John August

Television

The 4-hour Staffing Season

First Person, Television

Today’s First Person comes from [Daniel Thomsen](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1229072/), a television writer who has worked on staff at Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles and Melrose Place. He has lost eight pounds since the CW passed on his pilot script and isn’t sure whether he needs the beard anymore.

On Twitter, he’s [@danielthomsen](http://twitter.com/danielthomsen).

—

first persondaniel thomsenHere is what it means to be a TV writer: You are paid to work in conditions that vastly accelerate the degradation of your body while brainstorming fantasy lives for the select group of your co-workers who work in conditions designed to make their already-exceptional bodies look better than yours ever did or will.

It’s a psychologically fraught occupation for this and other reasons. But mostly this one.

Still, people flock to the profession. Each year we welcome new writers to our ranks and indoctrinate them into a rigid system of dieting and aspirational styling that will stunt their emotional development for years to come. Baby writers just beginning the journey of staring at dailies of shirtless Paul Wesley and pants-less Leighton Meister can typically get by with the organic meal-replacement bars available at Whole Foods.

But by the time the average writer has ascended into the producing ranks, the road has been littered with far too many Starbucks cups and CPK boxes with his or her name scribbled hastily on the side. The fiction that the writer can ever be as physically appealing as his or her thespian counterparts begins to feel hopelessly out of reach.

For those unhappily-bloated hyphenates, this year’s fad diet is something called “The 4-Hour Body.” I know several devotees, including a showrunner who dropped twenty pounds from the first draft of his pilot script to the day of his greenlit table read. This is either a remarkable example of discipline and determination, or a stunning illustration of how many empty calories are required to write a pilot script.

To be clear, I have no idea what the “four hour” aspect of the diet refers to. The three people I asked who are actually on the diet don’t know, either. They just ramble on about not eating fruit, gorging yourself on junk food once a week, and challenging your friends to motivational weight-loss battles via Twitter. Master all that stuff and apparently the “four hour” business never even comes into play.

An oddball little diet, yeah? But it gave me a great idea for a title!

What is staffing season?
—-

It’s the most nerve-wracking time of year for TV writers seeking staff jobs.

Yes, owing to the ever-expanding slate of scripted cable series, there are a scattering of jobs available throughout the year. But you didn’t get any of those jobs, did you? And now all of your eggs are in one basket, aren’t they? The basket of new and returning network series that will be seeking writers for an extremely limited period of time between now and the end of May.

Look, here’s the good news: Chances are you’re in this business for the right reason. Unlike a lot of people, you love television. You know there’s a given amount of crap out there, but you still get excited about all the new ideas. You’re cheering for the showrunners you respect to get a shot at creating their big, fat hits. You don’t mind reading 25 or 30 scripts at breakneck speed because you have fun commiserating with friends and agents about it all.

What’s going to succeed? What’s a trainwreck? I’m sorry, who did you say is writing “Wonder Woman”?

So why’s it so nerve wracking?

Because you don’t have the luxury of separating your enjoyment of television’s artistry from the stark reality that this is your goddamn paycheck for the year. And maybe the next year or two after that.

This is showbiz, where there are a lot more writers than there are job opportunities, and where no one owes you a single ounce of career stability — unless you have at some point worked for Charlie Sheen or Conan O’Brien, and then according to the comment section of Deadline Hollywood, you are always entitled to be taken care of by the studios or the stars themselves whenever trade winds blow the wrong direction.

What’s that? You’re not in one of those two magic kingdoms? Sorry, friend. You’re fucked.

Victimhood is a deeply ingrained trait in all writers, owing to our complicated childhood circumstances, our aforementioned body dysmorphias, our culturally-reinforced entitlements, etc. Here are some great tips to ensure you shoulder the right amount of personal responsibility for staffing season:

Your sample script isn’t good enough.
—-

This is something you’ll undoubtedly hear a lot of, either from your agent or from your inner monologue. You will almost never hear this from executives because they, unlike us, were raised to be polite. If you have an inkling that your primary sample isn’t absolutely killer, you need a better one.

No one gets hired in this town without a killer script — unless you’re Someone Important’s (brother/cousin/personal trainer). And if you’re Someone Important’s (aunt/underage escort/yogi), I really hope you’re not reading John August’s blog right now. I hope you’re poolside at the Standard, commemorating every moment of your life with a Chambord lemon drop in each hand. Because, remember: With great power comes great responsibility.

But that’s them. Back to you: **Your sample script is not good enough.**

We aren’t always the best judges of our own material, but in this business, we have to be.

A few years ago I wrote a spec pilot about a pro video gamer called “Invincible.” To this day, it’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. The script got me a bunch of meetings, but ultimately it didn’t land me any gigs. After six months, I had to admit it wasn’t good enough, and that spurred me to write my next spec pilot, “Physical Graffiti.” The new script got me my first staff job less than a month after I finished it. Moral of the story: Don’t get too precious when your career’s on the line.

While we’re at it: **your sample script isn’t in the right genre.** I read the Georgetown pilot script for ABC a few days ago and loved it. I impulsively fired off an email to my agent and told him so. He wrote me back with this: “Which sample of yours do you think they’d read for it?” My agent was right. We could send them my spec pilot about genetically-mutated super criminals, but I wouldn’t blame them for not divining the relevance.

Oh, and your sample script **should’ve been finished a month ago.** Scripts need time to filter through the system. They don’t get read by showrunners before they’ve been read by agents and about five thousand layers of studio and network executives.

Your meeting chops need work.
—–

Writer meetings are weird. We didn’t learn about how they’re supposed to go while we were in college, and they’re usually given by other writers, which means they’re a lot more passive aggressive than they’d be if they were given by trained HR reps.

It’s all on you, the dude who’s probably terrible at selling, to make the best, most specific argument possible that you deserve a spot on the writing staff. Emphasize what’s in your background that informs the types of stories you’ll be telling. Emphasize how much of a genius you are without coming off like a dick.

On a similar note, don’t criticize the show — the creator has probably taken a shine to it.

And here is the single most important bit of meeting advice I can give you from my own vault of experience: If you’re meeting on “Supernatural,” do not bring up the topic of slash fan fiction involving Sam and Dean Winchester. No one’s heart warms to that particular tangent.

Your “brand” needs work.
—–

Network television is a business that functions more efficiently by way of rampant pigeon-holing. This is not evil. This is reality. And it extends to writers.

Hey, there’s a new crime drama on CBS this year! Do you have a strong, procedural sample script? Does your background give you any additional expertise? Are your existing credits in a similar genre? The easier it is to fit you into a particular “box,” the easier it’ll be to find a job.

I share this insight with you as someone who jumped from a show about killer robots to “Melrose Place,” had to explain that jump in every single meeting I took last staffing season, and didn’t get a single job offer before the calendar flipped to June. Talk to your agent about this. Make sure you’re seeing yourself the way everyone else is seeing you.

You don’t know enough people.
—-

Yes, it’s your agent’s responsibility to get you meetings. But, really, it’s a shared responsibility. Hollywood is a tight-knit community where business and social circles overlap like crazy.

I put in five years of personal networking as a PA, writers’ assistant, script coordinator and showrunner’s assistant before I knew enough people to get an agent or a job. And I still find that, even after having worked on staff for three seasons and having sold two pilots, the single greatest predictor of whether or not I’ll succeed in staffing season is how many of my friends get their pilots on the schedule.

Not because anyone ever has or will hire me as a favor, but because in a community of writers, the people who will know my capabilities the best are invariably going to be the people I’m closest to. ((Fun Fact: This is also the answer to the aforementioned question, “How did you end up on Melrose Place after Sarah Connor?” The showrunners were early supporters of mine who read my very first TV spec five years prior and remembered me when it came time to staff the first season. I’ll always be grateful for their respect. And their long memories.))

So I’m not going to get a job?
—-

You can totally get a job, even in this market. Dozens of writers are going to get offers in the coming weeks at every level — veterans, newbies, people who work every year, people who struggle to work once every few years.

I’ve been in LA since 2002 and every single year, the refrain is always the same: “Ugh, this is the worst year ever, no one’s getting work.” I absolutely believe people have been repeating those words since the days we were all fighting over gigs on radio dramas.

Snagging a staff job requires these things: hard work, self awareness, a killer script, a logical connection between your brand and a show that makes it on the schedule, and a fair bit of fortunate timing.

Remember that staffing is a war of attrition. You might deserve a gig this year, but if that gig falls through due to circumstances out of your control — tough shit. Stay focused on the circumstances you can control and prepare for whatever’s next — development season, cable staffing, Subway sandwich artistry, etc.

Because, congratulations: You’re a writer, and the reason you’re good at it is because your life kinda sucks.

But I’m bitter! Very bitter!
—–

Yeah, duh. So am I. So are people who’ve had multiple shows on the air. Everyone’s bitter. We work in an industry where throngs of people pay dues for years and many of them never hit pay dirt. Where you’ll routinely see friends (and frenemies) become millionaires while you languish in your North Hollywood apartment, wondering how the hell you ended up with a size-38 waist. (Hint: It was all that Americone Dream.)

But here’s the thing: As long as the work is still fun, as long as you keep falling in love with your own ideas and other people seem to like them too, you owe it to yourself to keep at it. Enthusiasm is the antidote to bitterness.

In the spirit of self-help tomes, I feel like I need to leave on some sort of optimistic note. So here it is: Television writing is an asinine way to make a living and staffing season is its most hellish artifact. But if you can find a way to embrace the chaos, you’re only four hours away from having the career of your dreams!

One sample, cont’d

Follow Up, Television

Several readers questioned my advice to [write a TV spec](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2011/when-you-only-have-one-sample#comments):

> I’m just curious as to why you suggested they write a TV script, since he had mentioned the only thing they’d written is one feature and I saw no mention of an interest in writing for TV.

TV scripts are shorter and faster to write. Jason and his writing partner need more writing samples, stat. This will be a quicker way to get something else on paper that shows their chops.

But in a bigger sense, *of course* they should consider writing television. So should every aspiring screenwriter. In 2011, the best writing happens in TV, not features. There are more opportunities, and better finished products.

Across the board — one-hours and half-hours, network and cable — we’ve never had this kind of quality. Why would you sit out?

Agents and managers are looking for clients that can work. While staffing is tough, television quadruples the number of chances to get their clients gainfully employed. Yes, there used to be a bias against hiring TV writers for features. I think that’s all but evaporated. Many if not most screenwriters play in both sandboxes.

So unless Jason and his writing partner are features-or-bust, they should be thinking television in addition to features.

When you only have one sample

Pitches, QandA, Television

questionmarkMy writing partner and I recently completed a feature spec we are very proud of. Friends who work as assistants to producers/agents/managers have been generous with praise and kind enough to pass the script up and onto their bosses.

If we are lucky enough to get a meeting with an agent or producer, I am positive they will ask to read additional material from us. But we don’t have anything — at least not anything we wrote together.

In the next month or two while our script is being read, should we focus on trying to bang out another spec? Or should we put together multiple treatments for the various other ideas we have? Looking to get insight on what an agent or producer might ask for from the writer if they like a spec they’ve read.

— Jason
Los Angeles

answer iconSpend the next week figuring out three possible feature scripts. Flesh out the ideas enough that you could elevator-pitch them.

Pick the one that excites you most. That’s the one you’re going to write. But not quite yet.

That’s because first, you need figure out your plans for television. If you have any interest in writing for TV, you need to get cracking.

Pick a well-regarded show in its first two seasons and write a great spec episode. Some will argue that writing an original pilot serves you better than a spec. I’d counter that in your situation, you simply need more material with both your names on it. A script for Justified or Good Wife or Mike & Molly will be relatively quick to write.

Assuming you are interested in writing TV, here’s your syllabus for the next few months:

1. Brainstorm three features. Pick one to write.
2. Pick and write a TV spec.
3. Outline the feature. Start writing the screenplay.
4. Once per week, revisit your other feature pitches and refine them.
5. When the second feature screenplay is written, start showing it to trusted readers.
6. Rewrite/polish the TV spec.
7. Brainstorm a TV pilot script. ((Alternately, consider a low-budget indie you could make yourself.))
8. Either write the TV pilot script, or rewrite the second feature.

Whatever you do, don’t confuse “waiting for people to read” with “waiting to get started on something.” It’s great people like your script. That’s your cue to write more.

Transitioning from comics to TV

Education, First Person, Television

Today’s First Person article comes from the open call. Jay Faerber is trying to transition from writing comics to writing TV, and is doing so with the help of the Warner Bros TV Writers Workshop.

——–

first personfaerberMy name’s Jay Faerber.

I’m 38 years old and I’ve been writing comic books professionally for the past 13 years.

It’s a great, fun job and incredibly fulfilling. But in addition to comics, I’ve got a great love for television, so I’m finally taking the plunge and becoming a TV writer.

This wasn’t a decision I made lightly. In fact, I spent considerable time coming up with reasons not to try my hand at TV writing. I guess I was a little afraid that working in TV could destroy my enjoyment of TV as a viewer. Because despite writing comic books, I read very few comic books these days. The late Robert B. Parker explained it well when he said, “I tend to look at books the way carpenters look at houses.”

My secret origin
—–

Because I didn’t want to ruin my love of TV by writing TV, I was content to let my manager shop around my comic books as movie and TV properties, and attach other writers. One of these writers was a baby feature writer who was adapting one of my comics as a feature spec.

Some writer friends of mine asked why I wasn’t writing the spec myself. After all, they were my characters and this baby writer wasn’t bringing a huge reputation to the table. So why not just do it myself?

And that’s what got me started. I remember very clearly the conversation that ensued, and by the end of it I was incredibly energized about trying to transition from comic books into features and TV. So I wrote a feature spec of my comic, Dynamo 5. Adapting my own work was a great way to make the jump into screenwriting. I was kind of intimidated by the format and “rules” of a screenplay, but the pressure was less because I already knew the characters and story so well. Nothing ever came of it, but it was a great exercise.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized my real interest was in TV, not features. I liked the chance to spend a lot of time — maybe years — with a set group of characters. I also liked that in TV, writers write. Feature writers take a lot more meetings and tinker with the same script for a huge chunk of time. With TV, you gotta get stuff done fast so it can be filmed a couple weeks later. I’m used to that kind of pace because of my comic book background, so it was more appealing to me.

Over the next summer I wrote a pilot that my manager showed to a few producers. We got good feedback on the writing, but we were told nobody would be interested in the premise. What was the premise, you may be asking? It was about Internal Affairs cops. And shortly after we decided to shelve it and try something else, Lifetime bought a pilot called Against the Wall, and it was about … Internal Affairs cops. Which proved that at least my instincts weren’t terrible.

Getting on the playing field
—-

The following spring I decided to try to get into one of the TV writing programs. Most networks and TV studios have them, including

* NBC/Universal’s [Writers on the Verge](http://www.nbcunicareers.com/earlycareerprograms/writersontheverge.shtml)
* The [ABC/Disney Writing Program](http://abctalentdevelopment.com/programs/programs_writings_fellowship.html)
* The Warner Bros [TV Writers Workshop](http://writersworkshop.warnerbros.com/), and
* The CBS Writers [Mentoring Program](http://diversity.cbscorporation.com/page.php?id=23).

I applied to the first three, because the CBS program is very diversity driven, and as a white guy, I didn’t see the point in applying.

I wrote a Burn Notice spec, just because it’s a show that’s been around long enough that most people at least have some familiarity with it, and it fits in with my sensibilities.

All three programs I applied to required not only a spec, but also some sort of essay question about my background, and what I’d bring to a writers room.

I leaned pretty heavily on my experience as a comic book writer, since there’s a lot of crossover between the two mediums. Both, for instance, involve telling stories visually. In comics, it’s drilled into us to avoid having two characters simply stand around talking. It’s much more visual if they’re doing something while they’re talking.

That’s why all those old Chris Claremont X-Men stories featured so many scenes of the X-Men in the Danger Room. Most of those scenes were really just exposition scenes, but they were much easier to swallow when the X-Men delivered them while fighting big robots or whatever. And while comics use caption boxes and, to a lesser extent these days, thought balloons, they’re still mainly dialogue driven — just like TV.

In fact, I find certain aspects of screenwriting to be easier than comics. With a comic book script, you have to be constantly mindful of how much an artist can fit into a single panel, or a single page. With a screenplay, you don’t have those constraints.

But you have others. In comics, it doesn’t cost any more to show a planet exploding than it does to show two people talking. (In fact, your artist will likely have more fun drawing the exploding planet!) In film and TV, there’s a huge difference between the two.

Honestly, I kind of thought if I got into any of the programs, it would be the NBC/Universal Writers on the Verge. Two reasons: One, I wrote a Burn Notice, which is an NBC/Universal show. And two, one of my comics (Noble Causes) was optioned by NBC/Universal a few years ago. But the NBC/Universal notification period came and went and I never heard a peep.

A few weeks later, I was completely surprised by a phone call from Warner Bros, asking me to come in for an interview. I was living in Seattle at the time, so I hopped on a plane to LA, where I had an interview with Chris Mack, the head of the workshop. A WB Current Executive was also present in the interview. We talked for awhile about my background, and why I like TV, and what shows I watch, that kind of thing. All in all it was a pretty casual, low key kind of interview.

I flew back to Seattle the next day and spent the next two weeks ticking days off the calendar, since Chris had said to expect an answer in two weeks. And it was exactly two weeks later when he called to said I’d been accepted.

I then had another two weeks to get myself relocated to LA in time for the first workshop. I know John has had entire blog entries devoted to moving to LA, so I’ll keep this brief.

I think having such a time constraint actually helped in this case. I just threw my two cats in my car, packed a few things, and drove south. I jotted down a few addresses from Craigslist and literally took the second apartment I looked at on the day I arrived in LA. I settled in Sherman Oaks, since I have friends in the area and it’s an easy commute to Burbank. I attended the first workshop, then flew back up to Seattle the next morning, packed up the rest of my belongings, and made the long drive south again in a moving truck and was back here in time for the following week’s workshop.

How the workshop works
—–

The workshop meets once a week, on Wednesday evenings, for about three hours. There are nine of us in this year’s group, although there are really only eight spots (since two guys work as a writing team). There are seven men and two women, and we range in age from mid-20s to late 30s. We’re all white, except for one African-American.

In terms of backgrounds, it’s much more diverse. We have one former child actor. A few people have worked (or are working) as writers assistants on various shows. One has previously written and acted in a cable show. One is a playwright. Two people work as copywriters at an ad agency. One works as a producer on a reality TV show.

I’d say the one thing we all have in common, aside from our love of TV, is some sort of previous experience in entertainment or writing of some kind. I doubt that’s a coincidence. While the workshop doesn’t require previous experience, it sure looks like it’s helpful.

I’ll also point out that I’m the only one in the workshop who relocated from another part of the country. I don’t know how many applicants they received from across the country, and I don’t know if I’m considered an exception or not. But I made it abundantly clear in both my application materials and the interview that I was ready and willing to relocate.

Once the program got under way, each of us wrote a new spec in a simulated writers room-type environment. We got notes from everyone in the group, plus our instructors, and had to hit deadlines for our beat sheets, outlines, first draft, second draft, etc.

Writing our specs took up about half the time of the program. The other half has been lectures on all aspects of the TV industry, from various guest lecturers with firsthand experience.

We’re encouraged to go out for drinks each week after the workshop and bond as a group. And we really have bonded.

As I write this, we’re at the tail end of the program. It started the first week of November and ends the first week of April. We’re starting to get sent around on meetings (which are arranged by the head of the workshop).

One of my classmates has already been staffed, and I’ve been sent on one showrunner meeting and one general meeting so far. It’s an incredibly exciting time.

Sometimes I need to pinch myself when I think of how much my life has changed in the past four months. I went from sitting in my home office in cold, rainy Seattle, writing comic books, to driving onto the Warner Bros lot each week, where I get to talk TV with some amazingly talented writers.