John August

John

From pixel-pusher to TV writer

First Person

Kiyong Kim spent ten years working a day job as a web designer while he wrote and made short films on the side. Things came into focus for him when a friend of a friend got into the Nickelodeon Writing Fellowship.

You can read more from Kiyong on his [blog](http://kiyong.wordpress.com/).

————–

first person

I didn’t major in screenwriting. I didn’t go to film school. I went to art school in Boston and studied illustration. I can draw you a picture of the zero connections I had to the entertainment industry.

Despite that, I wanted to be a writer.

I had written short stories in high school, and in college I learned what a screenplay is. I read some books on the subject, and then wrote my first script, Brobot, which I submitted to the Slamdance Screenwriting Competition. It came in 4th. This was before they had a separate short script competition, so my short beat out feature scripts, and got me some attention from managers and producers. I completely squandered that opportunity because I had nothing else to show, but it gave me the confidence I needed to take this whole writing thing seriously.

Trying to write while having a day job
———

Even though I wanted to be a writer, I had a full time job as a web designer. It’s really depressing to be good at something you don’t like. Had I known better, I would have started out as a PA and tried to get a job as a writer’s assistant. Instead, I paid the bills by pushing pixels around in Photoshop, and wrote on nights and weekends.

I was very disciplined with my writing and made a lot of sacrifices to hone my skills. I took jobs that paid less but had better hours, had more flexible vacation days, were closer to my house, or had any other factor that would give me more time to write. I would write during lunch breaks, and save up my vacation time to work on scripts. I also wanted to become familiar with the production process, so I took classes in directing, editing, and animation.

While I spent all this time writing, I was painfully aware of the opportunity cost of what I wasn’t doing. But I kept at it, because my shorts would get into festivals, or my scripts would place in contests. I had to continue.

Then one day, a friend of a friend got into the [Nickelodeon Writing Fellowship](http://www.nickwriting.com/). I knew the odds were ridiculous—less than 1 in a 1000—but actually knowing someone who succeeded made it seem within the realm of possibility. I decided to apply.

Rocky, I & II
——-

In order to apply to the writing programs, you need a television spec script. I had written several shorts and a couple features, but never a spec. So I read some books on TV writing, and wrote an episode of The Office.

In the fall, I heard I was a semifinalist for the Nick Fellowship. I had a phone interview, an in-person interview, and ended up as one of four finalists. That brought three days of interviews with executives, writers, and show creators.

Only three fellows were chosen that year, and I was the only finalist who did not make it. I had gotten too nervous in some of the interviews. During those interviews, they don’t even look at your writing; they look at your personality, and at how well you sell yourself. I was horrible at selling myself; writing ability alone isn’t enough.

When Rocky fought Apollo Creed the first time he didn’t win, but he didn’t lose either. Just getting to that point was a personal victory for me. It was validation that I was on the right track, and that all of the hours spent writing hadn’t been a complete waste. If I could have another shot, I could make it.

Cue the music for a Rocky training sequence.

I immediately went to work on another spec, this time for 30 Rock, and applied again. I took an improv class, a TV writing class, and made another short. That fall, I was a semifinalist again. I was prepared for all those interviews this time.

In Rocky II, (spoiler alert) Rocky wins. I made it into the Fellowship.

Hello, Fellow
——-

The Nickelodeon Writing Fellowship is a full-time, paid program. We started out writing new specs as well as rewriting our application specs. We usually have six weeks to write a script, which includes researching a show, pitching premises, outlining, and doing multiple drafts, and we’re usually working on several scripts at once.

I was used to writing in short bursts at nights and on weekends, not for eight hours a day, and I used to write scripts leisurely over the course of several months, not in six weeks. My writing muscles were quickly whipped into shape.

After writing several specs for network shows, each of us was given the opportunity work with the EIC (Executive in Charge) and write a spec of a Nickelodeon show. I got the new animated show Robot & Monster, which hasn’t aired yet, and has no finished episodes to watch and study. I had seen some of the character art and was given the show bible and a bunch of scripts, but I didn’t know how the characters would look or sound, or what the show’s timing and rhythm would be like. It was a challenge, but the EIC provided guidance along the way.

Besides just paying us to write, the Fellowship opens doors by setting up meetings with people at the studio, including current and development execs, line producers, coordinators, writers, and Fellowship alumni. We’re working on more specs as well as a pilot, and I’m about to sit in on the writers’ rooms for Robot & Monster.

Ideally, I would love to get staffed on a Nickelodeon show before the Fellowship ends, and then at some point, I’d like to put my art school education to use and pitch my own animated show. We’re halfway done with the Fellowship, and it has already been a life changing experience.

Formatting notes in a screenplay

Formatting, QandA, The Nines

questionmarkI’ve searched through The Hollywood Standard and most of your site’s scripts, and nothing pings for “WRITER’S NOTE.” Does that mean they don’t really exist or should never be used?

If they can be used, what would you suggest as a way to format instances where the screenwriter wants to stop and point something out that helps the readers read? Even saying that makes it sound like you shouldn’t do it, but I swear I’ve seen them used before…even though I can’t find any examples now.

— Steve Maddern

answer iconIn most cases, you can handle things like this in scene description. For example, if you have a recall of a character we haven’t seen in a long time:

Durban’s massive Henchman -- the same one we saw in the opening sequence -- emerges from wreckage, cut and bruised but somehow still alive.

Or to describe how a sequence is meant to be shot:

In a dreamy, super-saturated haze, Celia makes her way through the crowded party, a grin stretched ear-to-ear. She is floating, with TEENAGERS rushing past her.

Only very rarely do you have to do a full dead stop to explain something to readers. I’ve probably done it twice in 40+ scripts. For The Nines, I have a note to readers right after the title page:

nines reader note

But that’s a really odd case.

You’ll almost always be able to handle it in-line with scene description. Set it off with parentheses, brackets or dashes if it helps. But there’s no need to label it as a writer’s note or somesuch.

Endless producer notes

Producers, Psych 101

questionmarkMy writing partner and I are young “nobodies” trying to write for film and television. While we’ve worked in the industry for years and have written a lot of work, we’re still fighting to get represented or to make a sale. Here’s where the question comes in:

About a year ago we got hooked up with a producer from a major studio who was willing to read our work and develop scripts with us. He’d read some work of ours and said that he liked the writing. That’s great! After bouncing around some of our ideas we began working on an original idea of his.

We spent hours upon hours putting together draft after draft and adjusting to an onslaught of notes that we would get back. Every time would be, “this is good but…” and then he would ask us to change the whole story. We would oblige (because we’re nobodies and he’s a working producer) and then start from scratch, re-build the story and write another draft. Most of the notes we were applying were things that we didn’t agree with and felt that they took the script in a direction we didn’t like. This was an endless cycle. But we dealt with it — in hopes that it would matter.

Eventually we finally got a story that he “liked” (because he apparently no longer liked the story he pitched us originally) and we thought we were ready for him to show it around to other producers or to agents/managers but instead he’s asked that we sit with him and go through the script line by line so that he can correct it. Line. By. Line.

We know that notes are part of the process and we’re very receptive to constructive criticism but seeing as how we’re not getting paid for this work and he’s basically asking us to transcribe his every thought into Final Draft (thoughts we don’t even see eye to eye on) — at what point are we just being abused and wasting our time?

Seeing as this is the biggest connection that we have and the best chance we’ve seen so far to have any sort of “break-in” we’re desperately holding on to it but it keeps feeling more and more demeaning and pointless. Thoughts?

– Brandon and Gabriel
Los Angeles, CA

answer iconYour suspicions are correct: this won’t stop until you make it stop.

You’re essentially doing spec work — writing without getting paid. While you own the words you’ve written, the producer can (reasonably) claim some ownership of the story. He’ll be attached to whatever screenplay you end up with.

But take comfort: you’re not alone.

This is a very common situation for screenwriters at the beginning of their careers. In fact, I’d guess that most working screenwriters have an anecdote similar to yours.

I spent six months rewriting a draft of my first screenplay with a former development executive who I later realized had few connections and zero ability to actually get a movie made. She pinned all my hopes on getting one agent at CAA to read my script. We waited two months to get a perfunctory pass.

As aggravating as the experience was, I can also look at it from her perspective: she invested many hours reading and meeting with me. She truly believed in my script, and wanted to make it better. The worst I can fault her for is over-estimating her abilities as a producer.

I suspect the situation is similar with your producer. He sees himself as a Good Guy, and doesn’t hear your groans of annoyance.

Your challenge now is to find a way out of this bad situation while maintaining a good relationship. Before starting on any new work, you need to have a conversation with him about exactly what the next steps will be.

For starters, you need an agent or a manager. Conveniently, he deals with agents and managers all the time, so he needs to pick up the phone and call a few on your behalf.

He may balk at first, not wanting to send out the script you’re writing for him. That’s fine. You have other writing samples. Agents and managers should be reading them.

You also need to set some mutual deadlines. “So, we’ll get you these changes on Tuesday. Then we’re going to send it to (appropriate director) to read for the weekend, right?”

Just so you know, these situations never really end. Producer notes will always grow to fill the amount of time you have — and then bleed past the edges. Even with an agent or manager to play bad cop, screenwriters are constantly balancing the need to keep producers happy and keep the process moving along. That’s part of the job.

Writing Faster

Snake People, The Variant, Writing Process

Michael Agger looks at scientific studies on writing to figure out [why it’s so damn hard](http://www.slate.com/id/2301243/pagenum/all/):

> Kellogg terms the highest level of writing as “knowledge-crafting.” In that state, the writer’s brain is juggling three things: the actual text, what you plan to say next, and — most crucially — theories of how your imagined readership will interpret what’s being written. A highly skilled writer can simultaneously be a writer, editor, and audience.

All that mental shifting slows writers down.

> Since writing is such a cognitively intense task, the key to becoming faster is to develop strategies to make writing literally less mind-blowing. Growing up, we all become speedier writers when our penmanship becomes automatic and we no longer have to think consciously about subject-verb agreement.

I can attest to screenwriting getting easier and faster with practice. The form is so esoteric and strange, with special formatting and rules to follow, that the first few scripts you write are mostly about getting comfortable with the shape of screenplays.

Once you start to recognize the rhythm of the page — how action interrupts dialogue, how to change locations while staying in a story thread — a lot of the frustrating craft stuff melts away. Decisions you used to consciously agonize over get taken care of before you’re even aware of them.

(Or, more geekily, it’s like your brain develops a graphics card to ease the strain on your main processor.)

I really notice the difference when I write prose fiction. I’m happy with both [The Variant](http://johnaugust.com/variant) and [Snake People](http://johnaugust.com/2010/snake-people), but they were exhausting to write, because I found myself far too conscious of every choice.