What It’s Like

I’m enjoying “Flash Forward” so far.  Of course, I wonder how long they can sustain the premise, especially since I understand they’re planning to reach the date of the flash forward on the real-world date of April 29, 2010.  I can only hope they won’t simply have another black-out to renew the mystery after that.

Spoilers ahead.  If you haven’t seen the first three episodes, you may not want to read this post.

I like the way the show is putting a new twist on a classic sci-fi premise from movies like “Terminator” and “Minority Report:” if you see the future, does that mean you can change it?  I like the variety of reactions characters have had to their visions: some want the future to come true, some don’t.  It’s interesting that some visions, like Olivia’s, depend entirely on her own choices, which she’s so sure she wouldn’t make.  I’m also intrigued by the way the writers are introducing doubt about how accurate the visions really are.  Aaron’s vision of his daughter alive in Afghanistan, for example, which seems to have been discredited.  And the vision Demitri’s fiancee (did we learn her name?) had of their wedding.  She says she saw him there, but did she really?  I didn’t, in the brief flashes we saw of it.

I think stories about seeing the future, having prophecies, etc, remain popular because they address a fundamental philosophical issue: free will vs. destiny.  Most people, including myself, are seriously conflicted about what to believe.  The idea of having a destiny is comforting.  It would be nice to think that there’s a plan, that we all have a purpose and things happen for a reason.  At the same time, we want to believe that we make our own choices.  The idea that we’re just going through motions which have already been planned for us with no free will whatsoever is downright depressing.  So we wrestle with these ideas through drama.

I think our ambivalence about this particular question is demonstrated in the way we usually resolve the “can I change the future or not” dilemma with a compromise.  In the “Terminator” series, for example, Sarah is able to postpone Judgment Day in T2, but it still happens in T3.  In “Back to the Future,” Marty repairs the future by getting his parents together, but they’re changed.  In “Minority Report,” Anderton technically fulfills the pre-cog’s vision of him killing someone, but the circumstances turn out to be more complicated.  I’ll be very curious to see how “Lost” handles the idea of “erasing” the past by detonating the bomb.  I predict it will be a similar compromise solution.  They’ll successfully stop the plane from crashing, but the force of “destiny” will pull the survivors together somehow.

Now let’s see how well my crystal ball works…

Lately, Facebook has been aflutter with links to Josh Olson’s essay “I Will Not Read Your Fucking Script,” and to John Scalzi’s similar piece “On Asking Favors From Established Writers.”  If you haven’t read these, take a moment to do so, if only to know what writer-types are talking about these days.

Done?  Completely discouraged now?  Asking people to read your script is already one of the most awkward and intimidating things a writer has to do.  Especially when, as these two gentlemen have confirmed, you suspect the person you’re asking probably regards it as a huge imposition.  However, there’s no way around it.  At some point, we all have to ask someone else to read us.  The key is to build a relationship first (and no, an internet relationship doesn’t count).  I know, that’s easier said than done, especially if you don’t yet live or work in Hollywood.  But there’s no short cut to establishing the trust and rapport you’ll need before popping the question.

Trust is very important between writer and reader.  Mostly because of the threat of lawsuits.  If I agree to read one of your scripts, especially an original pilot, one of my big fears is that your script will contain an idea I’m already working on and you’ll think I stole it from you.  Or that, having read your idea, I’ll have to be extra careful not to write anything too much like it in the future, for fear that you’ll think I stole it from you.  Or that, years from now, I’ll completely forget that I read your script and my subconscious will pop out a similar idea, and you’ll think… you get the idea.  This may sound like paranoia, but sadly, it’s not.  New writers are especially prone to see plagiarism where there is none.  Which is why the trust is so crucial, and why you should always offer to sign a release when asking a pro to read your script.

The other big thing I’m afraid of when someone asks me to read a script is that I’ll hate it.  I don’t want to stomp on your work any more than you want me to.  I’ll try to find something to like and to be as constructive as possible in my criticism, but it’s still an awkward conversation.  Even if I actually like the script, I’ll probably have a few notes, which I don’t know how you’ll take.  Taking notes gracefully is a skill in itself, which many writers never master.  That doesn’t mean you have to execute every single note you get, it just means you really listen and don’t get defensive.  Giving notes to someone who argues every point is excruciating.  If I suspect that’s what you’ll do, or if I just don’t know you well enough to guess, I probably won’t take the chance.

Whatever you do, don’t approach a writer you’ve never met before and ask him or her to read you.  It’s unprofessional and downright rude.  Be patient.  Start with your friends and peers.  Read scripts for other newbies and ask them to read yours.  Learn how to give and get notes.  Develop your craft.  Find a job somewhere in the TV business (again, I know, easier said than done) and gradually build relationships with more-established writers.  If they know you’re a writer, they’ll know you desperately want them to read you.  Don’t push it.  Do a good job, be professional, earn their trust, and you may not even have to ask for a read.  Call me a cock-eyed optimist, but I do believe that most people in Hollywood are happy to reach out a hand and help.

Whether someone offers, or you ask them to read your script, be specific about what kind of feedback you want.  Don’t be vague in an effort to be accomodating: “whatever you have time for.”  Say “I’d like to get feedback on the characters and concept before I write another draft” or “The script is finished and now I’m wondering if it’s good enough to get me an agent.”  Don’t ask your reader for notes if you’re not planning to use them.  If you’re looking for an agent, say so.  If you want to be considered for a freelance script on the show, say so.  Then let the person read and respond.  Whatever they say, and however much you may disagree, don’t forget those two little words: Thank You.  The truth is, reading someone else’s script is an imposition.  Which doesn’t mean it’s wrong to ask.  But it isn’t wrong for a potential reader to refuse, either.

I also want to respond to Unemployed Writer’s Assistant, who wondered about a comment I made in my last post.  If an established TV writer thinks it’s not worth bothering to write a spec pilot right now, what should non-established writers do?  My answer is: Depends on your situation.  The last thing I wrote was a spec pilot, which I still consider fairly fresh.  I could certainly write another one - a newer, fresher sample never hurts - but I don’t have a pilot idea I’m burning to write at the moment.  And since the TV biz is in a bit of lull right now, I’m spending my time and energy on a feature spec instead.  That doesn’t mean I’d advise other TV writers to do the same - or not to, for that matter.  It really depends on how full your TV spec arsenal is at the moment and what you’re inspired to write.

At the moment, I happen to be between jobs, which is a nice way of saying “unemployed.”  This is, unfortunately, a very common state for writers, even those with fairly successful careers.  One of the biggest challenges of being a professional writer is learning how to deal with frequent bouts of unemployment without going crazy.

I’m extremely lucky in that I can afford to go without income for a while, thanks to the money I made while working and the residuals my union has fought to preserve.  I realize this is a privileged position.  So what is this particular writer doing to dig up some work?  Writing a new script, for one thing.  I considered writing a new spec pilot, but honestly, the TV business is so dismal right now that it’s hard to work up much motivation.  Instead, I decided to revive a screenplay I wrote a first draft of a few years ago.  The draft didn’t work, but I still love the idea, so I’m taking another stab at it.  So far, so good.

I’m also continuing to develop comic book ideas with my buddy Gorf (the editor I worked with at D.C. Comics ages ago).  We have occasional pitch meetings, none have which have resulted in a sale so far.  But for me, the fun of brainstorming and developing ideas is worthwhile in itself.  I really miss that part of being on a writing staff.

Gorf and I are also branching out into web series.  I have no idea how to produce a web series, but we’ve hooked up with a producing partner who does.  We’re hoping to move forward in the next couple of months.  I may be biased, but I think we have a fantastic idea with long-term web series potential.  At the very least, I hope to use this a learning experience to figure out how to work in a new medium.

The other project I’m working on came about in the most unexpected way.  In my frustration with the TV biz, I decided to try something completely different.  I started volunteering with the Red Cross.  I found my way into Community Disaster Education, which involves giving presentations to local businesses, school groups, etc, on how to be ready for a disaster.  It’s kinda like pitching, with a much more receptive audience.  I really enjoy it.  And as a bonus, I’m seriously prepared for the next earthquake, fire or tsunami to come my way.

Here’s the funny part: my volunteer supervisor Anna knew I was a writer.  She asked for my help in developing some cute animal characters for a preparedness project aimed at kids.  I worked up some characters.  Then someone else in the office had the bright idea to turn them into a comic book.  (I know, I know - why didn’t I think of that?)  So now, I’m writing a series of short comic books about fire safety, earthquake safety, etc. for the Red Cross.  Which isn’t at all what I had in mind when started volunteering.  But I’m having a blast working on it.  Even better, they’ll definitely get published.  This work is all unpaid, of course, but absolutely worthwhile.

The moral I’m taking from this experience is that you never know where opportunities might come from.  When you find yourself between gigs, you should definitely keep writing.  But you should also get out of the house.  Try new things.  Pursue your non-writing interests.  At worst, you’ll gather some material for a new spec.  At best, you’ll not only enjoy your life a little more, you might find an entirely new door opening in front of you.

First, I’d like to reply to a comment from Taylor on my last post.  Either he misunderstood my intent, or I was unclear.  I absolutely do not think it’s the writer’s job not to offend anybody.  By all means, offend and provoke - just do it on purpose.  My quibble is with writers who carelessly toss around sexist or homophobic jokes for a cheap laugh and don’t consider their effect.  If you write a character who tells gay jokes, do you actually intend him to be homophobic?  If not, maybe you’re doing a disservice to that character.  And maybe you could find a more original joke which reveals something true about him or her.  Cheap “men are idiots” jokes are no better.  Don’t settle for an easy stereotype.  Watch “Big Bang Theory” to see how the writers tailor jokes to the specific traits of their characters.  As writers, we sweat and fuss over every line of dialogue, crafting it for maximum impact.  Craft your insults just as carefully.  Aim them where you really want them to go.  The moral standards you should avoid offending are your own.  Make sure your work reflects who you are and what you believe.

One of my favorite shows is “Mad Men.”  The characters on that show are sexist, racist and homophobic - entirely appropriate for that era.  Because it’s a period piece, “Mad Men” allows us to examine these attitudes from a safe distance.  It’s kinda like sci-fi, showing us a reflection of our own society in a way that lets us examine it from a new angle.  It’s easy to watch the season premiere of “Mad Men” and feel sorry for poor Sal, trapped in the closet.  But it also prompts us to consider how far we have (or haven’t) come since then.  It’s an intriguing individual story which also has societal resonance.  That’s good drama.

I have to digress here to complain, however.  I didn’t like the flashbacks in the season premiere.  There’s the logic problem of Don “remembering” a time before and just after his own birth.  Nitpicky, I know, but the style of the flashbacks distinctly made them seem like memories.  And the origin of the baby’s name, Dick, felt much more like a writerly joke than something a real person would really do.  The writers have written themselves into a bit of a corner with Don, since he never confides in anyone about his past.  So they’re stuck with awkward flashbacks to reveal certain things about the character.

Don himself is an interesting character.  In most movies and shows, a guy who cheats on his wife or girlfriend even once is automatically the villain.  Don seems addicted to infidelity.  He also thought nothing of abandoning his coworkers on a trip to California and then staying a while.  Sure, we’ve all imagined doing something similar, but it’s an incredibly selfish act.  Yet he didn’t get fired because he’s such a genius.  And although Betty kicked him out for cheating, she did take him back.  So is Don a wish-fulfillment figure, who gets away with all the fun, bad behavior we wish we could?  Maybe, except that he doesn’t seem to actually enjoy himself very much.  If he did, he’d be a sociopath.  But Don does, occasionally, think about someone other than himself.  His support of Peggy over the past two seasons and his acceptance of Sal in this week’s ep help soften his ongoing betrayal of his own, now-pregnant wife.

This is why “Mad Men” works for me.  Because the characters feel like three-dimensional, deeply flawed, real people.  They’re not symbols of the past or mouthpieces for social commentary, or even just models for some seriously awesome costumes.  The setting simply adds another intriguing layer.  Which the “Mad” writers use very deliberately to provoke discussion and debate.  Was I horrified when Joan’s fiance raped her in the office?  And that Joan seemed to basically accept it?  Sure.  I was supposed to be.  Personally, I like entertainment which pushes my buttons once in a while - when it really makes me think, not just groan at another ignorant cliche.

TV is a highly moralistic universe.  Good almost always triumphs over evil.  There are, of course, gray areas.  Antiheroes like Tony Soprano, Vic Mackey, Dexter Morgan and Patty Hewes are far from squeaky clean.  But if you look closely, they do have their own moral codes which may be outside the law, but aren’t full-on “evil.”  Dexter may be a serial killer, but he only kills really bad people.  Patty is a scheming liar, but does it for the sake of her wronged clients.  And these characters inevitably pay some emotional price for the shady things they do.  You’ll never meet a happy antihero.  My point is that for all the dark, edgy drama on the air, there’s still only so far you can push the boundaries of conventional morality on television.  Networks and studios will insist on some redeeming qualities for your lead characters.  I don’t think they’re entirely wrong about this, either.  As a viewer, I don’t think I’d enjoy watching a sociopath run around hurting people and getting away with it week after week.  And as a writer, I don’t think I’d get much satisfaction writing that character.  Someone with no moral center is pretty static, with little room to change or grow.  Sure, writing villains can be fun, but as supporting characters, not as the “hero” of the story.  The character of Hannibal Lecter is a perfect example.  He’s one of the greatest characters of all time - in small doses.  When he took center stage in “Hannibal” and, even worse, “Hannibal Rising,” it was a disaster.  They tried to “soften” him by making him only eat bad people, but that destroyed what made him so damn scary in “Silence of the Lambs” and “Red Dragon.”

Creative issues aside, I also don’t know if I’d feel comfortable writing a show with a genuinely immoral, or amoral, character at its heart.  Like it or not, many viewers do see TV characters as role models.  The worlds we create do have an influence.  It’s worth considering what message (for lack of a less cheesy term) we want to convey with our work.  At the “Mad Science” panel at Comic Con last month, writers from “Eureka,” “Fringe” and “Caprica” talked about the ethics of science (real and fictional) in their work.  Jane Espenson (who runs “Caprica”), mentioned that the writers on her show had gotten into a big debate about the use of torture - with future tech enhancements.  What if the technology existed to forcibly extract information from someone’s brain, with 100% accuracy?  Would that make it okay to use?  Jane said that although it would certainly create some interesting moral dilemmas on the show, she didn’t want to create a world in which torture was portrayed as effective.  That fictional world already exists, of course, on “24.”  For all the moral handwringing about Jack Bauer’s use of torture, the information he gets is always accurate.  As opposed to the real world, in which such information is often a desperate lie.  The writers of “24″ have made a moral choice: in their universe, torture works.  Does this, in any way, make torture seem more acceptable in reality?  I honestly don’t know.  As a viewer, it hasn’t bothered me enough to stop watching.  I guess the writers (and actor) have gotten me far enough on Jack’s side to accept his justifications.  As a writer, I certainly get the appeal of the juicy moral dilemmas.  Would I write for “24?”  Yes, I would.  Would I create a show with those rules?  Not sure.  Ask me when I actually have to put my name on it.

I saw another interesting interview, with Dan O’Bannon, the writer of “Alien.”  He talked about Kane getting attacked and “impregnated” by the facehugger.  There’s an obvious sexual allegory.  O’Bannon consciously decided not to have a female character get metaphorically raped.  He felt there were enough such images in the world already and didn’t want it in his work.  In the interview, he said he wanted to let the men in the audience squirm for a change.  In my opinion, it’s also a more interesting creative choice - it’s scarier and more, well, alien, for a man to be the one “giving birth.”  I consider O’Bannon’s choice to be pro-feminist in the best sense.  Not preachy or blatant, but conscientious nonetheless.

I have one feminist pet peeve.  I hate it when a character insults a man by calling him a woman - either by saying something like “you throw like a girl” or by calling a bunch of guys “ladies.”  Like that’s the worst thing a man could be.  It’s really a backhanded insult to women.  Just like deriding something as “gay” is actually a slam against gay people.  I don’t use either type of insult in my scripts.  I don’t yell at other writers for doing it, because frankly, I don’t want to be seen as the hypersensitive feminist harpy.  Which, yes, makes me a total coward.  But at least in my own work, I try to avoid offending my own sensibilities.

As TV writers, if we’re very lucky, our work will be seen by millions of people.  If we’re even luckier, it might influence the way those people think.  Which is why I really don’t have a problem with the good guys, however predictably, winning their fictional battles more often than not.

I’ve been attending the “Writers on Genre” series sponsored by the Writers Guild Foundation and really enjoying it.  I love hearing writers talk about writing.  And every once in a while, one of the panelists will say something which crystallizes a vague idea for me, or lets me think about story in a new way.  One of the panel discussions was about Drama/Real Life stories.  Another one was about Sci Fi and Fantasy.  On the surface, opposite ends of the creative spectrum, right?  But I heard the very same piece of advice from both sets of writers: the historical accuracy (or fantastical creativity) of your script isn’t nearly as important as the emotional reality.

Let’s start with the “true life” story.  One of the writers on this panel was Susannah Grant, who talked about writing “Erin Brockovich.”  Not only was this movie based on a true story, the people involved were still alive.  Grant hung out with the real Brockovich as research.  As a result, Grant said, she found herself almost paralyzed when it came time to write the fictional Erin’s dialogue.  How could she decide what Erin would say in a situation, when she could call up the real person and just ask?  Grant eventually had to create a division in her mind between “real Erin” and “script Erin.”  She also had to condense some events and combine some characters in order to tell the story in a dramatic way.  She used the example of Erin’s relationship with boyfriend George.  In reality, the couple broke up and got back together six times during the course of the events of the film.  In the script and movie, they break up and reunite once.  When the real Brokovich saw the breakup scene in the film, she told Grant: “That’s exactly how it was!”  It may not have been precisely accurate, but it was emotionally accurate.  To an audience, that’s what really matters.  Grant said it’s easy for writers to get distracted by all the research and real-life history and lose track of telling a good story.

Every single time a film comes out which is based on real events, especially major historical events, somebody raises a fuss about how the filmmakers fudged reality.  It annoys me every time.  If you want the facts, watch a documentary.  If you want a good story, the facts need to take a back seat.  Why?  Because reality isn’t very dramatic.  It’s repetitive and inarticulate and doesn’t fit neatly into a three act structure.  Most people in real-life situations don’t have a clear character arc.  An emotionally satisfying film needs one.  If “what really happened” conflicts with “makes a good story,” the writer’s first responsibility is to the story.  Of course, there are limits to how much you can change.  You can’t rewrite history so that the Titanic just missed that iceberg - mainly because audiences know that’s not what happened and you’ll lose all suspension of disbelief.  But within the framework of known events, you’re free to create.

In the sci fi/fantasy arena, of course, writers have the opposite problem.  You have to create every damn detail of the world of your story.  There are rules to establish and exposition to give, which can take up valuable story space.  Then there’s the overwhelming temptation to show off the supercool world you’ve invented by staging chases, fights or explosions with no story purpose whatsoever.  One of the writers on the sci fi panel was John August, who said nearly the same thing as Susannah Grant did the week before: it’s easy for writers of sci fi and fantasy to get distracted by the environment and not pay enough attention to the essentials of story and character.  You can get away with all kinds of wild fantasy concepts if you ground them in emotional reality.  August cited “Lord of the Rings” films as great examples of unreal worlds with very real characters.  The panelists all talked about James Cameron as a writer-director who puts strong emotional stories at the heart of his films.

This panel also talked about the “sliding scale” of reality.  Movies like “Lord of the Rings” are obvious fantasy.  The world of “Batman” is closer to reality.  Most action movies are in the general neighborhood of reality with some laws of physics slightly altered, and heroes who can take superhuman amounts of physical abuse.  Writers simply need to decide which level of reality they’re working with and stay consistent.  Audiences will go along with you - if and only if they believe in the characters.

Finally, I want to bring a new website to your attention: www.screenstorysuccess.com.  My buddy Lindsey Hughes, a former development executive who actually knows about story, has a new blog in which she talks about current films and why they work or don’t.  She also offers story consulting services.  Check it out.

The Academy of TV Arts and Sciences has put up a new website with video of various panel discussions they’ve hosted.  It’s available to the public, and free.  Check it out at www.virtualtvacademy.org.

The Genre Committee hosted a great event on Saturday about how turn a screenplay or TV idea into a comic book.  We had writers, publishers and agents on the panel, and they were really informative.  The main message I took away from it is to know and respect the medium you’re working in.  A comic book or graphic novel has to work on its own terms, not just as a sales tool for a screenplay.  If you have any interest in writing a comic book, start by reading a lot of them.  Pay attention to how they tell stories, and how it differs from movies and TV.  One panelist described comics as telling “the story between the panels.”  The writer and artist pick out key images from a scene, and the reader must imagine what happens in between.  A great comic book carries you through seamlessly.

Comic books are, of course, a medium and not a genre.  They’ve been strongly associated with superheroes, but the panelists stressed that you can tell any type of story in the comic format.  What really matters is having a great story, and great characters.  Comics are like TV in that they tend to have ongoing narratives, telling many stories about the same characters.  Graphic novels are more like, well, novels, with a single, self-contained story.

The panel discussed the business aspect of comics.  The “big two” publishers are, of course, DC and Marvel.  It’s unlikely that they’d buy an original idea from a new writer.  Like in TV, you should start by writing issues of their existing lines and working up to creator status.  The big boys will also take a bigger share of the profits from your comic.  In exchange, you get their name recognition and publicity machine working for you.  Smaller publishers may be more open to your ideas.  They may also take a smaller cut of the profits.  The downside being less marketing and distribution power.  Of course, it’s possible to publish your comic independently, if you have a few thousand dollars laying around.  You can also publish on the Web, which is essentially free distribution - but you’ll be competing with everything else on the Web, and won’t have a physical book to hand out to agents, studio execs, etc.

One piece of advice which I think applies to every area of the writing business: be prolific.  Keep generating new ideas for a variety of media.  Don’t get hung up on trying to get your one masterpiece published or sold.  If you only have one good idea, you’re in real trouble.

This jibes with advice I heard at another recent panel, on writing action-adventure movies.  An audience member asked the panel for help with a dilemma: he’d had a great meeting about a project, then no follow-up.  How could he press his agent to revive the deal?  The panelists told him, basically: “Not gonna happen.”  If the producer hasn’t followed up on his own, the project is dead.  Move on to something else.  Always be writing something new.  Eventually, if your work is good, something will hit.  Then Hollywood will suddenly get all excited about the previously rejected scripts in your closet.  You can’t let yourself get too frustrated about it - just stay focused on your next great idea.

The feature spec market is, by all accounts, practically dead at the moment.  The panelists advised writers to adjust their expectations.  The spec you’re writing right now will, most likely, not sell.  It may, however, get you an agent, meeting with producers or, best of all, actual paid work on a writing assignment.  Studios are increasingly reliant on “pre-branded” material: movies based on books, comics, theme park rides, etc.  They’ll buy these properties, then hire writers to develop them.  That could be you.  So what kind of feature spec should you write?  One you’re passionate about.  The panelists agreed that it’s a mistake to chase the market, trying to write a version of what’s hot right now.  By the time you get your script out there, the trend will have passed.  And nobody wants to read pale imitations of other movies, anyway.  Studio execs want to read something originial.  No, really.  Remember, they won’t buy it or produce it, but they truly do want to be surprised and intrigued by the unique voice of your script.  Great feature specs get passed around town and talked about.  The writer gets all kinds of meetings, some to pitch new ideas, some to be considered for assignments, some just to schmooze.  A feature spec is your chance to showcase your imagination and your strengths as a writer.  Don’t worry about how to market your film, or who might star in it.  It’s a sample, not a shooting script.  Be bold.  Be distinctive.  Then get ready to be rewarded by an assignment to write “The Transporter 6.”

I know this is primarily a TV blog, but I strongly encourage even the most dedicated TV writers to branch out, especially with jobs being as scarce as they are.  Consider writing a feature (which can also serve as a great TV sample), or a comic book, or a web series in between TV specs.  You might even enjoy it.

I got a good question the other day while talking to some film school students.  They asked what they’d be expected to know about the business in order to work in it.  I’m going to apply this more specifically to TV writers.  When you’re networking or interviewing with potential employers, do you really need to know everything about every show on the air, past and present?

No.  They won’t know all that either.  But I do recommend that TV writers try to watch at least one episode of every show currently on the air - at least in your area (comedy or drama).  At the very least, you need to watch an episode or two of every successful show.  You don’t have to love them, but you should be conversant about current hits - characters, lead actors, what kind of stories they tell.  Even if you don’t especially like “True Blood” or “The Mentalist,” you should be able to intelligently discuss why.  Don’t know which shows are considered hits?  Then you most definitely need to find out.  Check out the weekly ratings on the Hollywood Reporter, Variety or L.A. Times websites.  Also, when a successful or critically acclaimed show goes off the air, watch the series finale.  I’ve had half a dozen conversations about the “Shield” finale, and even more about “The Sopranos,” and I wasn’t a regular viewer of either show.

When you’re writing an episodic spec, you’ll obviously watch your target show.  You should also watch a few episodes of similar shows - medical dramas, lawyer shows, etc - not only to make sure you distinguish the voice of your spec from theirs, but because your spec will serve as a good writing sample for those shows.  They’re your target employers.  Get to know them.  Find out who the showrunner is on shows you like and/or would like to write for.  Don’t wait until you’re job hunting.  Be prepared for someone at your gym to casually mention in conversation that they just got an assistant gig with James Duff.  If you already know that James Duff runs “The Closer,” you’ll know to chat this person up.

Know who the big deal writers and producers are and what kind of shows they do.  Know which network is winning, and losing, in the ratings.  Know which cable channels have original programming and what their niches are.  Know who won the major Emmys last year.  Know which shows got picked up or cancelled in the past month.  Keep up with TV-related news, like the status of the SAG contract negotiations, or NBC putting Jay Leno on every night at 10.  Will you “lose points” for not knowing every one of these facts?  Probably not.  But being well-informed will help you make a positive impression on anyone you meet, even before you figure out how valuable their good opinion might be.

When you have official meetings, you’ll need more specific knowledge about the person you’re meeting with.  For a general meet and greet with a studio or network executive, you should know which shows they produce and/or air.  You should also find out (agents are helpful with this) which shows this particular executive is responsible for.  Watch at least one episode of those shows.  You don’t have to pretend to like them if you don’t, but be able to discuss why in an intelligent and non-insulting fashion.  If you’re meeting with a potential agent, he or she will probably be less picky about how much you know.  Information is their business - they should be trying to impress you with their vast television expertise.  But again, it can’t hurt if you demonstrate what a good impression you’ll make on anyone they send you out to meet.

A showrunner meeting is even more specific.  Obviously, you want to study the show you’re meeting on as much as possible.  Sometimes, all you’ll have is a pilot episode or script.  In any case, study the showrunner as well.  Know their credits.  Try to watch an episode or two of their last show, especially if they created it.  Get acquainted with similar shows to the one you’re meeting on, so you can intelligently compare and contrast.  A busy showrunner will have no time to watch any television, so you’ll probably know more about the current schedule than they do.

If you love television enough to want to make your living in it, you probably watch a lot of it already, and know your favorite shows inside out.  The good news is, your hobby will now be put to good use.  The bad news is, you can’t watch TV purely as a recreational viewer anymore.  You’re now a professional studying the market.  You’ll have to watch some stuff you don’t like.  You’ll need to pay attention to the credits.  And when you decide to write a spec of your favorite show, you’ll have to dissect and analyze it until you can’t stand those damn characters anymore.  Some of the escapist pleasure of TV will disappear when you make it your career.  Is the trade-off worth it?  Only one way to find out…

Wow.  I’ve been writing this blog for two years this month.  Honestly, I thought I would have run out of things to say a long time ago.  Many thanks to my readers.  Keep those questions coming - they often bring up topics I wouldn’t have thought to cover.

In the ongoing spirit of blogosphere solidarity, let me refer you to a couple of interesting posts on other blogs.  John August had a good guest post a few days ago from a showrunner’s assistant.  Also, “Living the Romantic Comedy” has some good insight in this post about the value of a shitty first draft.  You know you’ll have to rewrite the thing, many times, so don’t kill yourself trying to make the first draft of your script brilliant.  I have a writer friend who refers to her first draft as a “spew” draft, in which she gets everything down as quickly as possible.  It serves as a kind of heavily detailed outline for her next draft, which she actually takes some time on.  Works for her.  Personally, I invest more time in my outline, and treat my first draft like she does her second.  I do sometimes fall into the perfectionist trap on my first draft, spending way too much time on a scene or a line which is almost certain to get changed or cut on the next pass.  Of course, this is also a form of procrastination - getting myself stuck on one page so I don’t have to dive into that next scene.

There are a couple of reasons not to be too fastidious on your first draft.  First, it’s a waste of time and creative energy.  You should be focusing on the broad strokes in this draft - structure, pacing, telling the story and finding out who your characters are.  Hold off on polishing your dialogue until the basics are in place, or you risk burning yourself out on the first of many, many drafts you’ll need to do.  Secondly, if you spend too much time and effort on your first draft, you’ll get so attached to it that you’ll be less willing to make changes.  As I discussed in my last post, flexibility is a very useful skill, especially in television.  Don’t lock yourself in to one way of writing a particular scene or line.  There’s always more than one way to make something work.  Flex those flexibility muscles by writing a scene one way in the first draft, then experimenting with it in the second.  If your first take on the scene really was the best way to do it, you can always go back to it - after considering some alternatives.

Expecting your first draft to be brilliant can stop you from writing it at all.  Expecting it to be crap takes off the pressure.  You don’t ever have to show it to another living soul.  You can try out all those crazy, unmarketable ideas, knowing you have the option to “mainstream” it in the next draft.  Unless, by some miracle, a few things in that first draft work out better than you imagined.  Or even an idea which doesn’t work at all in execution might lead to another idea which does.  The point is not to slap too many restrictions on yourself before you even start.  As I was outlining my current script, I got all hung up on how saleable (or not) it would be.  It really hindered my imagination.  And, honestly, there’s no way to know what’s going to sell.  Chasing the market is a sure road to disaster (and an endless string of formulaic scripts).  Try to push aside your inner and (perceived) outer critics.  Write a draft which captures what you love about your idea.  Worry about making it pretty later on.