John August

First Person

Starting a screenwriting career somewhere else, part two

Film Industry, First Person, Follow Up, Los Angeles, QandA

In episode 267 of Scriptnotes, we shared stories from screenwriters who managed to build careers while living outside of Los Angeles, New York or London.

We then did a follow-up post featuring tales from several more writers.

In the weeks since, even more stories have come in. Here’s a sampling.

Lynelle: I was writing and directing short films while living in St. Louis, MO. I did a two week summer film program in Missouri for women only. The program was run by a lovely gentleman and Missouri native named, Ken LaZebnik, who has worked as a TV writer.

I kept in contact with Ken over the years and when a position on the writing staff for the tv show ARMY WIVES opened up, he contacted me. He’d previously written on the show. Ken thought I’d be a good fit because I was prior military. I was living just outside of St. Louis when I hit send on some writing samples to Ken. He, in turn, forwarded the samples to the showrunner of ARMY WIVES and after I flew out to LA using frequent flier miles to meet with the showrunner, I got hired onto the show.

It was a Cinderella story. After ARMY WIVES was cancelled, I went on to work for a small zombie apocalypse show on SyFy called Z NATION.

But here’s the caveat to my Cinderella story. I hadn’t spent years in Los Angeles prior to getting staffed. I hadn’t been an assistant anywhere. I hadn’t been all over town on the water bottle tour. Nobody knew who I was so that makes getting subsequent jobs more difficult.

My agent was unable to get me any meetings so that’s when I decided to attend UCLA to get my MFA in Screenwriting. One, to further hone my craft but two, to make connections that I simply didn’t have because I was literally plucked from obscurity.

I’ve chosen to split my time between LA and St. Louis for my own personal sanity. I’m just not an LA person and probably never will be. Every individual must decide what’s right for them.

Alan from Connecticut: I am a produced screenwriter with screen credits for two Lifetime movies.

I have lived in Connecticut my whole life and attended an online college program through the Academy of Art based in San Francisco. I majored in Motion Pictures & Television with a focus on screenwriting.

After graduating, I worked on several spec scripts and began the long process of manual queries. I placed in a few screenwriting competitions, but they led no where. I finished a MOW Thriller and used IMDB Pro to get production contacts for niche low-budget companies. After getting a few hits, I used my spec to get my first assignment and it was produced into the film “Her Infidelity.”

All of my meetings, contracts, and contact has been done through phones, email, and faxing. It has worked out fairly well. I have other projects in development, but have not reached a point where I am screenwriting full-time yet. I also edit wedding videos and do a lot of freelance writing to help supplement my screenwriting career. I may not be a traditional screenwriter, but I am happy and proud of my credits and hope to have more in the future. I just wanted to let you guys know that I have had screenwriting success without stepping foot in California and am still in continual development on projects.

Sal Balharrie: I’m a screenwriter who’s based an improbable distance from LA.

Having written books for children and working in Adland, I decided to make the jump to writing for screen full-time about three years ago.

Right now, I am in the fantastic position of having an animated tv series for kids in production in Australia; a live-action for teens in Development with a UK/LA based Production Company; and a feature film in development with a third company also based in LA. I am the creator/writer of all fore-mentioned projects. I do not have an agent or manager in LA.

So I feel I’m proof that if you are prepared to think outside the box, break some rules and back yourself, it is possible to work with production companies in LA while living outside the bubble and actually, if you’re clever, turning it into a bonus.

  • Back yourself by attending conferences (MIPCOM, Kidscreen, Asian Animation Summit) and network so that people think you’re easily accessible.
  • Use time zones to your advantage. My producers in London think I’m the most efficient writer in the world because I have whatever they’re needing on their desk at 9am London time, which is my 5pm.
  • Never allow distance to be a problem. Down play it. Better still, don’t even mention it. If you believe you can add value at a meeting, make sure you’re there, even if it’s a 22 hour flight away.

Brandon Dickerson: Funny enough, I didn’t start getting paid as a writer until after I moved out of LA after being there for eight years (and the Bay Area eight years before that).

Long story short: my wife’s mom got cancer which moved us abruptly to Texas to care for her with six months to live.

As a DGA director of commercials, docs, and music videos whose childhood dream was to make features, it wasn’t until I got out of town and finally focused on writing scripts that I was able to jump into writing and directing films instead of having “good meetings” that went nowhere.

My first script with writing partners in Texas became my directing debut SIRONIA. When my mother-in-law passed, we moved to Austin where I went right into adapting an optioned memoir for my second film VICTOR. I was then paid to adapt the novel Benjamin Dove for the screen, and now my second solo writing effort has become my next film WHEN JACK WENT GLAMPING — currently wrapping up post production.

These are all indie films financed in Texas in the under $2 million range, so maybe this isn’t truly “in the system.”

Tim Carter from Vancouver: I’m from Vancouver, Canada but had to move to LA to get any kind of traction at all. So to a large degree I echo your assessment that proximity is important and the hill for an aspiring writer is significantly steeper if they’re not in a major entertainment hub.

That said, there are a couple of strategies your listener from the Midwest might consider.

First, expand your career search to include video games. The institutional barriers to entry are significantly lower and the industry is not geographically concentrated the way film and television is. The odds are still not great, but it’s worth exploring. Many games emphasize character and narrative and the skills you develop will be very useful in film and television. I sold several projects in LA before landing my first major game credit back in my hometown. It’s hard to say which was more useful to my career.

Second, find out if anything at all is being produced locally. It might not be big Hollywood features, but many big American cities still have something going on.

When I started out I wrote several terrible horror movies for local indie producers. I’m rather happy none of them saw the light of day, but they were invaluable learning experiences, I got paid, and they opened a few doors. These days you’re more likely to find opportunities on a web or digital series, as they are being made all over the place and will offer you a chance to get noticed.

Again the odds aren’t great, but they may be better than emailing unsolicited specs to strangers in LA.

Aaron and Jordan: We are Hawaii born and based professional screenwriters (and identical twins) who landed our representation and sold our first spec script while living in Hawaii, where we continue to live and successfully work. Which proves that it is possible to to be a screenwriter outside of Hollywood. But before we can recommend our absentee-ballot path to screenwriting, there are a few caveats to our story worth sharing.

Representation: Our manager flew to Hawaii to sign us after reading our first two spec scripts… something we have NEVER heard of happening to anyone else. Would they have flown to Kansas? We can’t say. Was the fact she got to write off her mai-tais on the beach a motivator… undoubtedly. Needless to say we got powerball lottery lucky. One in many millions odds. And we’ve stayed with that manager ever since.

First sale: Several years and many unsold scripts later that manager got one of our specs into the hands of an agent who agreed to to hip-pocket us if he sold it. The offer from Disney came in while we were in the middle of teaching an SAT prep class at Obama’s alma mater. And the first thing our agent asked us when the script sold was “When are you moving here?”

And for a time we did…

We lived in LA for three years. Took the usual round of water bottle meetings. Built a rolodex of contacts, fans and friends. And didn’t sell a single thing until we decided to move back to Hawaii.

And ironically, almost the moment our feet sunk back into the warm sand, our careers took off. The funny thing is, when we lived in LA, we were always available to take a meeting -— or more often than not -— have that meeting canceled while we were already an hour in traffic across town and half a day of writing wasted. In the three years living in LA, we probably took around 30-50 meetings. Now whenever we fly into town, we often take that many in a week. And none of them cancel. When they can’t have you, that’s when they want you. Such is the law of mating and meetings.

Sustaining a career: We find we are more productive creatively when we are away from the Hollywood hustle because we can focus solely on writing. But if you want to sustain a professional career, the business side of the career demands that, while you don’t HAVE to live in LA, you do have to travel to LA and pound the pavement, be present often and whenever needed, and at the drop of a hat. Otherwise you quickly drop off the radar completely.

We write from Hawaii but try to fly to LA at least once a quarter. Also we are primarily feature screenwriters. So BIG CAVEAT: if you want to write for television or animation… you NEED to live in Los Angeles. Last year for example, we had to relocate our families for seven months to work on “Moana” for Disney Animation.

In summation, it’s becoming easier in a video-conference world to be a working writer who lives anywhere in the world, and we are an exception to the rule that you must live in Los Angeles to be successful.

That said we’re a rare exception. And while we believe you can write and sell great material from anywhere, ultimately you have to recognize the odds are even more stacked against you living outside the hub of Hollywood.

But if that’s what brings you joy, fuels your passion and creativity and makes you a better writer then follow that bliss. And work your ass off harder than anyone. That’s what we do.

How to Get Staffed on a TV show

Film Industry, First Person, Random Advice, Television

Gina Ippolito writes about how she got staffed on her first TV show:

I went to the meeting and basically just talked with three of the dudes who work on the show, including the creator. They asked me about myself and I talked about my love of geeky sci-fi shows, the stuff I do at UCB and iO, and the fact that I’ve been playing chess competitively since I was little. The creator was also a huge chess nerd. One of the other guys loved sci fi shows. We geeked out for a while. Basically I just hung out with them and I left the room feeling like it was a fun time. The next day they emailed me to say they’d like to staff me.

So that’s the story. No insane coincidences, no extreme nepotism, no “I saved the life of the president of Cartoon Network’s daughter from being hit by a car so they gave me a job!” All simple, straightforward, and something that anyone could accomplish, with the right tools.

Ippolito’s tools include persistence, collaboration, and being nice to everyone along the way. It’s classic advice, but also easy to forget.

You should also read her post on How to Get and Keep Writing Jobs.

Green Umbrage, or That Escalated Quickly

First Person, Follow Up

Craig Mazin wrote in to respond to criticism of his remarks in last week’s Scriptnotes.

I typed the words “She-Hulk” a lot yesterday.

During our live podcast, I took a swipe at the intentions behind the creation of She-Hulk. Specifically, I felt that she was drawn in such a way to peddle a sexist caricature to teenaged boys.

That’s not some kind of revisionist explanation. I used the word “sexist” in the podcast. It’s audible.

I said this because I believe it. Unlike the Hulk, whose appeal was clearly divorced from any kind of normative standard of physical beauty, She-Hulk was initially drawn (and consistently drawn for many years) as slender, long-legged and large-breasted with flowing locks. Her face was the same old media-model-pretty version we see time and time again.

The cover of her debut features She-Hulk in what I guess I’d describe as a revealing monokini. There are lots and lots of additional examples of artwork on the internet (actual covers, not alt covers) that are clearly pushing sex appeal.

This is a pretty good example.

All that aside, some people felt that what I said was sexist. I used the word “slut,” which they took to mean that I think She-Hulk is a slut.

They think I slut-shamed She-Hulk.

First off, my point wasn’t that I think She-Hulk is a slut. I don’t. I don’t think anyone is a slut. I don’t think there’s anything shameful about female sexuality or the female body.

What I don’t like is the practice of pushing exaggerated images of female bodies to boys because it sells comic books or video games. Women in comics and video games aren’t accidentally drawn over and over and over again with outsized breasts, long legs and narrow waists. It’s marketing. Having a character remark recursively on that marketing doesn’t negate the marketing, of course. It’s a clever way to defuse criticism with grownups while selling issues to hormone-addled boys. John and I have talked about this issue on the podcast before as it relates to video games (specifically in support of the work done by Anita Sarkeesian).

Bottom line: I wasn’t saying that I think she’s a slut. I was saying I think the people who created her were at one time pushing a visual image of Hulk as Slut in order to make money. And I don’t like that. My comment was entirely about the illustration of a fictional character. It was not a reflection of my opinion of the mind or actions of the character.

On the other hand, using the word “slut” was a bad move. It’s far too loaded, it’s not even accurate to what I meant, and for many it obscured my point. It may be obscuring my point right now, so lesson learned… and I’ll not use it again.

Also, if the people who created She-Hulk think I’m totally wrong, I can accept that. They might not be sexist, their intentions may have been pure, and if so, I am guilty of seeing sexism where none was intended. If fans of She-Hulk suspect that I’m not one of them, and that I clumsily wandered into their culture… yup. No question. Guilty as charged. And there’s also no question that the appearance and character of She-Hulk has evolved dramatically and positively over the years. My comments were entirely about the early appearance of the character. She-Hulk isn’t being drawn in the style of a cheesecake model anymore. I think that’s a very good thing.

And that’s all I have left to say about She-Hulk for the rest of my life.

Making a short film when you’re actually a writer

First Person

Aspiring screenwriters often ask whether making a short film will help their careers. I believe it can. In terms of exposure, it’s easier to get someone to watch something than to read something. More importantly, the process of making a short film helps screenwriters understand how words on paper translate to the screen.

That said, making a quality short film is a huge investment of time and money and stamina, all of which might be better spent writing. Nick Rheinwald-Jones agreed to write up his recent experience making a short, providing useful illustrations of what happens when screenwriters get behind the camera.

first person1997 was such a hopeful year. The dot-com bubble had only begun to inflate, the TSA didn’t even exist yet, and as far as anyone knew, the Star Wars prequels were going to be amazing. Even the famously Eeyore-ish world of screenwriting was much more upbeat back then, buoyed by continued reports of million-dollar spec sales. And I, a happy-go-lucky college sophomore, had just decided that I was going to hop aboard that train as soon as I graduated. I’d move to L.A., work my way up the entertainment industry ladder, and let the magic unfold.

(If you’ve ever watched VH1’s Behind The Music, you should have a pretty good idea of what’s coming in this next paragraph. Heartbreak. Disappointment. Abject misery. And that’s just The Phantom Menace; I haven’t even gotten to Attack of the Clones yet.)

Dissolve to 2013. I’d been calling myself a screenwriter for over fifteen years — accurately, I should say; I’d certainly been writing all that time — but that all-important sale or commission that would allow me to call myself a professional screenwriter? It still hadn’t happened. There had been a few inklings of encouragement (for example, a pilot script of mine was a quarterfinalist at Slamdance), but no money, no representation, not even one actual meeting.

In other words, it seemed like a good time to re-evaluate things. At some point optimism becomes delusion, and pessimism becomes rational thinking. I didn’t want screenwriting to be a hobby, because heaven knows there are better hobbies than staring at Final Draft all day. But if I wasn’t getting paid to do it, if nobody was even reading my scripts, then that’s what it was going to be.

As I saw it, then, there were two options: Either come up with a new approach to my career, or change course altogether. The latter was certainly tempting; I knew I was smart and hard-working, and why not put those attributes to use in a field where I’d actually be appreciated? But even after all that time, I wasn’t quite discouraged enough to give up my Hollywood dreams: I’m nothing if not stubborn.

So I opted to go with Plan A and take a different tack.

I decided to make a short film — a resumé piece, essentially; something I could easily pass around. Most people will come up with any excuse not to read a 120-page script, but a 10-minute video would be less likely to be automatically ignored. (Or so I hoped.) Although I wasn’t really looking to get into directing, I figured I needed to direct my short so nobody else could take credit for it. I’d also need to fund it myself, and on this point, thankfully, my wife was very supportive. (Actually, she was more than supportive; she pretty much insisted that I do it.)

And so I began.

Step one: write the script

Somehow, I thought this would be the easiest part. I mean, I’ve been writing screenplays longer than some pop stars have been alive. Problem is, I’d never thought much about doing an entire filmed story in ten to fifteen minutes. In a feature screenplay, that’s just when things are starting to get going.

Beyond that, all my previous material was written with a studio budget in mind. Things would have to change a great deal if I was going to be the one writing the checks.

Fortunately, the budgetary constraints actually helped me with finding the story. I decided to write something that could mostly be filmed inside our house, so I’d have more money to use on other aspects of the production.

Genre-wise, I didn’t want to do a straight-up comedy, since that’s not what I typically write, and I wanted the short to serve as a good representation for the kinds of scripts in my portfolio. I opted for an action-comedy instead. A spy-action-comedy, to be specific. That was going to be a challenge, but it also focused my thinking. (For example, I didn’t have to spend a lot of time deciding what country I’d set it in, or whether the climax should take place on an aircraft carrier or a bullet train.)

Reading John’s short script for God was also helpful, in that it reminded me the needs of a short film are very different from those of a feature. You don’t need a lot of characters, you don’t need subplots, and you don’t have to turn the world upside down by the end of the movie. You do, however, need to be efficient and get to the point quickly. Luckily, I’ve always been pretty strong in those areas.

Step two: hire a producer

Here is yet another situation where luck played a huge part. I asked one friend (a writer/director) if he could recommend a producer; he had one producer to recommend, and she was available. I sent her the script and we met up to discuss it.

I figured there was no reason not to be completely frank with her, so I told her I’d never done anything remotely like this before (shooting some videos on a Hi-8 camcorder in college was about the closest I’d come) and that I needed all the help I could get. Although I knew a fair amount about most areas of filmmaking, I was fairly clueless about the actual process of, you know, putting a movie together. Scheduling? Budgeting? Renting equipment? Hiring a crew? Permits? SAG? Big bowl of nothing, as Jeff Garlin would say.

But by the end of our conversation I felt like I was in good hands. She had plenty of experience on movies of various sizes, not only as a producer but also as an AD and even a director, so I wouldn’t be throwing her any challenges she hadn’t faced before.

Step three: pre-production; or, is it too late to change my mind?

Our shooting schedule allowed for about two months of prep. I’ll be honest: I spent much of that time freaking the hell out. What was I worried about? Hold on a second and I’ll get out the list.

I was worried that my LLC paperwork wouldn’t be filed in time. (You have to form a corporation if you’re funding a movie, for a whole variety of reasons, and this entails working with California’s legendarily crummy bureaucracy.)

I was worried that we wouldn’t find a decent location for the opening scene. (The movie only needed one location other than my house, but it had to serve a pretty specific purpose, and it also had to be fairly cheap.)

I was worried that I wouldn’t get a decent cast. (Low-budget equals open calls, and also I couldn’t afford to use a real casting agency.)

Oh, and then there was that small matter of actually directing the movie — working with real actors, keeping to a (very brief) schedule, and surviving it all without an Apocalypse Now-level meltdown. In all my years of work experience I’d never managed a single person, and now I was going to be managing an entire cast and crew, all of whom were a good deal more experienced than I was.

But it wasn’t all nail biting and night sweats. A lot of it was pretty great: Meeting a real stunt coordinator; working out the shot list with my DP; even casting, one of my biggest fears, turned out to be a ton of fun (and quite successful).

(I should also note here how helpful it was to have a good producer at my side for this part of the process. Yes, I was freaking out on a regular basis, but I never actually had to worry about which forms I needed to sign, which checks I needed to write, or how I was going to find a cast and crew. She was taking care of all of that, and I am eternally grateful, because otherwise I probably would have gone insane.)

Step four: let’s shoot this thing

This is where I learned that adrenaline is a wonderful thing. Didn’t sleep for days before the shoot, definitely didn’t sleep during the shoot. And yet, while I was on set I was more upbeat and alert and on the ball than I’ve ever been in my life.

It probably helped that shooting a movie was easily the most fun I’ve ever had. It also helped that my cast and crew were superb — fast, efficient, professional, and generally just great people to be around. The cliché about a movie crew being like a family really holds true; even after a three-day shoot there were hugs and heartfelt goodbyes.

Of course there were frustrations, difficulties, unexpected obstacles, and more than a few I’m-in-over-my-head moments. But there was nothing to do with those moments but overcome them, push past them, keep things moving. Because if there’s another cliché that’s 100% true, it’s that the show must go on. There’s no time to complain, dwell, or retreat into your self-doubting cocoon when everyone around you is ready and waiting. And that’s a little bit terrifying, but it’s mostly exhilarating.

Also, this happened in my living room and it was pretty cool: Flip

Step five: how does it end? I’ll keep you (ugh) posted

Long story short: “Movies are made in the editing room” is a cliché because it’s 100% true. Certainly the process of going from a rough cut to a final cut is every bit as challenging and labor-intensive as actually shooting the film — except the timetable is far less constrained. And you’d think that would make things easier, but… remember how I just got through saying how great it is that when you’re on set, there’s no time to second-guess yourself? In post, there’s plenty of time to second-guess yourself. Plenty of time to tweak the stuff that doesn’t work, and to refine the stuff that does. The goal is no longer to get everything shot so you can pack up and send the crew home; the goal is to produce a good movie.

Luckily, my editor was a jack-of-all-trades-and-then-some, handling sound, visual effects, and coloring in addition to the already-punishing workload of cutting the picture. And one of my best friends, who has worked for many years in the music business, hooked me up with a great composer who delivered a great original score in record time. Now it’s in the hands of the festivals, so my job is pretty much crossing my fingers.

What I learned

Making a film — even a ten-minute one — completely changed my perspective on my career and my identity as a creative person. Although I absolutely intend to keep writing, I no longer think of myself as just a writer: I know now that I can do more than that. I’m excited to look for more opportunities to direct, and maybe I can even make some money at it someday (since self-financed shorts are not quite the golden goose that I wish they were).

I’m not holding myself up as some special case, either; I’d wager that a great many people who see themselves solely as writers could do an excellent job of directing. It sounds scary, and sometimes it is, but being a screenwriter is fantastic preparation for it. As John often says, when you’ve written a script, you’ve already seen the movie in your head, and that’s at least half the battle. The other half is being able to explain it to your collaborators, but if you pick talented people — and Los Angeles is positively teeming with them — it’s not really that hard.

I think people write spec scripts for two reasons: (1) They want to see their scripts made into movies; and (2) They want to get paid. And I think that for most people, the priorities go in that order. Getting a paycheck is great, but the dream is seeing your words and scenarios brought to life. You don’t need to sell your script to a big studio to achieve that. The only difference between the biggest studio movie and the smallest self-funded independent movie is money. (A lot of which is often wasted, as demonstrated in this piece by Gavin Polone.) Money is the only thing hiding behind those studio gates — not ideas, and certainly not talent. Great actors, great crew, and great equipment are available to everyone (and you’ll pay far less for all three if you’re not part of a giant expensive production).

You can spend your entire career waiting for permission to see your work brought to the screen, and you can give up if it never happens (and, like I said, I was very close to giving up). Or you can jump the line and do it yourself. Instead of being the person desperately trying to get hired, you can be the person doing the hiring. That’s a pretty nice ego boost.

So things are going pretty well these days. I’m still writing specs, but I’m working with a manager now, so my scripts are getting some exposure instead of languishing in the void. (Funnily enough, I got the meeting with him not because of anything to do with making my movie, but because I had a script hosted on The Black List that he liked. Thanks, Franklin Leonard!) I’m also having a great time writing for Previously.TV, a new online venture from the creators of Television Without Pity. The inside of my head is starting to look more like those upbeat days of 1997. Optimism is back in town.

And the Star Wars prequels might have sucked, but those sequels are going to be great!

Right? Flip

You can find Nick Rheinwald-Jones on Twitter at @rheinwaldjones.

(Photo credits: David T. Cole)