John August

Dead Projects

Old Projects

Big Fish, Dead Projects, Go, Projects, Television

Maybe I’m hyper-aware because yesterday was the [15th anniversary of Go](http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/04/09/go-15th-anniversary_n_5107394.html?utm_hp_ref=entertainment), but I’m encountering all sorts of references to past projects this week.

In THR’s [interview with Susanne Daniels](http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/mtv-chief-real-worlds-future-694321), she cites my first series:

> There was this very good pilot that Dick Wolf did for me when I was at WB, which was called D.C. I distinctly remember he called me after he had sent me the pilot and asked me what I thought of it. The very first thing I said was, “Why didn’t you shoot this one particular scene that was in the script that I loved?”

Fourteen years later, my heart still flutters to learn *she thought it was very good!*

People and projects circle back into your life. I’m not crazy about the idea of power rankings, but The Wire’s recap on [the cast of Go](http://www.thewire.com/entertainment/2014/04/go-power-rankings-then-and-now/360397/) illustrates just how special that group continues to be. I keep up with a surprising number of those actors, and write them into everything I possibly can.

Yesterday in the halls at Disney, I bumped into Ricky Strauss, who was integral to getting both Go and Big Fish happening at Columbia. He told a colleague, “John wrote Fantasy Island for us.”

Wait, of everything I wrote, you single out Fantasy Island?

In every screenwriter’s career, there are so many scripts that never become part of your filmography. But they still matter. People remember them.

And some projects never die. A few weeks ago, I got a call about a rewrite on a project. As I spoke with the executive, I dug through my hard drive to find my notes from the last time I pitched on the movie.

My notes were dated October 6, 1996.

They are still trying to make the movie.

Mason and Finley

Dead Projects, Projects, Television

The 22-year old twins at the center of my 1999 TV show D.C. were named Mason and Finley. I picked those names because they sounded like a brother and sister who came from some money — or at least the kids of English professors. I pictured them solving mysteries as teenagers.

I also picked those names because they were rare. I’d never encountered any actual people with those names.

Now the country is lousy with Masons. For 2012, it’s the [#2 name in America](http://www.ssa.gov/oact/babynames/), steadily climbing from #64 in 2000.

And while Finley isn’t exactly common, it has grown quite a bit. In 2005, it was the #986 name. For 2012, it’s #349. (Still, the only Finley I’ve met in real life is an eight-year old boy in my daughter’s French class.)

D.C. lasted only seven low-rated episodes, so I can’t take any credit for these names rising in popularity. But it’s interesting to realize that names chosen for their relative obscurity may not stay that way.

For the hero of Chosen, I picked Asha. Right now, it’s ranked #978, but in a world full of Emmas and Ellas, it feels like the kind of name that has room to grow.

(The scripts for D.C. are available in the [Library](http://johnaugust.com/library).)

What should I do in a general meeting?

Dead Projects, Film Industry, Projects, QandA

questionmarkI’m a new writer: I have an agent, I have a manager, I have a spec that’s a good sample but will never sell, I have a spec that might sell and that my reps are trying to attach elements to. For a month or two, I’ve been going on general meetings off of my sample spec as they wait for things to align before sending out my new one. In my meetings, people talk about how much they love my sample (but of course aren’t going to buy it), how much they want to read my new spec, and how much they like the ideas for future projects I talk about. That’s all great.

But — and, being very new at this, this may be a stupid question — now what? What should or could I be doing to help make myself/my projects easier to sell, either when my new spec goes out, or in the future? I trust my reps completely, but I’d love to do anything I can to make their jobs a bit easier.

I have this nagging feeling that I should somehow be trying to turn my general meetings into possible work down the line, but I’m not sure if that’s true, or if it is, how I would go about it. I just don’t want to look back a year from now and realize that I squandered what heat I had, if that makes sense.

— E.

You’re at the phase in your career in which you’re “taking generals.”

General meetings are the hey-it’s-nice-to-meet-you part of a screenwriting career, and while you do fewer of them once you have more credits to your name, they’re always an important part of the job. This is how you meet the junior executives who will later become senior executives, and get them thinking about you as the kind of person they would like to hire.

I had a ton of general meetings off my first script (Here and Now), which never sold. When I say ton, I mean fifteen or twenty, at least three a week for a while. Mostly, my agent was sending me out there so I could practice being in a room without making a fool of myself. After the first dozen or so, I learned [How to Meet](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2008/how-to-meet), and stopped worrying about being [the worst-dressed person in the room](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2004/the-not-so-well-dressed-screenwriter).

Your goal in a general meeting is to figure out what they might be able to hire you to write. At a certain point, they’ll talk about the kinds of projects they have in development, and the things they’re looking for. If anything sparks, pursue it. Talk about it in the room, then follow up the next day, and the next week. You’ll be chasing a lot of half-baked projects, most of which will never come to be. But one or two might. And that’s what you need.

Your advantage at this point is that you’re cheap and available. A producer could likely hire you with discretionary funds to rewrite a mediocre project she has sitting on the shelf. And if that opportunity comes up, take it. Do an amazing job, then let your reps spin that in your next assignment. And your next.

Which project should I write?

Dead Projects, Psych 101, QandA, The Nines, The Remnants

questionmarkI know you have addressed this type of question to a certain extent, but I was left wanting more of an explanation that I hope you can provide. I have four ideas in my head for four different stories. When I start working on one, I think I am making a mistake and I should concentrate on another one. I will then switch and after a little bit of time, I feel the same way that made me move to this story. When you have multiple ideas and aren’t certain which idea is the right one to focus on, how do you resolve that?

— kaz

This will never end. It will continue to be a problem as long as you write. I’m certain that Stephen King, even after umpteen books, wrestles with this problem. In fact, his prolificacy might be a coping strategy; rather than decide which thing to write, he just writes them all.

At this moment, there are no less than fifteen projects competing for brainshare in my head. Five of these are things I’m contracted to write, while the other ten or so are old ideas, recent ideas or things that just occurred to me as I walked up the stairs to my office.

So which projects do I write?

Well, I should write the ones that I’m being paid to write, and more specifically, I should work on the one that is next due. So I spend the bulk of my writing time on the project with the nearest deadline. Honestly, that may not be the project that excites me the most at any given moment. But I’m getting paid to do my craft, so I’m certainly not going to complain.

But what about those other projects, the ones I’m not currently writing?

They’re battling it out in my subconscious, each trying to get my attention long enough that I’ll recognize how worthy it is. Sometimes they’ll even gang up on me: The Nines was three separate ideas that conspired to fit together.

INT. JOHN’S BRAIN – DAY

PRISONER STORY

We’re sort of about the same thing. The difference between an actor and a creator.

HOLLYWOOD STORY

You’re right!

SPOOKY STORY

Hey guys, what are you talking about?

PRISONER STORY

We’re trying to get John’s attention.

HOLLYWOOD STORY

You’re new, right?

SPOOKY STORY

I’m a pilot!

PRISONER STORY

John’s not doing TV.

SPOOKY STORY

He might.

PRISONER STORY

He won’t. Go away.

HOLLYWOOD STORY

Wait! Wait! What if the pilot that they’re shooting in my story is actually Spooky Story?

PRISONER STORY

John likes things in threes. Like Go.

SPOOKY STORY

And what if...

(reeling with excitement)

What if your main character was my main character and also your main character? And we know that because they’re all the same actor.

HOLLYWOOD STORY

Dude.

PRISONER STORY

Quick! Get him while he’s in the shower!

Some “old” ideas get written this way. Others simply recede so far back they’re nearly forgotten. That’s okay. You’re not going to become best friends with every nice person you meet. You’re not going to write every good idea you have.

In some cases, simple timing makes a new project suddenly possible. For the Alaska pilot, I pitched it to the network within a week of having the idea. The Remnants was possible only because the WGA strike meant I couldn’t work on any of my “real” stuff.

If you have four ideas, all equally viable, I’d recommend writing the one that has the best ending. That’s the one you’ve thought through the most, and the one you’re least likely to abandon midway. But whatever you do, just pick one and write it without delay. If you have great ideas for your other projects, absolutely take some notes, but don’t switch. Finish what you’re doing, or you’ll have a folder full of first acts.