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Getting a visa as a writer

August 19, 2021 Film Industry, First Person, International

Many foreign-born writers work on American films and TV shows. Give them a cocktail and they will tell you horror stories of how hard/frustrating/nerve-wracking it was to get their visas allowing them to work legally in the US.

In preparation for an upcoming Scriptnotes conversation, we reached out to several to get their tips for international writers hoping to work in the US. What follows is their advice, gently edited with some identifying details removed.

—

**First – get a lawyer.**
Anyone thinking about getting a work visa absolutely needs to consult an immigration lawyer. The visa system is constantly changing, and lawyers know the most-up-to-date info. Hell, even some of the things I’m talking about below may have changed since the last time I heard about them/dealt with them.

The absolute biggest misconception about acquiring a work visa is that people think that you get a job, and boom, you can get a visa. It doesn’t work like that. Having a job offer is only the beginning of the process, and even then, only sometimes. Not every job can put you on the visa path.

**Most Americans have no idea what it takes to get a work visa, and that includes many employers.**
This is why it’s important to consult a lawyer. Most Americans have no idea how their own immigration system works. It’s very possible to get jobs you don’t qualify for or can’t get you a visa, which only ends in disappointment for both parties.

**The most popular work visa doesn’t typically apply to Hollywood writers.**
The most common work-sponsored visa is the H1-B. It’s a lottery program that opens only once a year, in April. If you have an employer willing to sponsor you, your application gets put into a giant lottery, and if you don’t win the lottery, they throw it out, without even opening it. You could be an accountant with a $250k a year job offer – doesn’t matter if you don’t win the lottery. The lottery, last I heard, gets twice as many applications as it has open spots. So half of the applications are tossed out without even reviewing the merits of the application.

The H1-B ties you to one employer, and if you lose your job with that employer, you have a very, very short amount of time to find someone else to sponsor you. Given that most working Hollywood writers jump from one assignment to another with different production companies/studios, sometimes with months in between assignments, this visa really doesn’t work for most writers.

There are some people who think they can get an entry-level job (for example, at a production company) and get this visa, but it doesn’t work that way. First, the employer has to cover the legal costs for the H1-B, which they’re not going to do for an entry-level employee. Second, the company has to prove why they need to hire someone from abroad. For an entry-level job, that’s impossible to prove.

**If you’re a foreign writer, entry-level Hollywood jobs are off-limits to you.**
An entry-level job can’t (and won’t) get you a visa. So if your plan is to be a PA or work in the mailroom, sorry to say, but these aren’t visa-qualifying jobs. So the path of ‘start at the bottom and work your way up’ is not really a path that exists for foreign writers, unfortunately. I’ve seen many well-meaning Americans give this advice to foreign writers, not realizing that it’s impossible. I’ve also seen many foreigners think that this path is open to them, only to find out it’s not.

**Although if you start as as student, there may be a way.**
I went to film school on an F1 Student visa. With this visa, after you graduate you get one year called Optional Practical Training (OPT) to stay in the States. I used that year to go to LA. With OPT, you can essentially work any job (there may be restrictions that it needs to have something to do with your degree but from my understanding it’s quite loose). Your OPT year is HUGE. You basically have one year to “make it.” At least, that’s how I saw it and here’s why: after that OPT year you need to apply for a real visa (I call it my big girl visa) and with it you need “evidence” that you are “extraordinary” in your field in order to qualify.

**You’re probably looking for an O1 visa.**
The O1 is for ‘artists of extraordinary ability.’ That’s you! This is a visa that’s great for writers, but you have to be established already to get it, and it costs time and money. A big advantage is that you can apply for it year-round, and there’s no lottery.

The caveat, though, is that you have to be able to prove that you are already an established artist – an ‘artist of extraordinary ability.’ The way you do that is by fulfilling a certain number of criteria. This could include being the lead on major productions, commanding a high salary, having won awards, garnered press, etc. This visa also allows you to work for multiple employers. You do have to have one primary sponsor (e.g. a business manager, agent, manager, etc), but they can hire you out for jobs. So if you’re a TV writer and you are moving from a Netflix show to an Amazon Prime show, this is the visa that will allow you to do that.

The challenges to getting it, though, are significant:

1. If you’re a writer looking to break in, this visa is off-limits to you. You need to have established yourself already in your home country. If you have no track record, it isn’t possible to acquire.

2. It’s expensive. The cost to get a lawyer to do an O-1 application ranges anywhere from $3,500 to $7,500, which doesn’t include the filing fees with US immigration (which are around $2k).

3. It is possible to find a sponsor who will pay for your O1, so you don’t have to cover the cost yourself. For example, for some working writers, their agents will sponsor their O1 and cover the cost. However, if that relationship gets severed, it voids the visa. So during the ATA dispute, foreign writers who had been sponsored by their agents had to get special dispensation from the WGA to not have to fire their agents, since firing them would have meant losing their visas. Conversely, if their agent fires them, it also voids the visa. You have to maintain a working relationship with your sponsor to keep up your visa, but if you pay for it yourself, you usually work with a business manager who isn’t your agent, but someone whose services you employ to manage your business who is unlikely to fire you. There’s definitely a way to avoid the expense of the O1, but it comes with more risk.

Here are some of the items you need to collect:

– 10 letters of recommendation from top members of your industry
– 6 additional letters confirming your employment for the next three years (difficult in an industry that is largely freelance)
– Evidence of your outstanding achievement in your home country. This is largely done with newspaper articles. If you won an award, it better have been written about in a major newspaper. Also if you won an award, it should be an internationally recognized and prestigious award. You could also be asked to be on a jury of a prestigious organization. Membership in an internationally recognized union helps (like the WGA).
– An “Agent” to act as your employer or essentially your sponsor. Some people will go through an accountant, some will go through their talent agency. It all depends on the company, on you, on your lawyer and how savvy they are. It’s a mess.

Basically, it’s really hard for someone just starting out to qualify for an O-1 visa. But it can be done.

**Here’s how I got my O-1.**
At first I tried to apply for an O-1 visa for writing, acting, and directing. Between my first and second year at film school I went back to my home country for the summer and put on a play that I wrote and directed in my hometown’s Fringe Festival, which won a major award in theatre and was reviewed by several major newspapers. It got picked up for another big festival and again was reviewed by several major newspapers. All of this contributed to the “evidence” that I was noteworthy in my home country. Without this, I would not have gotten my O-1.

Because of that play, I got noticed by all the top theatre artistic directors in my hometown (who were prominent in my home country) and formed relationships with many over the next two years (during my final year at film school and my OPT year) and three or four of them wrote recommendation letters. Again, huge get for me!

My other recommendations included two teachers from college with major credits to their name, and two showrunners of major shows. (I found one of them through the university’s alumni mentor network and the other was my thesis crit panelist.) I didn’t know I’d need them all to sign these letters so I’m lowkey very proud of myself for maintaining these professional relationships, especially with the showrunners. I’m not particularly good at networking but in this instance, wow, it really paid off to put myself out there.

Next issue was compiling all the evidence. And this I need to thank my obsessive and meticulous father. He kept every single press clipping for my plays, screenplay competition wins, every interview I gave, every review, every write up, every program big or small. I brought this huge binder to my lawyer who beamed and said “You owe your father a HUGE thank you!” He basically did all the work for them.

Then comes the really tedious filling out of forms. With details like “list every flight you have ever taken in the last ten years.” I now make sure that every time I fly I put it in my calendar. I mark every itinerary email in my inbox. I put it on a list in my Notes app. It’s surprisingly hard to remember, especially since as a student I had flown back and forth so many times.

Random things like “expected financial compensation for visa duration” – WHAT? How can you predict how much money you’ll make in a freelance-based industry?

The cost came to over $10,000, including the lawyer fees and all the USCIS fees for the application (which are about $2,500 alone). You could do it without a lawyer but it would be next to impossible. The full application is hundreds of pages. The lawyers have to write up bios and summaries for every single person or organization you mention. It’s so much work.

Which brings me to why it’s so intense: the amount of work. I cannot express enough how grueling the process is. If you haven’t gone through it you’d think oh it’s just emailing people and pulling research off the internet. But the amount of time it takes and how meticulous the process is painstaking slow.

The timeline is another issue. I graduated in May. I moved to LA that July. My OPT year would expire the next July. And it took about six months to compile all the documents. So I sought out my lawyer in November – only FOUR months after I moved to LA. I barely had my first job at that point and I already had to start the process of applying for my O-1.

That first O-1 nearly killed my drive to be in this business.

**It has to be renewed every 3 years.**
You’re basically paying $5-$10k every three years to renew.

The US has a lot of types of work visas, but all of them have restrictions. Some are limited to certain countries. Some are limited to certain job functions. Some visas are only available to employees of certain companies. This is again why it’s so important to consult a lawyer.

**You can try your luck with the green card lottery.**
There is a green card lottery (though it may have been paused due to COVID). Only certain countries are eligible, and only a small number are given out, but if you get lucky, it’s one way to get work approval to the US. Just know that if you return to your home country, even if you give up your green card, you will have to file taxes in the US for ten years.

**The bottom line: foreign writers have to be a lot more conscientious if they want to work in Hollywood.**
There are lots of international writers working in Hollywood, so it’s not impossible to do! But you’re going to have to be a lot more focused and dedicated than those who are American citizens.

Screenwriting competitions aren’t worth the money

March 5, 2021 Film Industry, First Person

*Since the early days of the site, I occasionally run posts by writers who can share their experience working in the industry. In this case, Paige wrote in to Scriptnotes with her take on screenplay contests.*

—

My name is Paige Feldman. I was a guest/contestant on a [Scriptnotes live show](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GRV5O0ZSNc0) about a year ago (the one with Ryan Reynolds and Phoebe Waller-Bridge). That’s still one of my best quarantine memories.

I’m writing because contest season is fast approaching. Nicholl, AFF and Final Draft all have deadlines in May. While I know most aspiring screenwriters will be champing at the bit to apply, I wanted to share something I discovered about the cost of entering contests like these: it’s a lot of money for little upside.

Like many not-yet-full-time screenwriters, I have entered multiple contests, hoping for placement or notice that might help me push to the next level. And, like many not-yet-full-time screenwriters, I have received glowing comments from readers — and no momentum.

In June 2020, I embarked on an experiment. For four months, I kept track of every screenwriting contest I was advertised (either through email, targeted ads, or coming across them organically on social media). And for every contest that I could enter without doing more work (e.g. I had a completed script I could ostensibly enter), I would take the cost of the entry fee and put it in my savings.

Over the course of four months, from June to October — so not even “contest season” — I saved $1424.

That is from individual contest entry fees alone. This does not count paying extra for coverage. It is not the early entry fee plus the regular entry fee plus the late entry fee. It’s one entry fee per contest. Extrapolated to a full year, that would mean spending nearly $4500 on contests.

I already knew screenwriting competitions were an industry, but the amount is just shocking to me. What even is this screenwriting contest industrial complex? And *why* is it? And how many people is it actually helping?

At the end of my experiment, I didn’t have answers to those questions, but I did have an extra almost-$1500 lying around thanks to my savings scheme. I decided to use it to further my career in a way a contest could never do.

I took one of my already-written pilots and adapted it for audio. Then, I hired actors and recorded it remotely over Zoom (modeled after how you, John, had me send you audio recorded on my computer for that show last year). I hired a composer to write original music, an artist to design a logo, and used YouTube to teach myself how to edit and process audio. And now I have an audio pilot up across podcasting platforms. Plus, it was such a fun experience that I wrote the remaining nine episodes of season 1 and we’re starting to record them this weekend!

Now, instead of a bunch of contest rejections, I have an actual product that I can share with people: [How to Fall in Love in the Hard Way](https://www.buzzsprout.com/1510291)

I wanted to write to you about this because I feel like the rhetoric that contests are the best way for unknown writers to break in continues to grow (especially on Twitter). I think it’s important to point out how much of an industry screenwriting competitions are becoming, how they help very few writers who invest that cash into them, and that there are other ways of becoming a working writer than winning a contest.

In my case, I met a director who hired me to write a script via someone I met in an acting class I accidentally took five years ago. That ended up being a better use of my money.

This isn’t a slam on all screenwriting competitions or the writers who’ve found some success through them. But for most aspiring screenwriters, I believe there are better ways to spend your time and money.

Feature Residuals and the Mystery of SVOD

February 10, 2021 Film Industry, Follow Up, WGA

Following up on my earlier post, here’s an update on Aladdin’s residuals.

Let’s look at the breakdown for 2020 Q3:

Re-Use Market Amount
Basic Cable $1,536
Foreign Free TV $8,071
Home Video/DVD $11,161
Pay TV $76,687
New Media — EST $11,134
New Media — SVOD $222,496
TOTAL $331,086

Note that these are total writer residuals. As Aladdin’s co-writer, I get half, so I’m simply doubling what I see in my individual residuals report.

The first four categories are pretty self-explanatory. You can find more information about them in the WGA’s residuals survival guide.

New Media — EST stands for Electronic Sell-Through. This is when a customer purchases a download, which they then own forever. If you buy a movie for $19.99 on iTunes, that’s an EST. It’s the digital equivalent of someone purchasing a DVD at Target. The residual is calculated as 0.36% of the company’s accountable receipts.

The final category is a little confusing. Even after serving on the negotiating committee for the last MBA, I ended up emailing a colleague at the Guild for clarification.

New Media — SVOD combines very two different ideas. The full title for this category should really be something like New Media — Rental and SVOD. ((And even that’s not complete: this category also includes “Premium VOD,” which hasn’t really been a thing but might become more important.))

Rental is what you think. If you’ve ever paid $1.99 for a movie on iTunes and had 48 hours to watch it, that’s an electronic rental. The residual is calculated at 1.2% of the studio’s accountable receipts.

SVOD stands for Subscription Video on Demand, services like Netflix, Disney+ and Hulu, also referred to as streamers. The residual is calculated as 1.2% of the amount the studio receives for licensing the movie to the service. For example, MGM might license an old James Bond movie to Amazon Prime for 12 months. The screenwriter would get a residual based off the price MGM was able to charge.

In the case of Aladdin, it’s available exclusively on Disney+. Disney is never going to license it to Netflix or Peacock or Amazon Prime. So any fee Disney-the-studio is charging Disney-the-streamer is really just numbers on a spreadsheet. They’re the same company.

Now you’re asking: Wait, if this residual is 1.2% of a made-up number, how do you know it’s a fair price?

Self-dealing is always a concern, and has long been an issue in television. My colleague at the Guild writes:

When that happens the MBA requires the company to impute a license fee based on comparable pictures. This is an issue happening across all the streamers and is one of our most important enforcement efforts.

For 2020 Q3, this lone residual was worth nearly a quarter of million dollars for Aladdin. It’s both hugely important and largely opaque.

I don’t have a breakdown to show how much of this line item came from rental versus the imputed license fee, but it’s something I’ll be watching closely in the years ahead.

What I Learned Writing a Trilogy

February 3, 2021 Arlo Finch, Author, Books, Projects, Psych 101

In October 2016, I began writing *Arlo Finch in the Valley of Fire*. It’s about a kid who moves to the mountains of Colorado, where he joins the Rangers. Modeled on the scouts of my youth, Rangers can do some kinda magic things because the forest outside their town is kinda magic.

arlo 1Arlo Finch sold to Roaring Brook/Macmillan [as a trilogy](https://read.macmillan.com/mcpg/arlo-finch/), with *Valley of Fire* debuting in February 2018 and *Lake of the Moon* the following year. It has spawned thirteen translations published around the world. I’ve toured extensively across the U.S. and Europe. It’s been a wild trip.

Now the trilogy is finished. The paperback of [*Arlo Finch in the Kingdom of Shadows*](http://johnaugust.com/arlo-finch) arrives in bookstores across the U.S. and Canada today.

As this part of the journey ends, I wanted to look back on what I learned in writing a trilogy. Here’s what I wish someone had told me before I started.

## 1. Have a plan, but be ready to change it.

When I sold the trilogy, my proposal included descriptions of books two and three. Here’s a paragraph I wrote in my summary of *Kingdom of Shadows:*

> The Duchess, who has always operated through proxies and emissaries, is finally forced into the open. Charming, clever and ruthless, she’s willing to make a bargain with the boy she can’t seem to kill. Arlo must decide whether to forsake his friends and family in order to keep them safe.

No spoiler warning needed, because **this doesn’t happen.** The Duchess — a character I’d intended to become the series villain — never appears in the trilogy at all. There’s nothing even remotely like her. Early in writing book two, a better villain appeared, one who was a much stronger foil for Arlo.

arlo coverAnd it’s not just the Duchess. Here are seven crucial elements in the trilogy that I didn’t know when I sold it:

1. Hadryn, and his connection to Arlo
2. Fallpath
3. The Broken Bridge
4. Big Breezy
5. The Summerland Incident
6. Mirnos and Ekafos
7. Why the Eldritch actually need Arlo

Shouldn’t I have planned better? Was it pure hubris to start writing without locking down these details?

Maybe. But I didn’t know about Hadryn until he showed up in a scene. He was a bit player who caught my interest and ended up becoming a costar. I didn’t know — and perhaps *couldn’t have known* — that I needed him back when I was writing the first book. Many things you only discover while writing.

In the end, **a series outline is like a map.** It can help keep you from getting lost, but if you follow it too closely you may drive right past some amazing discoveries.

## 2. Set rules. Break them when necessary.

Every book has rules. Some are conventions (such as spelling and punctuation), while others are specific to the genre or audience (no swearing in a kid’s book).

These rules help both authors and readers. For example, consider how we handle dialogue in prose. The author doesn’t have to add *he said* or *she said* to every line because readers have come to expect that characters alternate speaking unless otherwise indicated.

The same principle applies to point of view. Like many fantasy novels, Arlo Finch is told from a close third-person perspective. As the reader, we are hovering right behind Arlo’s shoulder. We only see what he sees, and we can only peer inside his head. Arlo Finch is at the center of every scene.

> Fifty feet away, by the edge of the gravel driveway, a dog was watching him. Arlo assumed it was a dog, not a coyote or a wolf, though he had never seen one of the latter in person. The creature had a collar, which at least meant it belonged to somebody.

> Arlo knew to be careful around strange dogs, but this one didn’t seem threatening. It was simply watching him.

Although the book never explicitly states it, the reader quickly understands the rule: *Everything is from Arlo’s point of view.*

This point of view splits the difference between a first-person narrator (e.g. *The Hunger Games*) and an omniscient narrator (*Game of Thrones*). It keeps the reader dialed in with the hero, which makes it a perfect choice for Arlo Finch…until chapter 37 of *Lake of the Moon*.

Arlo and his friend Indra had gotten separated. Now I needed to show what Indra was up to. But how? There was no elegant way to do it without breaking the rule on POV.

So I did it. I broke the rule. **After 100,000+ words from Arlo’s perspective, we shift to Indra’s POV for that chapter.**

And it was fine.

My editor noticed — but no one else did. (Or at least, they didn’t complain.) In context, it felt natural to be seeing these events from the point of view of a well-established supporting character. Later, when Indra meets up with the Blue Patrol, they’re focused on finding Arlo but the reader hardly notices that our POV character isn’t there.

Ultimately, I wasn’t breaking the rule as much as amending it: *Everything is from Arlo’s point of view — unless he’s not present. Then it’s from the POV of the best-known character.*

For book three, I stuck with this modified rule. One of my favorite chapters in *Kingdom of Shadows* is told from Uncle Wade’s perspective.

POV wasn’t the only rule I ended up breaking in Arlo Finch. I initially set out to show that Arlo’s real strength was not as a leader, but rather a follower. If there was a decision to be made, he’d help find consensus but would never take the reins.

This “hero as wallflower” approach lasted until the midpoint of book two, when he found himself facing many more challenges alone. By the third book, he’s standing up against governments and supernatural forces of unfathomable power. He’s a reluctant leader, but he’ll do what it takes.

Doing what it takes is part of writing a trilogy. You need to break rules carefully but unapologetically.

## 3. Build roads, not worlds.

The town of Pine Mountain brushes up against the Long Woods, a vast extra-dimensional wilderness that can only be navigated by mastering a special Ranger’s compass. Unlike a lot of fantasy literature, there’s no map at the front of the novels because the Long Woods cannot be mapped.

But there are *books* in Arlo Finch: Arlo and his friends occasionally consult *Culman’s Bestiary* to learn about the dangerous creatures they’re facing, yet I never seriously considered putting together the actual catalogue. Nor did I write out the oft-cited Rangers’ Field Book. I knew the names of the ranks and a few of the requirements, nothing more.

When it came to world building, I tried to create only what Arlo could himself encounter. I put a sticky note on my monitor to remind myself: **Don’t build more than you need.**

In the case of Arlo Finch, the decision was partly practical; I simply had too many chapters to write. But I also recognized a pattern I’d seen in a lot of fantasy literature:

– Elaborately constructed universes that have little to do with the hero’s story.
– Supporting characters who talk about events that happened long ago.
– Visitors hailing from faraway lands the hero (and reader) will never visit.
– Creatures described but never encountered.

Even over the course of a trilogy, your characters will only see a small corner of their universe. So focus on that. Make it rich, rewarding and most of all relevant.

## 4. Slow and steady wins the race.

I started Arlo Finch as part of [NaNoWriMo](https://nanowrimo.org/about-nano), the annual challenge to write 50,000 words of a novel in thirty days. That’s a pace of 1,667 words per day.

While I’d had a lot of [experience as a screenwriter](https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0041864/), I was a complete newbie to the world of publishing. I knew I had a lot to learn, so I used the excuse of making a documentary podcast (called [Launch](https://wondery.com/shows/launch/)) to ask hundreds of naive questions to editors, booksellers and other authors. They taught me about the joys, challenges and frustrations of getting a book published.

When told I was writing a trilogy, authors invariably offered a sympathetic smile along with a gentle shake of the head. *Oh, child,* they seemed to be saying. *You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.*

Writing any book is a marathon. **Writing three books back-to-back is like a race that never ends.**

I wasn’t prepared for the sheer number of words I’d be typing — 202,595 in all — and having to do copy edits on one book while finishing the next. In the morning, Arlo might be investigating a mysterious campsite in *Lake of the Moon.* In the afternoon, he was back six months earlier in Pine Mountain, meeting his friends for the first time in *Valley of Fire*.

As a screenwriter, I’m used to working on one movie at a time. When writing *Toto,* I don’t need to worry about the sequel; it’ll only happen in wild success.

Instead, my experience writing a trilogy had much more in common with the life of TV showrunnner. My friends who write TV have to map out a season, then write the episodes, then oversee all the tweaks and changes — often all at the same time.

While it’s amazing to have this amount of control over one’s work, it requires a steady pace. There’s simply no way to sprint it.

## 5. The middle book is the hardest, but also the most exciting.

The middle book of a trilogy serves as a bridge between the start of the series and the end. It’s the second act, where stakes and complications are raised. As the writer, you’re spinning a bunch of plates, and then you add more.

You can find many articles about [middle](https://writersedit.com/fiction-writing/6-ways-to-avoid-second-book-syndrome/) [book](https://hatch-books.com/blog/bucking-middle-book-syndrome) [syndrome](https://firstlinereader.blog/2019/12/01/an-exploration-of-middle-book-syndrome/), because if there’s one thing writers love, it’s lamenting about how hard writing is.

For me, the second book felt like the second season of a TV series. And I love second seasons. That’s when shows hit their stride.

Having established the characters and the rules of the world, I could introduce new obstacles and conflicts. For example, Arlo has friends — but what if his friends aren’t getting along? Arlo has a routine with family and school, but what happens when he’s away from all of that?

I wrote the second novel while I was living in Paris. My friend Damon Lindelof was in town and stopped by to record [an episode of Scriptnotes](https://johnaugust.com/2017/television-with-damon-lindelof). In our conversation, we discussed the list of ideas you have as a writer than you never actually get around to writing:

> **Damon:** I always wanted to do a show about time travel. And then I suddenly realized, hey, Lost is that show. There is not time travel embedded in the pilot of Lost, but J.J. and I tried to do everything that we could to open up all possibilities in the pilot so that if we wanted to get to time travel, we could.

> And I always wanted to set a show in the ’70s, and I was like, well, we’ve got time travel now. So Lost is that show, too. And I’ve always wanted to do like a pirate show. Well, Lost could be that show, too.

I always wanted to write some time travel as well. So I decided that was a thing that was possible in Arlo Finch.

Having established the mystery of the lost Yellow Patrol in book one, I wanted Arlo to not only learn what had happened, but to be the cause of it. Figuring out how to do that was brain-melting, but the resulting novel is my favorite of the series.

## 6. Most reviewers only read the first book.

Librarians and professional reviewers have to look at dozens or hundreds of books each year, so even if they love book one, they’re unlikely to review book two unless it’s a publishing phenomenon. That’s a real frustration when you’re writing a trilogy, because you’re deliberately portioning out your story over three books.

In the case of Arlo Finch, I wanted to push back against the tropes of the genre (cf. *Harry Potter* and *Percy Jackson*), in particular the notion that the titular hero is the chosen one. So in book one, Arlo is confused why he’s special. Then in book two, he gets the answer: he wasn’t “chosen” at all. He’s an ordinary kid who made a choice — and in the process, created the villain of the story.

But reviewers won’t see that, because they’re only reading the first book.

Now that all three books are out in the world, it’s been gratifying to see some bloggers and librarians looking at the series as a whole when making their recommendations.

> I am so sad that is over but it ended in such a satisfying way! If you haven’t read this series yet, do so. It will be one of the best stories you read in your lifetime.

Returning to the TV analogy, readers who start reading Arlo Finch now will have a different experience than those who encountered it one book/season at a time. Without a year between installments, Arlo’s arc becomes a lot more clear. The setups and payoffs aren’t separated by time.

## 7. Clear some shelf space.

In addition to the original English version, Arlo Finch is available in [12 translations](https://johnaugust.com/arlo-finch-international-editions). For each of these, I receive five copies, for a total of 195 books, which have to go somewhere.

This is luxury problem, to be sure. It’s great and gratifying that so many international publishers took a chance on Arlo. And it’s exciting to cut open a box to see the new Polish or Romanian translation. But then what? I can’t read them. I don’t need them. Yet I can’t bring myself to get rid of them, either.

I hadn’t anticipated how much space it would all take.

shelf with arlo finch books lined up

In my library, I cleared room for one copy of each translation. The rest are packed away in boxes in a closet.

## 8. You won’t get everything right. (See #1.)

If I could go back to book one, I would make a few changes.

**Capitalize Eldritch.** I didn’t realize these supernatural beings would become so important. (I also didn’t know they were giants.) We started capitalizing Eldritch in book two, but it bugs me that we’re not consistent.

**Set up Arlo’s origin earlier.** In book one, we learn Arlo is a “tooble,” but not what it means. We get an answer in book two, but as noted earlier, most reviewers only read the first book. Fox, who appears at the end of book one, could have been less oblique.

**Name the Warden.** In book three, we learn that the adult Ranger Arlo talks to after the campfire in book one is the middle school band teacher (Mr. O’Brien). I wish I’d given him his name from the start.

**Put Hadryn in book one.** Hadryn appears early in book two, but by the rules of trilogies, he should have shown up in the first book — if not as a character, then at least as a named threat.

**Call out how it’s different from other fantasy trilogies.** Unlike Harry Potter or Percy Jackson, Arlo Finch sleeps in his own bed every night. It’s a much more grounded adventure. I think that’s obvious, but none of the reviewers seemed to notice. I should have underlined that.

## 9. Don’t wait to thank people.

Early on, I decided that I wanted to save all of the thank yous and acknowledgements until the end of the third book. My reasoning was that as a reader I generally skip these sections, so why waste the pages and the ink? Plus, wouldn’t it feel presumptuous to thank a bunch of people for a book that might not be well-received?

In retrospect, this decision was dumb.

I should have included thank yous in the first two books as well. As the past year has demonstrated, anything can happen. There was no guarantee the final book would ever come out, or that everyone would be alive to see it. *So thank people often and publicly.*

## 10. It’s hard to say goodbye.

It’s been almost 18 months since I turned in the final revisions for *Kingdom of Shadows.* I’m finished, yet I don’t entirely *feel* finished.

The series was conceived as a trilogy and definitely resolves the major open questions. Like any finale, I took advantage of the opportunity to burn down the sets and let characters move on.

Could there be another book? Sure.

Does there need to be another book? Not really.

Had Arlo Finch become a runaway best-selling phenomenon, I’d certainly be writing more books in the series. But as a writer, my most precious resource is time, and the best use of it going forward is on other projects.

Still, *Arlo is special.* I’ve lived with it longer than anything except Big Fish. I know every inch of the Finch house. I know Indra’s secrets. I know what happens at the Ranger equivalent of the Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico and the circumstances of Arlo’s first kiss.

There are Arlo Finch books that won’t be written and stories that won’t be told. But I’m grateful for the three I have, and the years it took to write them. I’m happy they’ll outlive me.

—

You can find Arlo Finch in [bookstores](https://bookshop.org/books/arlo-finch-in-the-valley-of-fire/9781626728141) [everywhere](https://amzn.to/3trKtfw). The series is appropriate for anyone age 8 and up, including quite a few adults.

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