels, and contradiction beats so legal text drives story movement.
Whisper scenes can feel razor-tense or muddy and repetitive. A practical framework for audibility mapping, low-volume formatting, and risk escalation so hushed dialogue drives irreversible choices.
Hybrid interview scenes can add layered truth or fracture pacing. A practical framework for formatting testimony inserts, intercut contradictions, and reliability arcs so documentary devices strengthen narrative cinema.
Chant-heavy scenes can create mass tension or dissolve into repetitive background sound. A practical method to format crowd rhythm, call-and-response structure, and escalation beats that force character decisions.
Notifications can escalate scenes in seconds or clutter pages with interface noise. A practical method to format source hierarchy, alert text, and reaction beats so digital signals drive real story consequences.
Intercut sequences can create relentless urgency or timeline chaos. A practical method to format shared clocks, location switches, and causal links so two-location action stays clear and high-tension.
Video-call scenes can feel modern and tense or flat and repetitive. A practical framework for formatting source clarity, lag events, frame leaks, and two-location power shifts without cluttering the page.
Nested dream scenes can create psychological dread or total timeline fog. A practical system for layer labeling, wake transitions, anomaly rules, and fair-clue reveals that keep readers oriented and unnerved.
Dispatch scenes can create tactical urgency or devolve into unreadable jargon. A practical method to format channels, source cues, and escalation beats so police comms stay clear and dramatically effective.
CCTV scenes can create forensic tension or pure confusion. A practical method to format camera IDs, timestamps, playback shifts, and watcher reactions so surveillance sequences stay clear and dramatically charged.
News desk scenes can add pressure or become lifeless info dumps. A practical guide to formatting source clarity, writing authentic anchor copy, and intercutting reactions that force character decisions.
Voicemail scenes can deliver emotional shock or sink into transcript clutter. A practical method to format playback clearly, intercut listener reactions, and keep delayed-audio moments cinematic on the page.
Radio and PA lines can sharpen tension or wreck scene clarity. A practical guide to formatting source audio, managing interruption rhythm, and keeping broadcast-heavy sequences readable under pressure.
Parentheticals can protect intention or suffocate dialogue flow. A practical rewrite method to cut emotional overlabeling, keep critical clarifications, and make scenes read cleaner while preserving performance precision.
A flashforward can create dread in seconds or collapse reader trust instantly. How to format timeline jumps with precision, preserve suspense after revealing the future, and avoid the failure modes that make non-linear scripts unreadable.
Tablet writing fails in meetings when PDF truth diverges from preview vanity. Stress tests, hardware realities, and export habits that keep iPad drafts coordinator-grade.
The phone rings. We see both sides at once, Sarah in the van, Marcus under attack. How to format simultaneous action that doubles the tension.
Max the dog looks up with understanding. A tear rolls down his cheek. Dogs don't cry. How to write animal action that's actually filmable.
A bone spins through prehistoric sky. Cut, a space station orbits Earth. How to write match cuts that connect scenes through visual and auditory poetry.
He's had four drinks. Maybe five. 'He's drunk' tells the actor nothing. How to write intoxication with specificity, guiding performance without dictating it.
Maya's hands move in fluid conversation. Her brother responds, his signs sharper, faster. How to write dialogue that isn't spoken but is fully heard.
The diplomat speaks Russian. The protagonist doesn't. Between them sits an interpreter. How to format scenes where translation happens in real time.
'She realizes she's been wrong about everything.' How do you film 'realizes'? When to use, and when to avoid, action lines that describe the invisible.
Sarah presses her ear to the door. Through the wood, she hears her parents arguing. How to format two simultaneous scenes, the speakers and the listener who shouldn't be there.
One take. No cuts. The camera follows without stopping. How to write a oner that reads as fluidly as it will shoot, without overstepping into directing.
The viewer puts on the headset. They can look anywhere. There's no frame, no cuts, no control. How to script action that happens in every direction at once.
No images. No actors' faces. Just sound, voices, music, and the theater of the listener's imagination. How to structure a ten-episode audio drama and format scripts for this unique medium.
The viewer makes a choice. Cereal or no cereal. The narrative branches. One path leads to a memory; the other leads to a breakdown. How to format scripts that aren't linear, they're maps.
It's October fifteenth. The network needs a script by November first. You have sixteen days to write a ninety-minute Christmas movie that hits every expected beat and still feels fresh.
Thirty seconds. Approximately 75 words of dialogue. Every image and word must earn its place. Why commercial scripts use a different format, and how to master it.
The page explodes. 'KRAAKOOOM' arcs across the sky in jagged red letters. Now write that as a screenplay. How to transform a medium that controls space into one that controls time.
The Western screenwriter hands over a script that's self-contained. The anime screenwriter hands over one piece of a larger system. Understanding these production codes keeps you from marking yourself as an outsider.
The footage doesn't exist yet. The interviews haven't been conducted. But you need to convince a network to fund eight episodes based on a document you wrote before cameras rolled.
The episode is seven minutes long. Not forty-two. Not sixty. Seven. How to compress story without losing depth, and why broadcast pacing rules will sink your web series.
Once the script is locked, scene numbers and revision discipline keep prep from collapsing. How to lock, when to renumber, and how to issue revisions without chaos.
Production needs to see what changed. Blue, pink, yellow, revision colors aren’t busywork. They’re how you keep the room in sync and avoid costly confusion.
Fountain is plain text and portable. The handoff into and out of your app isn't. Here's how to round-trip without your structure collapsing.
You're cutting, pasting, restructuring, and the app keeps 'fixing' what you didn't ask it to fix. Here's why it happens and how to reduce the rewrite tax.
Use AI to flag typos, names, and slugs, then you decide. A clean script without letting the tool rewrite your voice.
How to format pratfalls and physical gags on the page so they read, and so the team can make them land on set.
Capture and light editing on phone or tablet. What to look for and how formatting holds up, sync and workflow.
Every time we change time or thread, the page has to say so. Supers, headings, or labels, one clear convention.
When to specify each move and when to give outcome and feel. How to choose and format so the stunt team and reader get what they need.
Suggest the continuous flow. Describe the path and the beats so it can be shot in one take, without directing the camera.
One clear beat per moment. Who's in which car, what happens, and the outcome. Short blocks so the reader and stunt team follow.
INTERCUT and mini-slugs so the reader always knows which location we're in. How to format parallel action.
Label the transition in and out. How to format so the reader never wonders if we're in the past or a dream.
Series of shots = one event, many quick beats. Montage = time passing. How to choose and format each.
Give the translation. One consistent convention so the reader and subtitling team always know what's said.
Describe the effect, not the shot count. One clear image per beat so production can budget and design.
Lyrics vs. dialogue; diegetic vs. non-diegetic. How to format songs and cues so the reader and music team know what's what.
Sound before the first image. How to format OVER BLACK so the reader and the director know the intent.
VR POV, AI voice, holographic UI, how to describe what we see and do without over-designing the interface.
What we hear and what we see. How to format podcasts and news so the content is clear without transcribing everything.
When to intercut between two locations and when to stay on one side. Why dual dialogue is for the same room, not calls.
SUPER, chyron, or action, how to specify what text we see and when so the reader and production are aligned.
Name the emoji, describe the GIF. How to put them on the page without breaking the read or losing production.
The frame is the desktop. How to format windows, clicks, and dialogue so the script stays readable and producible.
Who we see, who's speaking, and when the view changes. How to format video calls so the reader can follow.
Vertical format, comments, and live elements on the page. How to specify what we see and hear without over-designing.
Dialogue, action, or insert, when to use each for SMS so the page stays clear and production knows what to build.
Thought in the present vs. voice from later. How to tell them apart, when to use each, and how to format so the reader and production get it.
The look. The gesture. The beat with no dialogue. How to put silence on the page so the reader and the actor have something to play.
When two people talk at once in the same room. How to format dual dialogue in your software and when to use it so the page stays clear.
Scene headings, supers, character labels. How to signal every time shift so the reader and production never get lost.
Two locations, one conversation. The cut is a beat. How to format and write intercut phone calls so the tension lives in the rhythm of the scene.
Sound from the next scene bleeds into the current one. The audience is pulled forward before the cut. How to format and use pre-lap on the page.
The page is a visual object. Dense blocks slow the read; short lines and white space create rhythm. How to pace the reader without saying a word.
How to put non-linear storytelling on the page. Section headers, time stamps, thread labels,so the reader and production never get lost when the chronology is deliberately broken.
Sound does story work. Here's how to put it on the page,without cluttering the read or directing the mix.
The spec is for selling and reading. The shooting script is for making the movie. Different rules, different audiences,and when to use which.
Your character picks up the phone. The reader is already confused. Phone calls have a grammar. Here's how to format one-side vs intercut so the page stays clear.
90 to 120 pages. 100 to 110 as the sweet spot. What those numbers mean, where they come from, and what's changed with streaming.
Most writers treat V.O. and O.S. as interchangeable. They're not. In production they trigger different decisions. Here's how to use each correctly.
Both deliver industry-standard PDF and FDX. One is the incumbent; the other adds a living story map and visuals. Which fits your pipeline?
Why file format matters when you submit. When to send PDF, when to send FDX, and how to export so your script meets reader and production expectations.
The reader is three-quarters down the page. Quiet. Then the next line hits,and they flinch. That's craft. How to format sudden scares so the script makes everyone jump before a single frame is shot.
How to format a screenplay in 2026: Courier 12pt, exact margins for sluglines, action and dialogue, plus copyable examples and a cheat sheet table. Or skip the rules and format automatically for free.