Tag Archives: Screenplays

Welcome to my Annual Thanksgiving Edition where I give thanks. Or sometimes complain a little. But mostly gives thanks.

First up... My Wife. Number one. My kids. Right there. Spectacular. Thank you.

A quick long overdue thank you to Jeff Lowell. Who a few years ago said this in a DoneDealPro posting: “As for Bob, I don't think that, given his resume, he should be handing out advice that contradicts actual industry pros.” This said in reaction to some BAD advice I gave on an IMDb Screenwriting Board because at the time, I thought I knew it all. I didn’t. Not even close.

I had optioned a couple of scripts (never made) and had a couple of small independent film rewrites (made, but never distributed), nothing big. So... of course, I thought I knew everything about screenwriting.

Then someone told me about the DDP thread and I read it. I also looked Jeff up. He’s the real deal, but then most of you know that. To have someone of that stature saying that about me by name was an eye opener. Made me look at myself and realize my ego was much bigger than my knowledge by a long shot. Made me take a BIG step back. I realized having a couple of optioned scripts, of which there are hundreds out there, does not make you an expert. Yet here I was offering black and white advice about screenwriting when I had no business doing it. I hadn’t been in a production meeting, I hadn’t ever worked with a development exec, I had barely ever worked with producers, I didn’t even have a rep. Idiot. Was talking when I should have been listening and learning.

And I'm still learning, 6 produced films later. I just had a two week rewrite session with a director (Thank you Jay) on one of my spec films that goes next year and the amount I learned from that session alone is staggering.

Do I give advice now? Yes. Hey, I have a blog. But now I give it from a background as a produced writer who makes a pretty good living at it. I also rightly label it as my OPINION based on experience and not like I walked down off some mountain with Gold Tablets. If you learn one thing from this: One unmade optioned script to your name? Look for advice, don’t give it.

So thank you to all the writing pros who took me under their wings and to executives, both at the production company and cable network level, and to producers and directors who have let me suck the knowledge from their brains over the years. You’ve all made me a smarter better writer. I hope to never stop learning.

Thank you to my Manager, John. Not with one of those big management companies. An independent guy. We’re having a pretty special year so far. And next year looks even better. Which goes to prove that, yes, even though you often strive toward a big name manager, sometimes it’s better to find one who just believes in you even if he’s not a household name. Something I think new writers need to consider when they’re looking down their nose at a person they’ve never heard of who wants to work with them, waiting for a better offer from a bigger rep that may never come.

THANK YOU to the execs and producers that believe in and support my work. There aren’t enough words to express my gratitude.

Thank you Jay Lowi. Ten years. TEN YEARS. Let’s go make a movie.

Thank you to my real life writing pals. All of you. The people who come and drink with me when I’m in LA. The writers who want to, but can’t make it. The writers I talk to on the phone and trade scripts with. The writers who I want to be successful in the biggest way. Your friendship is one of the things that makes this journey so much fun. Just know how much you mean to me. The writers on Twitter, who make me laugh and who make me happy when they share their successes.

I walked up to my wife 23 years ago and told her I was quitting my pretty successful day job to become a film actor and a screenwriter. Also maybe a radio DJ. She could have said, “Hell no.” Instead she said, “You gotta follow your dreams. But only if it takes you a couple of years.” (See why I always thank her first?)

That was enough for me. So I ventured out KNOWING NOTHING about any of these things or how damn hard it was to even be a part of them, let alone succeed. And in those first two years, I got my SAG card, did some movies and commercials, I was an actor was on a successful TV show (for 6 seasons in a microscopic part, but I was there getting paid to learn how to make movies and TV, Thank you Don Johnson), I optioned the first script I ever wrote to a production company at Warner Bros (never got made, and BOY is that a sad story), and I was on the air as a DJ on KYCY, a country music station in San Francisco. AGAIN, I KNEW NOTHING. I didn’t know how hard these things were to do so I went and did them.

I’ve had a Forrest Gump kind of life. Right place, right time. (Thank You God) Got to work for directors like Coppola, Eastwood, Fincher, Ron Howard, even Michael Bay in blink and you’ll miss me parts. But I got to watch them work. I’ve met and talked with acting heroes of mine I couldn’t have imagined meeting. They wouldn’t remember me, but I’ll always remember them. I’ve gotten walk around movie studios, and not as a tourist (although I’m sure I looked like one). The list of the amazing things I have lucked my way into is too long and boring to list. But damn... my grateful quotient is off the chart.

Finally, thank you to the readers of this Blog. The numbers who read it constantly amaze me. I appreciate you, too.

And everybody have a Happy Thanksgiving.

 

 

 

Formula. Food for babies so they get all the nutrients they need. A blending of chemicals to make a drug. A specific path to follow to make beer or wine. A way of rating race cars. In Mathematics, a rule or principle, frequently expressed in algebraic symbols. A formal statement of religious doctrine.

A way to write a successful spec script? Not so much.

I know this may rub some writers or some script gurus the wrong way, but in my opinion a spec script written to a formula is never going to be anything special. How do you write a creative story that lets your own unique writing voice sing out if you have to write it according to some formula? If the story reads like everyone else who’s used the same formula, it most likely can’t.

I’m not talking about format. You need to follow that.

The reason for this Blog is a couple of emails I got and an advertisement I read online all touting to have the secret of getting your script sold and made. All by people who’d never had a screenplay produced, or if they did it was in 1986. They were pushing their formulas. Not unlike Save the Cat, which personally I also think stifles creativity and good storytelling.

Now. There are people who will tell you certain genres have Formulas you have to follow. Where did these formulas come from? From writers who went out of the box to begin with to find success. And when it worked, others followed. Thus becoming formula. Does that mean other new things in that genre won’t or don’t work? Hell no. This is about going out of the box or being a follower with your own spec scripts.

When you get to the point of doing some writing for hire for producers, or studios, or networks, some will have you follow their formulas, their rules for what they want in a script. Some cable networks actually have them written down. Most every TV show has them in stone.

The problem with actually getting these jobs is that you have to get noticed for your own spec work to get them. And believe me, the people who would rep you or hire you are NOT looking for formula from new writers. They’re looking for exciting great stories they haven’t read before told with a unique voice. Your voice. Not a Tarantino clone. Not a Shane Black or Tony Gilroy clone. The one you’ve developed by writing and writing and writing and letting go of preconceived ideas and releasing your own creative voice. One of the best compliments I ever got about a spec script I wrote was from a producer who said she knew I’d written it about five pages in by the voice and style. She also optioned it.

Then there’s my spec script that’s responsible for EVERY job I’ve ever gotten, EVERY room I’ve ever been in, got me my Rep, and is in some way responsible for everything else good that has happened to me in this business. What about it? Readers have trouble deciding who exactly the Protagonist is. When they finally decide it’s one person, that person dies. The main character, who may or may not be the Protagonist or may be the Antagonist, has NO ARC. He doesn’t change or grow or learn a damn thing. In fact, in his last line of dialogue he tells the audience that in so many words. Did I write it that way on purpose?

No, not really. I’m also not sad it turned out that way. I just wanted to write a great story that would be great on screen. Something I’d never seen before. And I came up with something I believed in, something if it worked that would make people pay attention to me as a writer. Does it follow any formula at all? Well, I guess it has three acts. Inciting incident? Page 37. Oh… it has specific music cues in it. An opening scene where the first characters introduced never say a single word for their entire time on screen in the film. Are they important characters? Yes.

And guess what? No one has cared. No one. It’s been optioned 8 times over the last 16 years by 8 different producers or production companies, including a studio. In the past, I’ve had producers in line waiting for an option with another producer to lapse so they could option it. I got a call a month ago asking if it was available. (it's not) And it’s never been made. No one made it because... well... the story itself is a wee bit controversial too.

Something else I did on purpose. I really never meant for it to get made. I meant for it to get me noticed. It did. The fact that it’s getting made next year, by the 8th production company, is a bonus.

A spec script these days has a very slim chance of getting made. Just the way it is right now and for the foreseeable future. Yes, there are some that get produced. Hell, I’ve had some produced. But selling specs is a very very tough road to go down. What you want from a spec is to show people, people who could hire you for writing jobs, that you have skill, imagination, a unique voice, and the strength to go out of that formula box, even though they may put you back into it to work for them. I know, it’s weird. But true. Ask any writer who’s broken out lately if they didn’t throw some formula to the wind to make the spec that got them noticed something different and special.

Formula has a place. You will be asked to use it for writing jobs. So you should know it before you ignore all or parts of it for your spec. It’s there to make familiar things happen that audiences are used to in certain kinds of films. Things everyone has seen before. It’s there because some people think it has to be there for your story to work cinematically. I personally don’t believe that.

But if you stick to it in your specs, trying to mold your story around it, Producers and Reps probably have nothing special to notice.

Follow me on Twitter @bobsnz

Again, I’ve been ignoring my blog not because I don’t have anything to say but because I have a film going into production early next year and the director wanted one more rewrite for casting that takes place this month. That one more rewrite ended up becoming a five week “let’s vet every single word” rewrite.

Is the script better? Yes. Did he let me do ALL the writing and listen to me? YES. Did I win some arguments? Yes. Did I lose some? Yes. Did he let me take those notes and put my spin on them so I could maintain the integrity of the story and characters? Yes again. Have I been the only writer on this from when it was originally my spec until now? Yes. Am I spoiled on this one? You bet your ass.

He did have last say, but then he’s the director. I’m not. I get it. He’s also smart and knows what he’s doing and I completely trust him. I did get frustrated and I am sure that I frustrated the hell out of him at times. I thought it would never end and feared it wouldn’t at the same time. This is a big one for me. A spec I wrote 16 years ago that has been responsible in some way for every writing job I have ever gotten and every room I’ve ever gotten into. So it’s very meaningful. And to have this kind of experience, I’m certain, is a fortune I will never have again in this business. So I am thankful and grateful.

I have written reams in my blogs about script notes. How you will get them. How there's a 100% certainty your script will change. How you can cooperate or be tossed away like yesterday’s garbage from the project.

But I’ve never written about how much you can LEARN from the experience if you open your mind to other experienced people with a different point of view and understand why they want to do the things they want to do with your work. This director was very clear he loved my spec and understood my themes, my story, and the characters, but also clear when he said, “This film will be my interpretation of your script.” There was no waffling or beating around the bush.

But in giving me the notes he had and the notes he got from our new producer, who has only produced some of my favorite films, he talked about density and specificity, and then proceeded to show me what he meant.

We took characters and scenes that worked and proceeded to layer them with meaning I never thought about. To give conversations I thought were great much more depth and subtext. To give the multiple subplots more dimension and meaning as they reflect on the main storyline. And every time we did these things, I learned something new that will make me, I think, a better writer in the future. It was like a doctoral degree writing lesson. For hours and hours every day. My brain hurt every night because all I could think about was this story and these characters and how they related to each other as the story progressed, even after we stopped for the day. In my dreams, even after I was asleep.

The funny thing was, as we wrapped up the rewrite last night and the director sends it out today to the producers and the casting company, I knew this wasn’t the end. I knew we’d be back at it as soon as we got more notes from producers and actors that were cast. And that’s fine with me. Bring it on.

As a screenwriter, no matter where you are on the pecking order, it’s incumbent on you to always be learning. To suck knowledge from those who know more. And believe me, there are ALWAYS people who know more. They’re also easy to mistakenly dismiss if you are so wedded to your work that you can’t open your mind to them. And that can be harmful to you as a writer in the long run.

In the middle of all of this, I also had the joy of being a judge in a short film writing contest put on by a national screenwriting group made up of and for teens (with one 11 year old) who want nothing more than to do this for a living and are WORKING hard at it to learn, grow, and get better. (There needs to be an applause button here) They, like me, decided early in life that this is what they want to do. Only they, unlike me, are starting now rather than just dreaming about it for the first 35 years before doing anything about it like I did.

So they sent me the finalists in their contest. 7 short scripts that averaged about 8 pages each. The 11 year old’s was 20 pages, but we’ll get into that in a minute.

First, second, and third place winners got some nice prizes and Final Draft (good for you) was awarding the winners free software, which is pretty cool since all the scripts were all obviously written in Word.

I decided to read all the scripts in one sitting to be fair. To be honest I wasn’t expecting much, but then whenever I read a script by any new writer I’m not expecting much.

Four of the scripts were what I expected from teen writers. Stories about high schoolers that went nowhere and didn’t have any theme or purpose. They were still well written with a basic knowledge of what dialogue should and can be. Not as bad as some adult written dialogue I’ve read for sure. Those were easy to put in the “Honorable Mention” category. But I also don't want to ignore the fact these writers had obviously learned a lot and were on the right track.

The 11 year old took third with the only script NOT about school age kids. Amazingly enough, he wrote a 20 page script about two adult men having a “My Dinner with Andre” philosophical discussion while each sat in their respective cars stuck in a traffic jam before going their own ways. It was too long and repetitive, but wow, I loved the thought process that brought this about. He/she was already out of their comfort zone trying this at 11. Impressive. I’d help this kid anytime they asked.

Second place went to a 17 year old who wrote a five page piece about how two different high school kids specifically see each other from each kid’s point of view and how even though they both think they’re so different, they aren’t. Clear theme. Fairly good dialogue. Super thought process. Thought this one might be the winner.

Until I read the first place script. Also by a 17 year old. It started out for the first few pages like a boring selfish high schoolers day and ended up with this high school girl discovering that her preconceived notions about people and situations were not what she thought at all and learning and growing from it. In 6 pages. A whole character arc well thought out. Easy winner. Again, impressive. You could tell this writer had studied and learned and retained and was putting the education into practice.

No way any of these 7 finalists just threw these together. They were serious about this. They want to learn. They want to grow as writers.

You, as a writer, can learn from them. There is always an education in writing to be had out there if you want it and see it and are open to it. Sometimes it might hurt, but it’s always worth it.

Follow me on Twitter. @BobSnz

I’ve been ignoring my Blog the last few weeks. Not because I had nothing to write about, but because it’s been kind of a whirlwind last six weeks. Busy doesn’t begin to describe it. I am thankful and grateful for the work (a massive last minute rewrite job) and the amazing opportunities whose timing, without them all knowing it, couldn’t be better right now for a lot of reasons. So thank You God and let’s hope it keeps up.

Today I want to talk about understanding what it’s like to be a screenwriter. I know that sounds simple and you all probably know or have an idea what it means anyway, but damn, lately I’ve watched some good people give themselves some self inflicted wounds they didn’t have to because they didn’t understand how movies and TV happen and the writer’s role in it.

Let me be clear. Yes, a writer writes. That’s the primary role. But in order to get to the place where your role is writing for money by optioning or selling or getting an assignment job, there are some non self-destructive things you need to think about.

If you want all control over your intellectual property from start to finish, make the films yourself. And finance them yourself. That’s the only way. Otherwise, don’t look like someone who doesn’t understand the process and ask for control or approval of any script changes. No matter how good your script is, producers will walk away and not return your calls if you do this. Development of your work is going to happen and more than one person is going to have a voice and none of them is you.

Just this week I heard more than a few stories from some Producers about writers who just don’t understand. It’s not a rare thing.

There’s a guy I know who is just about to find out how this works. He’s said he’s going to hold out for creative control over his script. Script approval. The people who want to produce this film couldn’t care less what he wants. They know in the real world of filmmaking this is a deal breaker. I’m not sure he understands they are completely prepared to walk away and put their money into another project tomorrow if he insists on this today. And they will. And they won’t look back. Unless you’ve written another Harry Potter with millions of built in fans, you aren’t getting any kind of script approval.

I hear writers on forums talking about how unfair this is and how stupid this is and how writers should band together to stop the practice, but the fact is there are too many factors to list here as to why scripts need to change in order to get made and they’re not always easy to understand. It’s different for every project, but as I have said before, every script gets changed before it hits the screen. Every single one of them. And the people who put up the money and hire the director (and give him or HER power to change it along with them) get to make the decisions.

Listen, it can be hard to take. Some of my films are almost exactly how I wrote the last version (that I got notes from directors and producers on) and a couple, well, I don’t understand why my name is on them because nothing, as in ZERO, I wrote is on the screen. That’s the lot of a screenwriter. It happens to everyone. Did I like the films? One of them is ok and one of them is so bad it’s kind of embarrassing. Mystery Science Theater 3000 bad.

I was at a meeting and one of the people I was meeting with had watched that film to get an idea of what I do. Why they chose that one is beyond me. I could see in their face they were wondering why the hell I was in the room if my work was so putrid. Why they just didn’t read the writing samples I sent is another question I ask myself, but I’m glad the others did.

I also explained to the group that I actually didn’t write the film it ended up being. Every single one of them understood because it happens every day. Hey, they were looking for someone to rewrite a film for them. But I didn’t get that job.

The job I just finished was a rewrite of another writer’s script. I think I may have been the 5th or 6th writer on this project. I never even saw the original writer’s script at all. I worked off of the last version written. And using notes from all kinds of executives (five, to be exact) and my own, I rewrote the script and changed 95% of the dialogue (killing the mounds of exposition), eliminated characters, changed character’s personalities, jobs, and relationships. I eliminated subplots, added different subplots, layered and added depth to character. My guess is the only thing standing from the original is some character names and the premise, which is quite good.

Do I feel badly for the original writer? Sure. I’ve been there. I’ve been rewritten. It’s what happens. But his name is going to be on it as the writer and everybody involved thinks it’s going to be pretty good. Including me. Doesn’t mean it will be, because there are so many factors still to come by the time it hits a screen. But I think this one has a chance of being very good and I mean that. It’s nice because you don’t always feel that way.

Part of this profession is the understanding of your role in the much bigger machine. Not that it isn’t important, because hey, try making a film without a writer, but that machine has so many more moving parts that need to fit and work together and need to be oiled that what you wrote, that they optioned or bought, is always going to need to be modified or changed to make it work as a whole. And it’s self destructive to not acknowledge that, understand that, and get yourself into a mindset where you’ll be happy to try to work under those conditions.

Knowing these things going in helps in being able to listen to and comprehend the notes you WILL be given to change your script and to blunt the pain sometimes of having to kill things in your script you love. But know that if you can’t or won’t do these things they’ll hire people like me or many of my friends to do it.

Don’t be self-destructive when trying to option/sell a script. Don’t ask for things that they can’t or won’t give you or they would have no problem walking away from you forever because of. Don’t ask for creative control. Don’t ask for casting approval. Don’t ask for an acting role. That’s NOT what they want from you. They want your script, so they can use it to build a film. If during the process you develop a relationship with them based on your cooperation and their trust and reliance on you to be a team player, there’s no telling what decisions or opportunities you could be in on. I’ve been there and it’s fun. But not until it’s clear you understand how it all works.

Asking for these things going in also make it easier for them to make a decision to jettison you from the project faster if you do end up optioning your script (without your demands).

Believe me, the more you understand how film production operates at every level and your role, the better a writer you’ll be and the more valuable you’ll become to production companies.

Fear. Fear you’ll never make it. Fear, if you’ve had success and then get a lull, that you’ll never ever work again. Fear that the script you’re halfway through sucks like crazy. Fear that the script you’re halfway through and LOVE is already being made someplace. Fear that you’ve been pigeonholed in your career and now all anyone wants from you is a narrow scope of one genre. Fear of rejection. Fear your manager isn’t brave enough to tell you that NOBODY wants to see you and that you should take that job at Home Depot.

Loathing. Loathing the empty page that’s been sitting in front of you for three days. Loathing social media because it’s a time suck you can never get back, but you just can’t stay away because you might miss something good. Loathing that your moods about all these things will affect the people you love and care about. Loathing looking in the mirror for fear of seeing a fraud.

How do I know all of this? Because I’ve experienced all of them. Sometimes all at once. It’s not fun. And even though I know when this happens, and it will happen to you or already has, that the only person it hurts is me, I still fall into it.

Welcome to the world of creative arts. It’s not just screenwriting that this affects. My story isn’t different than anyone else that has the need and desire to create.

Film and TV is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do with my life. From the time I was about ten years old, I knew it. I obsessed about it. I wanted to be an actor and I set about doing something about it. I worked at it. I didn’t wait for it to happen. I was proactive. It wasn’t until I found some success at it, I realized I wasn’t destined to make at living at it. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been in a bunch of films and TV shows and just got cast in a pretty good film this week. (My first acting job in a couple of years.) But it's not my strength.

Don't misunderstand, I’m really comfortable on a set and in front of cameras. I mean, I enjoy the hell out of it. And in a small range of characters I’m not too bad, but I’m never going to be a world beater as an actor. It was a sad, but liberating thing to realize. It got me looking in other directions.

It was then I found out I got more joy from writing. And even more fortunate that I seemed to be somewhat good at it. Much better than I was as an actor.

I still have the same desire I had when I was ten years old. All I want to do is make movies or TV. Every time I step onto a set as an actor or a writer it’s magic. I shed a tear of happiness in private on every set I’ve ever been on. It’s a dream come true every time. I am so grateful for everyone who’s helped me on my way, too. But I’m also very aware I’m always one lonely step away from that ledge.

When you want to do something creative for a living, it’s like walking a tightrope without a net. You’re out there alone with nothing to catch you.

You are on your own until you establish yourself one way or another. Even then, the only person you can count on in the long run professionally is you.

Therefore, fearing and loathing can become your daily companions. And it’s up to you to fight the hell out of them. And you do it by putting your head down and plowing through it. If a blank page is taunting you, write. It doesn’t matter what you write. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or not. You can’t let that damn blank page beat you. You do that to every fear. Knock it on its ass.

And I’m the biggest criminal. I was in the grips of the great fear I’d never work again in this business when I got the acting job. Couple of days later a producer sent me the galley of a novel that’s coming out late this year for my take on the adaptation. (GREAT novel, by the way, so far.) And a director called to say the film based on a script I wrote 17 years ago (you read that right) is still on track for shooting early next year. My manager set a meeting with a big production company that’s very interested in a limited series I did with another writer. The light at the end of the tunnel was not an oncoming train. All the effort and time I wasted on fear and self-loathing was just that. WASTED TIME. And I knew it at the time and still I let it color my life.

Thus, I hit myself in the head and say, “Idiot.”

You can’t get anything constructive done when you’re paralyzed with this kind of fear and loathing. You can’t. But boy do you get to make excuses. Tons of them. All of them lame.

You are going to experience this. You do experience this. You’re experiencing this now. Well then... Wake up! Stop it! I know it’s easy for me to say now, but damn it, I need to write this because I need this advice myself. I need to listen to it and put it into action.

You need to tell fear to get screwed. You don’t have time for it. I’ve written before about how you need to be fearless to do this screenwriting thing, but it’s more than that. You need to dispel self doubt. You need to believe. In yourself. In what you do.

Doesn’t mean you don’t have to do the work. The hours and hours of all kinds of research and all kinds of reading and writing and rewriting. The hours and hours of work to get it out there. The hours and hours of work marketing yourself and what you do.

You can choose though whether it’s painful or a joy. You can choose how you react to the setbacks and rejection. And there will be plenty of both. You can choose to let it paralyze you or you can use it as a motivator. As a learning curve. To use it to make your scripts better. Because it can be all that if you choose it.

Now if I can only be smart enough to take my own advice.

 

Follow me on Twitter. @bobsnz

I go out to breakfast with bunch of guys occasionally, friends who are not in the Film or TV business. They’re always interested in what I’m doing because as my friend Chris says, “Nobody else we know does what you do.” My question back was, “What do you think I do?”

Before I reveal their answers, I’ll pass on an experience that I had not long ago. We were out at a social gathering, again not an industry gathering, and an older woman my wife and I have met before but don’t really know that well came up and asked me, “Are you still writing your skits?” I told her I was and she smiled and said, “That’s nice. What do you do for a job?” I thought about my standard answer “A jockey at the dog races” and decided not to be a smart ass and tell her the truth. “I am constantly looking for new jobs.” She looked confused, smiled, and said, “I had no idea. I hope you find one.” and probably went off to gossip about how I was an unemployed bum. Which at the moment is true. So ok...

Back to my friends at breakfast. When I asked, “What do you think I do?” I was met with some interesting answers from all them.

“You get to hang out with movie and TV stars.” Uhhh. NO. I’ve met some. I’ve worked with some. Because of the TV series I did I’ve remained good friends with some. But that’s not my job.

“You write movies, so I guess... you write what they say?” No. I write the whole story. I write everything they do and say.

“Doesn’t the director come up with what they do?” No. I write what they do and the director films it the way he or she wants to. True, most of the time the director can change any of it. But to start with, I write the whole story.

“Wow. I thought the actors made up a lot of what they said.” No. They don’t. That’s why there are writers. For most TV series there’s a room full of writers mapping out everything that happens on the show including everything they say.

“Ok. But like for your Christmas movie, all the magic stuff like her book and the purse that made money and her ears changing (at least he watched it), you made all that up?” I did.

“That must be hard.” It isn’t easy to do it well.

“So you write everything they say and do. I never knew that.” That’s ok. Most people don’t. In our insulated world we like to think they do, but in reality, they don’t. Not a clue. And to be honest, most don’t care. They just want to be entertained and the writer is last person that comes to mind.

On my way home, that exchange got me thinking. What do I do? I came up with an answer I think is true and scary at the same time.

You really want to know what I do? I ride a rollercoaster. That’s my job. A business and emotional rollercoaster that can never stop, because if it does, I’m through.

You want to be writer? Grab your ticket and come aboard. This rollercoaster goes higher and dips lower than any amusement park ride ever. It corkscrews longer and when you get to the upside down loop it sometimes stops and leaves you hanging, making you sick on occasion. And if you’re not ready for it, it can toss you out on your ass. Or... you have the ability stop it and walk away. Not many do that because once you get to one of those high parts, you want to get there again.

New writers are anxious to hop on, in the front seat if they can, anticipating that rise, their arms thrust up high, thinking the exhilarating ride with be nothing but joy with bags of money tossed on board as the ride takes them on red carpets with cameras flashing.

Wow. Does that sound bitter? I hope not. I don’t want it to.

I’ve had some pretty great highs. Wind rushing through what’s left of my hair. A feeling like no other. I want it again. And again. I look at the stack of DVDs on my desk of the films I wrote or wrote on and I still have to pinch myself sometimes. It is the best part of the ride.

I’m sitting on the edge of a few more highs right now. Not there yet and because it’s screenwriting it’s NOT on my timetable. Yes, it’s frustrating. Kinda like the slow ride up that first climb and never getting to the top. Or hanging upside down. Or both at the same time.

I also experienced an unexpected huge dip in the ride last week which left me uncharacteristically angry and depressed. This is the part of the ride my wife hates because she can’t make it better. Not that I haven’t been there before, because every successful writer has been there and will be again, but this was so unexpected and so disappointing that it made me think, just for a split second, “Do I need to get off?” or worse “Am I being thrown off?”

No. I’m not getting off. I’m sitting down today and starting a new script. I’m riding the climb from the bottom back up and I’m reaching out for new gold rings and having faith that the old gold rings that have been promised will be there. I’m been on the ride too long to do anything else.

You want to be a screenwriter? This is the ride. This is what you get on. And it’s powered by your creativity, your hard work, your determination, endless patience, luck, skill, networking, and your ability to endure a wide array of emotion. How you handle the highs with humility knowing they don’t last and your ability to survive the subterranean valleys. And your determination to grab onto the ride and swing yourself back on after you’ve been thrown off if you have to.

And it’s a ride that’s operated by people who control all of it and none of those people is you. You do have some control over the quality of the ride however. How you conduct yourself on it. The quality of your work. How you interact with the ride supervisors as you pass them by, reaching for that golden ring they hold out.

And the movie going and TV watching public? They have no idea you’re even on it.

Follow me on Twitter. @bobsnz

I read a script the other day. A script a friend of a friend asked me to read. The premise was pretty good. A solid idea.  The execution of the premise? Oh boy. Mostly not there at all with some passable hints of ok here and there. Spelling was atrocious. Dialogue nobody on this planet would say, ever. A LOT of exposition.  People telling people things they would already know to inform the audience. The worst kind of exposition. For a first script it was a pretty standard try.

We spoke. I told the writer the truth, in my eyes, what was wrong with the script. I started by telling the writer how good I thought the idea was. How I wish I’d thought of it. Then I started in, I think gently, to tell the writer how off the mark the script was and why. I didn’t get very far when the writer interrupted and said, “You’re hurting my feelings. Why are you so mean?” I am NOT KIDDING. I may have laughed for a split second. “Seriously?”, I said.

“Yes.”

I was flummoxed. Never heard this one before. He went on to explain that all his friends and family thought the script was great and would be a wonderful film. All he had to do was get it to an agent or studio and let the nature take his predetermined course. Why was I being so mean? Just because I was successful, I didn’t have to lord it over him. Why couldn’t I just read it and pass it on. Or NOT read it and pass it on. This was his honest thought process.

I said, “Is this a joke?” I was trying to think of which writer friend of mine would have put him up to this and how I was going to get them back.

He assured me it wasn’t a joke and I said, “You know, I went easy on you. A reader would have just thrown your script in the trash and never said anything to try and help you. A producer wouldn’t have been that nice. This is a tough business and you have to be tough with it.”

He said, and I kid you not, “I understand it’s a tough business, but you’re not a producer and this isn’t business so you could be nicer and more respectful.”

It was about then I started picturing in my head the walls of this young man’s room, lined with participation trophies and ribbons that told him he was a winner no matter where he’d placed in anything he participated in. This person had never been told he’d didn’t win. He expected a participation trophy from me.

He didn’t get one. I told him to grow up. I told him the real world didn’t give out participation trophies. That he’d have to measure up to industry standards or be left behind and that meant listening to honest constructive criticism and leaving his “Feelings” at the door. He honestly didn’t understand. You could hear it in his voice. This isn’t the first time I’ve run into this out there.

I told him I wasn’t sending it anywhere. I told him if he did send it out he was going to hear a lot worse that what I said. And that he didn’t even let me finish and tell him how he could fix it, although I don’t think he has the ability now. I told him I was going to delete his script from my computer and I would take my mean old self as far away from him as I could. I wished him... I don’t think I wished him anything... I just ended the call.

I’ve said this before. I was given a tremendous amount of help and advice when I was first starting. Help from some amazing pros who didn’t have to, especially considering where my stupid ego was after selling my first script out of the box. But they did. And I listened and I learned and I made mistakes and I fixed my mistakes. Because I had that kind of help.

So in this vein, I also visit some screenwriting boards and butt in when I see something I can comment on that I have experience with. Some young person had posted that you HAD to put camera angles and POVs and camera pans in your scripts so the director knew what you wanted to do. This WAS the industry standard and that Syd Field’s book was the way you HAD to do things or you wouldn’t succeed in Hollywood because they knew if you were using Syd’s book or not by the way your script read. He was “the industry’s guru.”

I have a lot of friends who are writers. Most of which who are better than me and have more experience and there wasn’t one of you that wouldn’t have commented on this. I did. I said that wasn't true. I didn't sugarcoat it, but I wasn't nasty about it. And was met with the same kind of crap I got from the writer on the phone. That I thought I was some ego maniac big shot writer who was trying to tell them what to do. And in a mean way. If he was wrong why couldn’t I sweetly tell him with a private message or something instead of embarrassing him. He came back and said some snotty thing like “My Bad”.

So I answered it like this, “No, not at all. You're learning. You're anxious to get going in the industry. You're eager. You're motivated. Those are things that will help you move forward. Don't change that. When I was first starting I also was free in giving out advice because I was excited about what I thought I had learned. I was wrong. And I got shot down because I gave advice without the industry experience or screenwriting work history to back it up. Plus it was erroneous advice because I didn't really know crap. You're just starting. My advice to you? Read scripts from films you like. Read bad scripts to see what people did wrong. Read any scripts you can get your hands on... Then write write write. Learn the business end of screenwriting. If you want to be screenwriter, that means you have to be an independent businessperson. Just writing a script is the beginning. Keep going and I wish you nothing but success.”

And it started an avalanche of comments from a bunch of wannabe writers on another thread dedicated to complaining about how experienced writers thought they knew soooo much. And how they never liked the loglines people posted and were probably stealing them and never said anything positive (meaning what they wanted to hear) and on and on...

What it taught me was... never again. I’m not reading friends of friends scripts anymore. Just not. I’m past done doing that. I’m not visiting that screenwriting board anymore either. Doesn’t mean I’m done giving back, just going to be more careful and selective.

When you write and want honest feedback leave your ego and feelings at the door. Tough to do, but every writer I know that’s successful does it. Why? Because you'll learn something. You'll get better as a writer. But mostly because if you don’t, you won’t survive.

Follow Bob on Twitter @bobsnz

Let me state right up front that these are my OPINIONS. They are based on my experience, but they remain my opinions. I will also be up front and say I have in the past written for free at times (not for a long long time and not ever again) and if I had to do it over again...

I wouldn’t do it.

So... let’s talk turkey about writing for free or optioning your work for free (or a dollar).

It’s not fair to you.

Let’s talk about script options first.

A guy walks into a shoe store and says to the owner, “I want your best shoes, but I’m only going to pay you a dollar or maybe take them for free and rent them for a year and in that time I’m going to let other people wear them for a day or two to see if they like them and if one of them does and wants them permanently in that year, I’ll pay you your regular price for them and give you credit for renting them to me. If no one buys them, then you get them back and you can keep the dollar, unless you agreed to let me take them for free, and then you can try to sell them again, but not to me. And by the way, we return 99% of the shoes we rent.”

Sound like a good deal to you?

If you’ve invested exactly NOTHING in something, how easy would it be to give up on it? Pretty damn easy. If you invest actual money in something that you will lose if you fail? You’re going to try a lot harder. If you really believe in something and value what it took for the person you’re getting it from to create it, you’re going to reward them for their effort. Even if it’s minimally.

When you option your script for zero, what you’re telling the person optioning it, is that you are placing your worth at zero. You’re setting your quote.

Believe me, if a legitimate production company balks (and legitimate ones don't) at giving you (if you are new and not WGA) $500 to $1000 dollars for a 12 month option they aren’t that crazy about your script anyway. Plus now they have skin in the game. They invested money. It’s not as much the amount as it is the psychology of it.

And this doesn’t take into account the “Producer” who may be offering you $100 to $1000 dollars to BUY your script if the project is super low budget. NEVER accept, even if it’s a super low budget film, just “Screen Credit” as pay. That producer or director offering that is using YOUR script to make a film that they want to advance THEIR career. Not yours. Don’t let someone make their bones on your back. Even if the budget is 10K, you need to get your 2 ½% ($250). Fair is fair and your work is the BASIS for the film. Get paid every time.

I know I’m making it sound like there’s an adversarial relationship between writer and producer. If the producer is a legit producer, it’s not. Any producer, and I mean ANY producer, who can get work for free is going to try. Hey. I had one try with me a couple of months ago. Right after they did it and I laughed and said no way, we got serious about fees and it was a quick negotiation. It wasn’t a problem. There were zero hard feelings. It’s business. Would I have passed on the job if there was no pay, but just promises? Yes. My personal view is no pay, no work. Promises don’t pay bills. If I’m going to work for free, I’ll write a spec script that’s all mine, not owned by someone else when I’m done.

They aren’t going to get pushed out of shape or hold it against you if you stand up for yourself as a business person and ask to get paid for your hard work and imagination. It doesn’t have to be a lot when you’re first starting, but it should be something. If someone wants your work, then you have worth. They’re telling you that by wanting it.

Now... let’s talk about writing a script for a producer for free.

Mr. Producer has a great idea and he needs a writer to write it. He likes your work and comes to you and says, “There’s no pay upfront, but if we make it you’ll get paid and get credit.” Uh huh. Again, he has ZERO invested in this besides thinking it’s a great idea. ZERO. How easy is it for him to give up on it? Pretty damn easy. Yes, sometimes a one in a million shot happens and the film gets made. But I’ve heard from countless writers who spent months of their time on other people’s projects for free and got paid exactly what was promised. Nothing. And they didn’t have any ownership of the script either. Less than nothing.

The vast vast majority of these projects go nowhere, just like the vast majority of most projects go nowhere. But if you get paid for your work, you still have something to show from it. Even if it’s a minimal amount like $500 to $1000 dollars (depending on budget) for a new writer.

Plus, you’re going to work harder on it and do a better job, knowing you’re being treated as a professional.

Yes... You’re going to hear people say, “But writing for free is paying your dues.” No, it’s not. It’s setting your worth at nothing. What other business would take something that you spent a lot of time to create from you for free? I can’t think of a lot of them. Hell, I can’t think of any.

How hard do you have to work to finish a great script? A script someone might want. A script that’s a good enough sample to get you write for hire offers? Why would you give it away? Even for 12 months.

I have worked with some amazing producers and directors in my short career. Some smart wonderful fair people. I’m working with some now. This business is filled with real business people who are fair when you ask to be treated fairly. Will some of them lowball you? You bet. It’s in their interest to try. Are they upset when you don’t agree? Nope. It’s business. And I have to tell you, a lot of the time you will get fair offers to begin with.  I'm just talking about the times when you don't. And when you get a manager and agent and a lawyer, they’ll handle it anyway. But even if they handle it, YOU still have to agree. You are the one who signs the contract. You still have to look after yourself and ask the questions you need to ask and be satisfied with the outcome. It’s YOUR career.

Someone offers you nothing for your script or nothing to write for them? Your choice. I always say no. I’m worth more than that.

Is there a Hollywood conspiracy against new writers? An organized effort to thwart new writers from breaking in? Is it a closed industry dedicated to keeping new writers out? I know this is a question every writer has asked themselves. Well, every writer except me and a few thousand other relatively sane writers who have a reasonable grasp on reality.

Let’s get this out of the way right now. There is no conspiracy. NO cabal of producers who sit and twirl their mustaches and plot to keep spec scripts from being read or optioned. People who want to keep the industry closed to new ideas or new writers. Yes, the industry is hard to break into. But any big industry is hard to break into. It takes work and perseverance. Patience and more hard work. Talent and even more hard work.

You mean I have to pay my dues? I don’t get what I want because I want it? Now? Then there must be a conspiracy.

At a writers board I lurk on sometimes to see what people are asking and thinking (and to get Blog topics on occasion), I was not surprised to see the often asked question, “Why won’t Hollywood just open its doors for new writers?” “Why do they keep going back to the same things all the time?” “Why don’t they buy spec scripts?” or... “Why don’t they buy MY spec script?”

I’ll tell you why they don’t buy your spec. It probably sucks. You probably queried it or networked to get it read before it was ready to be seen or you wrote it about a subject matter no one wants to buy. Tough words, but the main reasons why spec scripts don’t get optioned or sell.

There are so many things to consider as a screenwriter before you ever write the first word of a script anyway. And you have to be honest about it. Is this idea viable? Is it something people would pay to see? Do I know enough about this subject to write intelligently about it? What kind of research do I need to do? What new things can I bring to this idea that will make it stand out? Who is the audience I’m writing for? These are real questions to ask yourself when thinking about the film you want to write. I can’t tell you how many scripts I’ve read that were written without the author thinking about these things that, out of the gate, killed their script.

I’ve read police procedural scripts that have been done a thousand times before. Films about hobbies or about car repair or painting murals or the world of flower arranging. (really) Fast and Furious copies. Tarantino copies. Raunchy comedy copies that brought zero new ideas or concepts. Zombie films with nothing new. The list goes on.

If you write about hospitals, find out how they work for God’s sake and don’t make it up. If you set your script in a real place or real occupation (that’s interesting) find out how it works. I half read a script about scrapbooking and finally couldn’t read any more because it was too painful.

I’ve read scripts about people’s personal fetishes (get help, some of you). NONE of them put any thought into the fact that people have to read these and decide to INVEST MONEY in them. And I’ve been taken aback by the profound anger of these same writers when I’ve dared asked them who they thought would want to see something or invest in something like they wrote, not even taking into account the quality.

This is the hard work and honest thought needed before you write that most people don’t think about or want to do because it doesn’t lend itself to the instant gratification they’re looking for.

Again, I have seen real anger from people who can’t believe their script (usually their first script) isn’t the toast of Hollywood immediately upon its completion. I mean, sometimes it’s pure rage. I often see posts from writers who say, “Hollywood needs to be changed. I say we writers band together and change it.” and I ask them, “How would you change it?” They say 100% of the time, “Open it up to everybody. Have the studios stop making remakes and sequels and superhero movies and start buying specs again and make original films.”

I point out that the studios make these kinds of films because they’re profitable, there’s a demand and an audience for them, they’re safe investments for their investors, and... they’re private corporations who get to make what they want no matter how many writers “band together”.

More honesty. Producers LOVE new writers. They really do. But... it’s new writers who are great. And being great isn’t easy and it isn’t something that happens overnight. Sure, there might be some element of luck involved, but you still have to deliver to cash in on that luck.

I have a friend who’s a reader for a BIG production house. BIG. She says in the last three months she’s recommended ONE script and read well over a hundred. And she’s a good reader. In the past year I’ve read three scripts I thought were great, out of the close to a hundred I’ve read. And two of them were from previously optioned writers. It’s NOT easy.

And the angry writers say to this... “Then why is there so much CRAP made?” Well, first of all, crap is in the eye of the beholder. Lots of what you may think of as crap has an audience and makes money and that’s the whole idea of the film BUSINESS. The rest of it? I’ve seen great scripts turned into not great films over and over again. But they were great scripts to begin with.

It’s easy for me to say... just write a great script. It’s much much harder to do. Those great scripts you’ve read? They didn’t just appear. The hours and days and months and years of damn hard work to get there aren’t charted on the cover page, but you can see it in the content.

No one is trying to keep you from succeeding. And the competition is ferocious for sure. But great scripts with great ideas do rise to the top. They don’t always get made, but they do rise and get noticed. And those writers who can consistently deliver on the promise of that great script do get to make a living writing for films and TV.

But there’s no conspiracy and it’s never ever easy.

Yes. You read that right. Strategic Patience. I first heard this term when someone in our Government used to it to explain why they weren’t doing anything about a huge problem that needed attention. I laughed, but on second glance I thought, you know, really not a bad term to use when it comes to writers.

As every experienced writer knows, patience is something that is needed almost as much as creativity is. I was terrible at it for a long time. I stressed and fretted about not hearing from producers or production companies after submitting something. I let my imagination run wild and all of it bad. But I finally learned to let it go. Let things happen when they do.

A writer hears NO more than any other word in their professional life. From direct NO’s, to light positive NO’s, to broad excuse NO’s, to “we love it, but...” NO’s, and everything in between. The worst is the silent NO where the producer just never responds and you’re supposed to understand that is still a direct NO. In fact, and this is a truth. Anything that isn’t a direct YES with a contract involved is a NO.

And you’re supposed to understand that NO is standard and the occasional YES it supposed to be treated like a miracle that might not ever happen again. I understand it, but it still hurts a little no matter how many times you experience it, whether it’s for a spec or for a rewrite or adaptation job you thought you had a chance for.

I’m asked all the time by new writers “How long do you wait to hear from a producer or manager/agent after you submit a script?” My answer is always the same. “Who the hell knows?”

You can hear the next day or you can hear in 6 months or a year. Or as I said before, never. Good producers, good agents, good managers are busy people. In most cases, really busy people. They also usually have a huge stack of scripts to read. The ones sent from friends, professional contacts, actors, the big agencies... those get read first. Sorry. Just the way it is. They do get to yours if they’ve requested it, but most of the time it isn’t timely. And you as a writer have to practice strategic patience. Meaning... you can’t be calling to find out what’s going on or emailing on a regular basis asking if they’ve read it yet. Yes, you can do these things, but sparingly. Being a pain in the ass is not the impression you want to leave.

This is also goes for writers who send in rewrites on a heavy deadline and then hear nothing for weeks. I know it’s tough. I’m experiencing it now. The big rewrite I had to have done on January 5th and got in on time? Have I heard anything yet? Not a thing. Does that make a writer semi-crazy? Uh huh. But the last time I had a deadline like this with the same company I waited 10 months to hear. Yes, I called or emailed a couple of times during that period and received very nice polite answers that said, “We’ll get to it.” This is a GOOD company that I’ve worked for many times, so I wait. Strategic Patience. Last time after not hearing 10 months, they called to tell me when the first day of shooting was and how we needed to rush the next rewrite for production. You just never know.

But you can still get caught in it. You can still misfire and be stupid. I had a very interesting 5 day rewrite on a script that a director and producer needed done because at the end of the 5 days they start their location scouting. Tight tight schedule. I was thrilled to get the job after pitching for it. I got the script on the Friday before Superbowl, read it and made my notes Saturday, and had a conference call to pitch my ideas with the director and producer on Sunday before the game, then waited until Tuesday when I got the job. No time to celebrate either because they needed it Saturday. Terrific people, too. Very open to my ideas and pretty much let me apply those ideas any way I wanted. So I sent it to them early, late Friday Night. Yes, I did write about 12/16 hours a day to get it there. They said they would read it immediately and get back to me.

And then Saturday & Sunday came and... nothing. About 5pm on Sunday, I texted the director with a “Hey, you guys read it yet?” She got right back to me to say basically, “Relax, we’ll get back to you soon.” So, like most neurotic writers I immediately figured the reason they hadn’t called was because they hated it and were busy rewriting it themselves. I was a failure. What did I do wrong? My wife, who was used to this when I first started out, hit me. “Stop it. Have you learned nothing?”

Apparently. They called Monday late afternoon to say they loved 95% of it and the other 5% was the part I didn’t particularly like either. They didn’t have a solve for that 5% yet and neither did I, so we’re in a holding pattern on that, but the rest... they really liked and were going to use.

I let my own discipline about patience fly out the window. Not good. It makes me look unprofessional. It raises my blood pressure. And my wife hits me. (not hard, ok?)

I have a white board in my office that has a list of everything I’m actively working on listed with deadline dates if they have them, number of pages completed if it’s a script, and a checkmark next to it when it’s finished, like a synopsis or treatment (don’t get me started on treatments, I hate them more than anything). And then, when I send it, the date it got sent.

Then after a month or so, or I get more work than the white board can hold, I start erasing. Even if I haven’t heard back yet. My way, I think, of compartmentalizing everything. To send and try to forget for at least a while.

Right now, besides waiting for news on the rewrite from January, I’m waiting for news about my Procedural Series from a very large Production Company who told me they are excited by it. By the way, production companies can be very excited about something you wrote and not buy it. Happens every day. So, I wait. And I move on to other projects and opportunities and will not be bugging them. You have to let things happens in their own time. Hollywood time. Where time sometimes stands still. And remember for every NO you waited a long time for, when you get a YES it’s all worth it. Honest.

You send something? Be smart. Practice Strategic Patience.