Writing the TV Drama Series 3rd Edition: How to Succeed as a Professional Writer in TV (32 page)

Often the showrunner sets the tone — formal, laid back, brooding, artistic, intellectual, homespun, sex-tinged, political, romantic, drugged-out, pious… and so forth. Sometimes the culture fits the nature of the series, but not always. In the case of the Staff From Hell, the prevailing ethos had nothing to do with the subject of the series. It was blatant misogyny.

Every staff meeting began the same way: A half-hour of sports talk, football, basketball or baseball, recapping the plays from a game in detail, arguing over which man is better. And there I sat, the only woman in the room, irrelevant because I didn’t know about guys doing things with balls.

Even when the sports-talk gave way to writing, the sense of the room remained. And one day, when we were working on an outline for an important episode, and it was time for a break, the entire staff (except me) convened to the men’s room, where they stayed for twenty minutes, finishing the outline.

I wracked my mind to figure out how to function with this staff since watching sports and shooting hoops in the parking lot seemed more important than anything I could write. The frustration mounted until one day I erupted “are you finished with the male bonding yet?” Mr. Horns couldn’t contain his smile that I’d finally sunk myself, so my future episodes would be his; he’d get the promotion, the raise, the credits and acclaim — or so he calculated. If I’d been wiser and more confident, I wouldn’t have tried to join on their terms, but might have discovered other interests in common with at least one of the staff and created an ally. “Dissing” the culture of the show — putting it down — alienated me further and made it more difficult to work.

Think about high school. Everyone is in cliques and you’re the new kid who just transferred. How do you begin fitting in? Probably you start with one interest, and someone else interested in it; a first friend. An important lesson.

MISTAKE 7: DON’T WORK ON A SERIES THAT’S WRONG FOR YOU.

The staff from down below was probably a wrong fit, no matter what I’d done. Lots of TV series are out there and even though you (understandably) need to start somewhere, misery is not an essential rung on the ladder. You need references as well as good work to move ahead. A show that you have to omit from your resume can hurt you more than having had no job at all. When you apply for your next staff, the new producer will certainly phone the former one, and may ask the other writers how it was to work with you.

I stayed through my entire contracted season with this show, but in retrospect it would have been better to leave sooner and get on with my writing and career. I’m not advising you to quit when the going gets rough; if the quality of the show is worth it, and you can write well despite bad vibes, stay with it and amass those credits. But if the quality of your writing is suffering, go ahead and bail after speaking with the showrunner, especially if you can negotiate a non-damaging reference from him. With all you’ve learned, you can go on to another, better staff. You’re not alone. Almost every TV writer has had a difficult experience at least once, and everyone omits the rubble of their history from their resume. You’ll survive it too.

T
HE
GOOD
S
TAFF

Emmy
magazine, the publication of the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences, asked several showrunners, “What does it take to make a creative ensemble run smoothly?” J.J. Abrams, Executive Producer of
Alias
answered, “The key is having collaborative, smart writers who keep the room running. Whether it’s the official showrunner or someone else saying, ‘We have to get past this and keep going.’ It’s crucial to get to the act breaks and the end quickly, so you can reverse and make it better. You need people who share the same vision and are collaborative and mutually respectful.”

Abrams continued, “You want to make sure the show isn’t repetitive, but you want to keep doing certain reveals. How do you keep doing that so that the show isn’t contrived? A show like
Alias
can be preposterous — how do you keep it real? As a viewer, I’d be furious if I invested in a show that ultimately went nowhere.”

For Abrams, the best thing about working on a staff is “being in the trenches with people you admire, respect and who bring to the group ideas that make you smile. That’s fantastic. When things are working, you celebrate with them, and you despair with them when things don’t work. Whether you’re celebrating or commiserating, you’re doing it together.”

A SLICE OF LIFE

For a well-run staff, let’s peek in on John Wells, who headed
ER, The West Wing, Southland
, and many other shows.

Picture a long dark wood conference table dominating a conference room. Ten chairs surround the table for four senior writers, four staff writers, one full-time researcher, and Mr. Wells. At the back of the room, more chairs and a few couches for full-time physicians on the staff, and production personnel as needed. All chairs face a monitor where dailies are screened.

The walls are hung with large whiteboards covered with plot points and story breakdowns for the twelve episodes to be completed for the season. On a sideboard, colored markers list ideas for possible scenes under the headings of Big, Serious, Humorous, and Other.

The staff begins laying out the season the first week in June. Working as a group for six weeks, they come up with the entire season’s episodes — ideas for them and specific storylines, and the group “pounds them out.” That means the team figures out all the major turning points of the stories, where the act breaks fall, and how many episodes an arc may cover, structuring the episodes.

Then an individual writer is assigned to go off and do a story treatment. (I’ll discuss outlines and treatments in
Chapter Four
.) When that writer returns, he gets notes from the staff. The writer does a revision. Another notes session. Then he’s sent off to write the script. When the script comes in, there’s a notes session. He does a second draft. If that works, the episode is ready to film. In all, the process for one script takes about eight weeks.

On a visit to
ER
in an early season,
Written By
magazine described the scene on a day a first draft has come in, so this is the first notes session on the finished script. The writers file out of their offices and head for the conference room, each holding a copy of the script. Wells is in position at the head of the table, and the room is full. Coffees are brought, but this staff gets right to business going page by page through every beat of the script.

In this episode, a teenager has cystic fibrosis and his mother is afraid her son will die. The twist is that the son doesn’t want to be saved, which puts Dr. Ross in an awkward position between mother, son, and his Hippo-cratic oath. Someone asks about the kid’s girlfriend, another about Ross’ choice whether or not to save the kid. A debate breaks out over whether the writer is showing traits of Ross that the audience has already seen. While the staff throws out suggestions, the writer is busy taking notes.

However, I recommend that you use a tape recorder. This experienced writer was able to get what he needed, but you might not. Three problems: First, you’re not likely to be quick enough to catch every point, or distinguish what’s worth noting among contradictory remarks. Second, under pressure what you type on your laptop will have all the nuance and detail of a Tweet. Third, by keeping your head in your screen, you’re absent from the discussion, and constantly behind. Unless the showrunner objects, tape the session so you can pay attention in the room, and deal with exactly what was said later, when you can concentrate. Of course you might also be writing directly on the script if you have a hard copy and suggestions relate to specific lines.

ER

Back at the meeting, Wells says the story is almost there, but it’s missing a pivotal action that will define the emotional rhythm for the sequence. That propels a debate about another character’s developing depression. Then Wells cues a new discussion about comic relief scenes. And on the meeting goes for four more hours as they move from scene to scene to the end of the script.

This kind of meeting happens again every Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoon. But don’t misunderstand; it’s not all about logistics and group-think. Writing on a staff still emanates from each writer’s art. As Wells told
Written By
:

Writers have a responsibility, and it’s sort of a particular responsibility that all artists share. You have to find a way to return yourself to that place from which you work, and not allow it to… float off of it into this pop-referential world in which we’re only writing about or talking about things that we’ve seen or know from television and movies.

I think that you, as a writer, you fight that and at whatever point you lose it, you’re in big trouble. And your work suffers mightily from it, and then you’ll have to find some way, if you’re going to write again, to get back to it. And that’s beyond all the dealings with success and all of those things which have their own problems which… you certainly don’t want to complain about because you don’t want it to go away, but… artistically, it has an impact on what you’re doing. And that balance is very difficult to strike.

I look at writing as a craft and as a gift. As a craft you have to work on it all of the time, and as a gift you have to protect it. And one of the things you do to protect it is to make certain that your world doesn’t become too insular.

And, particularly, that your points of reference don’t become too insular, because then you find yourself writing exactly the same things because you have nothing new to say about the subject. That’s when shows become uninteresting to people, because they feel that they’ve already heard what you’ve had to say, and they’re not interested in hearing it again. So there’s a constant need to be looking. Not to see your name again on another show or anything like that, but just creatively, to protect that place from which you write.

T
HE
S
TAFF
L
ADDER

John Wells stands at a pinnacle of success shared by very few creators of hour series including Dick Wolf with his
Law & Order
brand; David E. Kelly, who at one time ran
The Practice, Ally McBeal
, and
Boston Public
at the same time; and Steven Bochco, who has consistently had a series on the air longer than any other producer of drama, from
Hill Street Blues
to
L.A. Law
to
NYPD Blue
to
Raising the Bar
, and many other shows.

Each showrunner was a writer first, and though the top rung involves as much skill in management as writing, the entire television ladder is built on writing titles. This differs from theatrical movies where creative power resides in the director, and financiers can buy their way to a credit or even an empire as film producers.

Beginning at the bottom, here’s every step:

1. FREELANCE WRITER

A freelancer is responsible only for writing a script and is not on the staff. As an outside writer, you won’t participate in story meetings or screenings or have an office at the show, or share in any of the inner workings of the series. You might not even meet the staff except for the producer who hires you and whoever supervises your episode.

But you do have an opportunity to demonstrate your skill and talent. This teleplay — especially if you receive sole screen credit — can lead to a staff offer on this series or open doors at other shows. If it wins any acclaim, and a buzz begins about you, this one break could leverage a career. (See
Chapter Six
for more about how to break in.)

Minimum compensation for a primetime network series under the Writers Guild Basic Agreement is more than $30,000 for “Story plus Teleplay.” (All figures are approximate because the WGA schedule of minimums is revised periodically.) For comparison, that’s around the same as a two-hour theatrical screenplay for a movie whose budget is under $5 million. Since networks license two runs of any episode, and successful series usually rerun, you will soon receive approximately the same initial payment a second time in residuals. Later, you’ll amass more residuals if your episode reruns on cable stations or in syndication, and that can continue for many years, though the amount declines to pennies after a while. In addition, you’ll receive considerable foreign royalties because virtually all successful American-made television series are sold overseas. On a series that continues to cable or syndication, you’d see well over $60,000 for a single hour you’ve written as a beginning freelancer.

But not all freelancing is network, and not all contracts guarantee the full ride. Network rates apply to ABC, CBS, NBC, and FBC (Fox); HBO and Showtime also pay at network levels, as do other quality cable channels. But if you write for smaller outlets, prices may dip to around $20,000 for “Story plus Teleplay.” On cable, residuals are also calculated differently.

And you might not be allowed to write the episode to its finished draft. Inexperienced writers are usually offered a “step” deal with “cutoffs.” That means you are given a chance to write the outline (“story”), and if it doesn’t work, or it seems that you would not be capable of a quality teleplay, the deal goes no further — you are cut off. Someone else (often a staff member) takes over the project and writes the script from your outline, or even writes a new outline.