Writing the TV Drama Series 3rd Edition: How to Succeed as a Professional Writer in TV (37 page)

HAVE REPRESENTATION.

Easier said than done. Our heroine was out in the cold, sending scripts that were returned unread until her extreme tenacity caught a producer’s attention. You could try that, but it took her years in easier times, and she got lucky. So let’s talk about agents — why you need them, how to get one, and what to do if you can’t.

TV series give the illusion of being so accessible, even friendly, that fans sometimes imagine they can join in. From the outside, series writing seems easier than it is, and television appears less formidable than features, so shows would be inundated with amateur scripts if they didn’t have filters. Also, production companies won’t risk a lawsuit from a stranger who might claim a show stole his story. That’s why companies rarely read scripts that arrive “over the transom” (unsolicited and unrepresented).

You need an agent because that’s who gets you read, knows where the jobs are, and puts you in the room. Without, it’s difficult to know which show is looking for new writers (or at least, willing to consider one). The agency also negotiates your deal, generates your contract, and collects your pay, deducting their 10%.

While feature film companies may buy an original screenplay, television runs on assignments. The agent may know of an opportunity on a staff, or that an open episode is looking for a writer with a particular background, viewpoint or style. The agent sends over samples from several clients who meet the criteria. After reading the samples, the producer may invite you in for a meeting. Or, if you have an idea for an episode, the agent messengers over your writing samples, and if the producer likes your work enough, he might invite you in to pitch.

But a lot of good those systems do you if you don’t have an agent anyway. Here’s what you need in your writing portfolio before you begin your agent search:

•   At least one polished full-length original screenplay that showcases your distinct voice.

•   At least one hour-long TV drama script for a current series in a genre similar to your target.

•   At least one more TV drama in a different “franchise” that demonstrates another tone.

•   A pilot for an original series that demonstrates your unique viewpoint (or experience) and your skill to deliver a television hour with “legs.”

•   Original stories ready to pitch to series.

Now you’re ready to begin. A long list of agents is available from the Hollywood Directory (see resources) and the Writers Guild. The guild asterisks the ones willing to consider new writers but don’t take those asterisks too seriously. Some “open” agencies turn out to be filled; others who didn’t offer may nevertheless be interested in a client with something they want.

How do you make your way through all those names? Try to identify those who represent the kind of writing you do. Some agencies aim mainly at Hollywood features or sitcoms, so check if their client list includes writers with credits in television drama. You’ll also have to choose between the “packaging” and “boutique” agencies. Big packaging agencies supply all the talent — actors, directors, producers, as well as writers. That can be a powerful asset if you’re included in a package led by experienced show-runners. On the other hand a boutique will give you the personal attention a new writer needs.

Begin on the phone. If you don’t have personal referrals, cold call each likely agency. Don’t ask for an agent, but focus on whoever answers or one of the assistants and say you’re looking for representation for writing dramatic TV series. You may extract the names of agents who specialize in this or the new guy in the agency who’s building his list. Get the names spelled. Out of a hundred calls, ten may be interested. Okay, you only need one.

Next step is a one-page letter (or email) to a specific agent emphasizing your strengths — screenwriting awards, a film school degree, well-reviewed plays, published fiction or journalism. If you don’t have those, hook the reader with some specialty like having crime stories to tell from your years as a cop. Move on quickly to what’s in your portfolio, for example spec scripts for
House
and
Breaking Bad
, and two features, a romantic comedy and a suspenseful drama. Your aim is to be invited to send one script.

Now comes the wait. You can probably call once every couple of weeks to remind the assistant; just don’t bug people. Meanwhile, your letter is at other agencies you’ve contacted, and in six to eight weeks someone may ask to see your writing.

Even though you’re aiming at episodic series, the first script the agent may want is an original. This is to separate your talent from the style of the series you’re speculating. Later, when the agent is ready to judge your skill in series writing, the spec episodes will be useful.

Let’s say you’ve jumped through those hoops and you’re meeting with agents. Good agents are looking for clients with the talent and perseverance to grow, as interested in where you’ll be in five years as whether they can place you on a staff this season. In fact, an agent who only wants a quick sale is likely to drop you if you don’t make him money in the first few months. You deserve better.

You’re building a relationship, you hope, so you want someone who understands your goals, can guide you to a show where you start building a career, and has the clout to push open that door. The choice is personal — the hungry young agent, the empathetic one, or the seasoned vet with a long client list? High class problems, of course.

What if you don’t get a bite? Next stop is managers. The main difference is agencies are regulated by the state and have agreements with the guilds which define how much they can charge and their responsibilities. Managers are unregulated, so watch out. Professional management companies function very like agencies except they charge 15% of your earnings or more, compared with 10%. Justifying the bigger bite, managers may cover more than agents, sometimes all of an artist’s business life.

For you, a manager may be available when agents are out of reach, and they can open most of the same doors. They’re not listed with the guilds, but you’ll find managers in the creative directory. So take the same steps: call, send a letter, send a script, and interview as with an agent.

If you zero-out with managers too, entertainment attorneys sometimes have connections to producers and may pass along your work or make an introduction. If you retain an attorney for this, the customary charge is 5% of all your screen work in lieu of an hourly rate.

Still too tough? Here are some end-runs around the representation problem.

•   Get a job on the show. Any job. The top choice is Writers Assistant because you’ll interface directly with the staff and might even observe in the writers room. Production assistant or even secretary are fine. The point isn’t a career in photo-copying but relationships with the writers. Once they know you, they won’t be able to avoid reading your work. And when you’re around the series, you learn the inside tips.

•   Go to film school for a screenwriting degree. The best schools promote their graduating students to the industry, and friends you meet there help each other.

•   Write for an actor. Many actors have small production companies to find them material. You might get into a show by writing a compelling role for one of the less-served cast who will fight for your script. You’ll need to figure how to get the script through to him or her, but it’s not impossible.

•   Start with new and alternative outlets. Apart from network and national cable primetime programming, dramatic writing jobs may be available off-network, in niche cable outlets, in off-hours, and increasingly on the Web. Those markets don’t tend to work with agents anyway (not enough money), so you apply directly to the producers where your enthusiasm may be welcome.

BE IN LOS ANGELES.

Our heroine flew to an L.A. motel the minute she thought a producer would see her. She was lucky he kept the appointment. But a showrunner juggles delivery deadlines, last minute rewrites, and emergencies on the set, so appointments are rescheduled once, twice, three times. How long can you sit in that motel?

Some people relocate and work a day job while poring over the “trades.” You know Hollywood is crowded with would-be writers, actors and directors who followed a dream and were still working as waiters — literally and metaphorically — a decade later. But as a writer you can work wherever you are, so don’t leave home until your portfolio is strong, you have a bite, or you’re coming to film school. The woman in our tale moved after her first assignment. Then she glued herself to the production, and that led to her next assignment.

Whether you move sooner or later, you do need to live in L.A. to write series television. A few mainstream American shows are now based in other cities — New York, Miami, Vancouver, Toronto. David Simon’s shows are centered in Baltimore. But most staffs are on the studio lots. As you read in
Chapter Three
, TV writers work collaboratively, so there’s no way to avoid the palm trees.

T
HE
S
ECRET
OF
S
UCCESS

My USC students sometimes ask how likely it is they’ll make it — what are their chances of breaking in? The first year or two out of school are usually rough, but I’ve discovered which ones succeed five years later. They’re not necessarily the most gifted, the brightest or the best connected, though talent, smarts and relationships do help. No, the ones who succeed have a single trait in common: they didn’t give up.

Tales from my recent MFA graduates reflect 21st century realities both better and worse than I’d experienced a decade earlier. Worse is that freelance assignments are tighter. Now shows depend on staff writers for most episodes, so freelance gigs are really auditions for staff.

But so much is better, more open. Okay, each show has fewer freelance episodes, but the number of series has multiplied in a world with around a thousand channels — broadcast, cable and satellite, which do original programming, plus emerging markets on the Web. When I was first breaking in, I had to pitch to guys (yes, guys only), an old guard who held a lid on traditional network formats and the kinds of plot-driven stories that had proved reliable. Too many of their shows seemed alike — mind-numbing for a creative person. Some of them are still around, but in an era when shows compete with the Internet and new venues to attract viewers, those showrunners are becoming dinosaurs.

Among new trends:

•   Shows that prefer non-episodic samples (features or even stage plays) in an effort to identify original talent, along with TV specs;

•   Potentials to pilot original series or use a spec pilot as a sample (see “Spotlight On Writing Your Pilot Script”);

•   Hybrid forms including dramedy, reality/drama and music/drama;

•   More flexible act structures;

•   Blends of techniques — animation with live action, for example;

•   Content that includes non-traditional lifestyles, cutting edge issues, honest relationships, gutsy language, and fantasy;

•   Computer generated imagery (CGI) which enables locations and effects formerly impossible.

In
Chapter Seven
, you’ll find reprints of two articles I published in
The Los Angeles Times
and updates that bring their stories current. The first article interviewed MFA students from my USC episodic drama class six months after they graduated. I interviewed them again three years later. And the update asks where they are six years after graduation, and again fourteen years after graduation. These are today’s stories from the trenches of breaking in.

Take Brian and Kelly. On graduating, they each had feature screenplays written in school, and episodes for
ER, NYPD Blue
, and
The X-Files
. But no agent signed them immediately, and both took day jobs. Brian hooked up with a young independent director and worked without pay for a year writing
But I’m a Cheerleader
, a satire about a girl sent to a camp to “cure” her of being gay, where she falls in love with another girl. The indie film was made on a shoestring but garnered Brian notice in
Variety
as a writer to watch. Meanwhile, Kelly was hired to write a script for a French actress.

A year later, they were both still at day jobs, frustrated with director-driven features, trying to break into TV, and they decided to team up.
Cheerleader
got them in a door at the WB, an off-network that hired young writers with limited credits. Here, they pitched an original series — not an episode — and actually got an assignment to write the pilot (something unimaginable in the past). It wasn’t picked up. But by now the WB execs knew the team and recommended them to
Smallville
, on their network. From here, their story is traditional — they wrote an episode, joined the staff, and rose within the show. At the end of the series in 2011, they were the showrunners.

So, in a way, we’ve come full circle from our fairy tale. It is all possible. You
can
break in.

S
UMMARY
P
OINTS

•  To break into writing for television, you first need a solid understanding of how TV drama series differs from other kinds of writing.

•  Second, choose one high-quality show to learn well. Fully grasp the “voices” of all characters as well as the kinds of stories the show tells and its structure.

•  Once you’ve learned your target show, write a spec script, but do not speculate an episode of the same show you intend to pitch. You will probably need spec scripts from several shows in different genres.

•  Once your spec script is polished, try to get an agent or manager who will expose your work to producers. Ideally, you’ll get meetings after your scripts are read.

•  Working on a show in any capacity, including writer’s assistant, researcher, or secretary, may help you make contacts who will read your script.

•  It takes years for most new writers to break in, and the key is to generate many scripts that keep you growing as a writer — and don’t give up.