Writing the TV Drama Series 3rd Edition: How to Succeed as a Professional Writer in TV (10 page)

At 27 years old, Josh Schwartz, creator of
The O.C
., became the youngest person in network history to produce his own one-hour series. He was a junior at the USC School of Cinematic Arts when he sold a feature script for half a million dollars. A few months later, he sold his first TV pilot. And suddenly he was a TV producer, though he never spent a day on the staff of a series. Fox supplemented him with
Sex and the City
writer Allan Heinberg, who helped structure stories for the first 13 episodes, and Bob DeLaurentiis, who’d spent two decades running shows. DeLaurentiis oversaw all aspects of production while Heinberg ran the writing staff. As for Schwartz, he wrote or rewrote episodes. In an article in
The New York Times
, Schwartz commented, “It’s not like writing a movie — you still have to learn how to map out a season, how to track characters. It’s not something I could’ve done by myself for the first time. You need people … who’ve been through it. Who know how to build to sweeps, or this is how a teaser works. I had to get educated.”

That brings us to your starting point on:

YEAR ONE

A
PRIL

CREATE YOUR PROPOSAL

So, here you are with your fresh idea — though I hope you have more going for you than that, even if you’ve never worked in television. The genesis of new shows ranges from the sublime to the ridiculous. On the high end, fifteen years of journalism covering Baltimore’s police department led to a fact-based book titled
Homicide
, which was bought by experienced television producers and turned into the series
Homicide: Life on the Street
. And a decade later, that journalist, David Simon, created
The Wire
and
Treme
. On the other end of the spectrum, the comedy show
$#*! My Father Says
originated in a series of Tweets. You might not have years of journalism or an audience following you on Twitter, but do arm yourself with something, at least accomplishment as a screenwriter.

One of my former students (described in
Chapter Seven
), parlayed his credit on a quirky independent film
But I’m a Cheerleader
into several steps that led to writing a pilot for the WB (with his writing partner), and then the team joined the writing staff of
Smallville
, and nine years later they became the showrunners. Leverage whatever is special about you.

In this early stage, you’re not aiming to shoot a series, only to land a meeting with a production company that has a track record. So your first goal is to be “adopted.” For this, you’ll need the same tool that will carry you all the way to the network, so everything else rests on square one, when you’re on your own. Let’s assume your idea has been percolating all winter, and now in April you’re ready to form it into a presentation of some kind. But what kind? Actually, this stage doesn’t offer the clear guidelines you’ll find in the other steps. You’ll need to discover the most compelling way to put across your unique concept. With that in mind, here are six possibilities:

(1) Write a TV Format

That term “format” can be confusing because it’s used in different ways throughout filmmaking. “Format” may refer to a film stock or camera lens, to the way a script is laid out on a page, or even a genre or franchise. In this context it means a series proposal. Though a format isn’t an exact process, certain components are advisable because you’ll be asked about them in meetings anyway. In reality, most formats aren’t even written except as notes for a network pitch. But I suggest you write everything, for now, to clarify your show for yourself and a production company. Lay it out this way:

Cover page:
Find a title that grabs attention and suggests the tone of the show (funny, scary, dramatic, provocative, comforting, whatever). The title will probably change; think of it as a toe in a doorway. Underneath, identify the franchise or general category (e.g., teen drama, comedy-drama, political thriller, sci-fi…). If it’s based on something (book, play, movie, cartoon) you’d better say so, but make sure you have clear rights to the underlying work. Your credit is “Written By” or “Created By” and that goes on a separate line. Place your contact information at the bottom of the page. If you’re represented by an agent or manager, of course, the cover is done by their office and your agent will be the contact.

Do register the completed format with the Writers Guild (specifics on that are in the Appendix). But do not put your WGA registration number on the cover — it’s tacky. Also don’t include any dates or draft numbers. Every draft you deliver is the first, untrammeled and never before revealed to human eyes — or that’s what you’d like the producer to think. (No one wants something that’s been rejected or gathering dust.)

On the top of Page One, write a “Log Line.” You’ve encountered that term in screenwriting classes, but did you know it originated in television? For decades, television station owners have been required by the FCC to keep a log of everything they broadcast. These had to fit on a line, like “Lassie finds lost boy.” Then
TV Guide
and newspapers began printing short episode summaries like this one from
Joan of Arcadia
: “Joan learns the downside of vanity when God asks her to take a cosmetics class.”

Soon the promotional tag found its way to movie posters, as in: “Tom Cruise stars as Nathan Algren, a heroic American military officer hired by the Emperor of Japan to train the country’s first army. After being captured by his Samurai enemies, Algren becomes unexpectedly inspired by their way of life and fights to defend what he has come to love.” Or, for a simpler example: “The women of Stepford have a secret.” Before long, either full log lines (like the one from
The Last Samurai
) or “hooks” (like the one from
The Stepford Wives
) became necessary to pitch films, episodes, and series, not merely to log them or advertise.

A log line for a series may be less specific than the story summaries you’ll use for individual episodes. The goal is to orient a listener (yes, listener, not reader) to your project, to catch an executive’s attention. “MTV Cops” is a famous log line for
Miami Vice
from an era when MTV was new and hot.
Grey’s Anatomy
, on the heels of the success of
Sex and the City
, was described as “Sex and the Surgery.” When he was first presenting
The O.C
., Josh Schwartz knew the Fox network was looking for an updated
Beverly Hills 90210
, so he pitched his show as “90210 on the beach in Orange County,” and later admitted that was a Trojan horse to set up a far more nuanced show.

Once your log line sizzles, take the first couple of pages of your format for an Overview. This is not a summary of the pilot (a common mistake), but an introduction to the world and the quest of the whole series, including location, style, tone, context, and, most of all, characters. Though full characterizations come later, the main cast must be mentioned up front. Use brief tags like “a single, middle-aged probation officer who adopts a child from one of her cases” (from Allison Anders’ series proposal
In the Echo
); “a 29-year-old Congressional aide running against her boss” (from Rod Lurie’s proposed
The Capital City
).

Within this Overview, suggest springboards for future episodes so decision-makers believe the series has legs. That is, state the source of future episodes, for example: Each week the character must balance the tension of her marriage with the intrigue and politics of a legal case; each week the detectives pursue three cases, walking a thin line between vigilante justice and the job; each week we fall in love with the vampire, only to discover we’re bitten again. As in any fiction writing, make ‘em laugh, cry, be scared or angry or fall in love. The overview may be as far as you get in a pitch, so make it soar.

Follow the Overview with the centerpiece of any series: characters. If viewers don’t root for your main cast, if they’re not compelled to find out how the people are coping or loving or fighting back each week, you don’t have anything. Remember, TV drama isn’t really about the concept; it runs on the emotional fuel of endless character arcs, as discussed in
Chapter One
.

Take one page each for the few leading roles. I said few. Yes, you’ve seen excellent ensemble shows with casts in double-digits, but in a proposal, the listener’s eyes will glaze over after you get past your third or fourth character. So focus on one fascinating, eminently castable character and engage us in her spirit and goals. You can do that again with roles for antagonists or partners, providing their connections to the protagonist are gripping. Beyond those few, summarize the secondary cast with only a tag for each, even if those parts will grow later.

After the characters, you need to tell some stories. You might summarize a potential pilot in a couple of pages. (More about pilot writing in a moment.) But networks really need the sense of a mid-season episode because that’s a window to how the show functions every week. Some proposals focus on episode seven. Some list log lines for five to ten potential episodes. Some describe the long arc and the end of the quest after five years on the air. Whichever method suits your series best, be sure that you communicate an arena so rich that its possibilities seem endless.

That’s it for standard components, but that’s not it for a proposal. People refer to series pitches as dog-and-pony shows, and so far I haven’t suggested any special enticements, furry or otherwise. Try photos, artwork, clippings, endorsements, biographies — come up with something fun. But don’t do the baked goods angle; it’s been tried, and readers get annoyed. You know, placing your proposal in a cake so the executive is sure to notice it. However, if your show is set in a bakery, maybe you should get cooking!

(2) Write a Pilot

Pilot scripts are assigned by networks in the course of development, and I’ll tell you how that works when we get to September on the chart. (We’re still only in April.) Normally, producers proposing a new series don’t go in with a pilot already written because it’s too expensive for something not likely to succeed (most proposals die, and so do most pilots). Also, network reactions might change the series. Why spend $30,000 or more for a script about a hermaphrodite in a beauty pageant when the network will only buy if the contestant is a poodle? But if your writing is not known, and you’re passionate that a sample would convince readers, then speculating a pilot could be smart strategy.

Matt Weiner, creator of
Mad Men
, wrote the pilot while he was toiling away on sitcoms. At the time no one would buy it, but the quality of the writing landed him on the writing staff of
The Sopranos
. Years honing his skills on that great show and winning awards finally made it possible for him to film the
Mad Men
pilot made exactly as he’d envisioned it long before.

J. Michael Straczynski, creator of
Babylon 5
, is said to have written all five years of his series while he was on the staff of a
Star Trek
, so
Babylon 5
was finished before he ever proposed it. But don’t try that at home, folks.

Short of writing 100 episodes, the worst you risk is another unsold script. If it’s written well, a pilot can serve as a writing sample along with any other screenplays or episodes. And as soon as you have clout (or know someone who does), you can take it off your shelf.

For more about writing a pilot, see the “Spotlight On Writing Your Pilot Script” between
Chapters Four
and
Five
.

(3) Write a “Backdoor Pilot”

A backdoor pilot is a two-hour movie, and might be a clever way to propel a series. The game involves writing a pilot that masquerades as a movie, and, in fact, works as a closed story. But the seeds of subsequent tales and promising character developments are embedded in a situation that could easily spring many episodes.

You could offer it as a screenplay and be thunderstruck when someone else observes that it could lead to a series. Or you could come clean with your intentions up front. Depends on who you’re dealing with, but you certainly should tell an agent what you have in mind. Another compromise is the “limited series” (which used to be called “miniseries”). That’s longer than a movie but less of a commitment than a full season, usually running six to eight hours over several weeks. If the movie (or limited series) does well, you have a great shot at the series. Either the backdoor pilot or the “partial order” gives a network a chance to hedge the bet. And if it doesn’t go to series, you still have a movie script.

(4) Create a Presentation Reel

A showrunner once invited me to his office to discuss a series that had suddenly landed in his lap. He didn’t have a clue about it, he said uneasily; it was loosely based on a hit movie and had been sold as a series on the basis of a 15-minute reel made by one of the movie’s producers who didn’t have time to do the show. So the newly anointed executive producer was hastily interviewing writers to find the series. The problem was that 15 minutes of “possible scenes” using the movie producer’s actor friends (who would not be in the actual series either) didn’t add up. Not that the 15 minutes weren’t cinematic — they were beautifully atmospheric — but the group in the office were TV writers looking for the kinds of elements I’ve told you about: a) springboards suggesting where stories would come from; b) characters with potential for long arcs; c) some sort of quest or motor for the star. The reel turned out to be sort of a Rorschach test: everyone came up with a different show… which meant no show at all, finally.

Even if you’re not a Hollywood movie producer who can sell a series off a few scenes, a reel might be helpful if used cleverly. Think of the dog-and-pony show, and imagine an executive in his office. It’s 4 PM and he’s been taking pitches every 20 minutes since his breakfast meeting at 8 AM. You walk in with a DVD. He might wake up for that.

If you want to try, here are some tips:

Be careful it doesn’t scream student film. You know: the long zoom toward the doorknob, which is ever so beautifully lit, and the reflective moments laden with symbolism. Often, student films aim at film festivals where their art is appreciated. In television, which moves faster, those same qualities may come off as indulgent. So make sure your reel looks professional and suits the medium.