Let me start where it matters — you’ve deeply influenced my life, both as a writer and as someone who sees storytelling as something sacred. You’re not just a teacher — you’re a high priest of Hollywood, a man who’s been ministering screenwriting wisdom since long before most of us knew what a three-act structure even was.
I love everything you say and write — whether it’s stapled together in classic Walter fashion or bound up in your new book, Deadpan (which, by the way, is a brilliant title for what you call a “funny book about an unfunny subject”). I haven’t read this one yet, but I’ve read your other works, and every single one sharpened my mind and made me laugh — sometimes in the same paragraph.
Now I’ve always lived at 110% — maybe it’s because of my birth date, but I’ve never believed in doing things halfway. I’ve also always believed that if someone else can make it down to Hollywood, and you can’t, then you help them. That’s part of how I live: bring others along, build peace, contribute where you can — even if the journey’s day-by-day. And yes, some of my people are champing at the bit.
Your recent commentary on handheld tech, dark screens, and of course your legendary hatred of phones in movies — had me cracking up. You’re right, again. And that little riff about the Irish being such good writers? That got a big laugh from me — I’ve got some Irish blood myself, so I’ll take it as a compliment.
You’ve got me thinking lately about something Rabbi Jacobson shared — a story about a refrigerator talking to electricity. The fridge says, “I need a repair, I’m breaking down.” And the electricity replies, “I’ve been around since the beginning — you just need to get fixed. I’ll still be here.” That whole idea of containers and light — whether it’s mystical, technical, or narrative — echoes in your work too. The container might change (paper, screen, tech), but the light — the story, the meaning — endures.
So here I am, writing, thinking, watching, and yeah — wondering if the stuff I’m working on now is finally getting close to what you’ve been pointing at all along. You teach us to entertain, yes, but also to contribute — and for me, that’s peace, one scene at a time. You can't beat the sun, as you said — or the weather — and I wouldn’t try. But I’ll keep showing up and telling it.
Thanks again for the laughs, the lessons, and your way of making storytelling feel like The Great Work — the Magnus Opus — but still grounded in real people, real conversations, and sometimes just a guy in a booth, talking on a phone he shouldn’t have used in the first place.
You're a funny man, Richard Walter. And I truly appreciate you.
Richard,
Let me start where it matters — you’ve deeply influenced my life, both as a writer and as someone who sees storytelling as something sacred. You’re not just a teacher — you’re a high priest of Hollywood, a man who’s been ministering screenwriting wisdom since long before most of us knew what a three-act structure even was.
I love everything you say and write — whether it’s stapled together in classic Walter fashion or bound up in your new book, Deadpan (which, by the way, is a brilliant title for what you call a “funny book about an unfunny subject”). I haven’t read this one yet, but I’ve read your other works, and every single one sharpened my mind and made me laugh — sometimes in the same paragraph.
Now I’ve always lived at 110% — maybe it’s because of my birth date, but I’ve never believed in doing things halfway. I’ve also always believed that if someone else can make it down to Hollywood, and you can’t, then you help them. That’s part of how I live: bring others along, build peace, contribute where you can — even if the journey’s day-by-day. And yes, some of my people are champing at the bit.
Your recent commentary on handheld tech, dark screens, and of course your legendary hatred of phones in movies — had me cracking up. You’re right, again. And that little riff about the Irish being such good writers? That got a big laugh from me — I’ve got some Irish blood myself, so I’ll take it as a compliment.
You’ve got me thinking lately about something Rabbi Jacobson shared — a story about a refrigerator talking to electricity. The fridge says, “I need a repair, I’m breaking down.” And the electricity replies, “I’ve been around since the beginning — you just need to get fixed. I’ll still be here.” That whole idea of containers and light — whether it’s mystical, technical, or narrative — echoes in your work too. The container might change (paper, screen, tech), but the light — the story, the meaning — endures.
So here I am, writing, thinking, watching, and yeah — wondering if the stuff I’m working on now is finally getting close to what you’ve been pointing at all along. You teach us to entertain, yes, but also to contribute — and for me, that’s peace, one scene at a time. You can't beat the sun, as you said — or the weather — and I wouldn’t try. But I’ll keep showing up and telling it.
Thanks again for the laughs, the lessons, and your way of making storytelling feel like The Great Work — the Magnus Opus — but still grounded in real people, real conversations, and sometimes just a guy in a booth, talking on a phone he shouldn’t have used in the first place.
You're a funny man, Richard Walter. And I truly appreciate you.
— Ryan Tippins
I agree he's a maestro! A magnificent one!