Writing the TV Drama Series 3rd Edition: How to Succeed as a Professional Writer in TV (33 page)

In those cases your credit will be arbitrated by the Writers Guild; you might keep credit for the story if it remains essentially what you wrote; or you might share credit on the story if more than 50% of what you wrote is in the final script; or you might lose credit altogether if the new writer had to start over and changed more than 50%. If someone else wrote the script, of course, you’ll have no credit on the teleplay even if the underlying story was yours.

The next cut-off comes after the first draft. If the head writer/showrunner believes you failed to catch the voices of the characters, or didn’t convey the sense of the show, or the writing is just not excellent (for example flat or expository dialogue, unfocused scenes, lack of tension), the script will be given to a staff writer or another freelancer. Just as happened with the “story by” credit, the teleplay credit will be arbitrated and the second writer might be awarded some or all the screen credit, depending on how much he changes.

In a step deal, you are paid separately for each stage. Using network rates, the story alone is above $12,000, the first draft is around $20,000, and the second draft is the balance of whatever has been negotiated. You’ll notice this adds to more than the “story plus teleplay” contract, and that’s intentional. It’s a kind of reward if a writer is asked to go to the next step of the project (if “the option is picked up”) though the contract did not guarantee continuing.

As with the “story plus teleplay” model, you’ll receive residuals for network reruns and syndication in proportion to what you’ve actually done (when you’re cut off after the story, clearly you don’t get the full residual for the episode).

If freelance assignments were abundant as they once were in television, freelancing could be a fulfilling lifestyle for a writer because you could do well on a few assignments a year, exploring various genres that interest you, and have time to write features, novels, or have a personal life. But today, most series are written by the staff.

Before I describe the staff ladder, here’s one more note on freelance assignments: Many are rewrites rather than original scripts. For example, an agent sends your sample scripts to a producer who likes your writing and invites you in. You go to the meeting and pitch episode ideas (stories), but the producer might not be listening for something to buy. Instead he’s hearing your insights into the show and what you bring to the creative party. If you impress him, he may give you a story he has already developed that needs to be rethought from the outline up, or a teleplay that needs to be rewritten though the story basically works, or even a pretty good teleplay that just needs a “dialogue polish” (that means revising the lines but not touching the structure). Say yes. Think of it as dues.

Back when I was freelancing, that happened at a western series called
Paradise
. I didn’t know anything about the Northwest in the 1900s, though I’d watched the show and liked the characters enough to generate ideas. I had an agent and some produced credits by then, so setting up a meeting wasn’t difficult, but I knew stories alone wouldn’t be enough. I spent days researching the era to ferret tales from their world. Often, I’ve discovered vignettes and unexpected characters from research, and I’ve found that those gems of reality breathe life into storytelling. So armed with well-honed pitches and smart on the history, I went in.

But one after another, the pitches fell, sometimes before I completed the log line. Companies don’t want to risk hearing a story that’s at all similar to anything in the works. Thus I came to the end of everything I’d brought and gathered my notes to leave, when the producer reached behind him and took a script off a shelf. It was a finished draft by a good writer who hadn’t been able to render one of the guest cast convincingly. Since they liked my writing and I’d brought fresh textures that fit their show (thanks to my research), the producer thought I’d understand the script’s potential, and gave it to me to rewrite. Though I ultimately shared screen credit with the original writer, my next episode for them was my own.

2. STAFF WRITER

A staff writer is sometimes called a “baby writer,” someone who’s never been on a staff before. Think of it as a year of post-graduate education, with big differences: unlike film school, you are paid instead of paying, the work you do is measured by professional standards, it’s seen in the real world, and you get no social promotions — you’re up or out by the end of the season. For students from top film schools, being taught by credited industry professionals is not a novelty. But for other recent grads, this might be a first opportunity to be mentored by working writers.

Let your expectations be to learn, grow, form relationships, and write every assignment exactly as needed. If you’re given one scene to tighten, don’t think you’ll grease any wheels by re-structuring the entire script, or rewriting scenes on both sides unless the boss says okay. Depending on the size of the staff, during a season you might be given one script to write, especially if a senior writer is available to “supervise.” That means the senior writer will advise you at every stage; but that person is also standing by to write the script if you can’t. No one has time to wait while you figure it out. If the staff is small, and you’re on top of your craft, you might even write two episodes that are credited to you.

Staff writers receive regular salaries according to Writers Guild minimums. A beginning staff writer on a primetime network show is paid at least $3,000 per week ($12,000 per month). But your contract might be limited to 20 weeks (or less), with an “option” to renew you for the rest of the season. Off network, some beginning salaries fall as low as $1,000 per week. And if you write a script the fees will be credited against your salary, so you won’t see additional payments until you go to the next step:

3. STORY EDITOR / EXECUTIVE STORY EDITOR

Once you get past freelancers and staff writers it’s tricky to guess what any job title means on a particular show because those ranks may be honorary. You see, as a writer advances in a series, his agent negotiates a new title every season. “Story Editor” is for people who are beyond staff writer, but how far beyond depends on the size of the staff and the showrunner’s style. For example, a story editor may be a virtual beginner, or one of several seasoned writers on a staff where everyone except the executive producer is a story editor, or the puzzling title “executive story editor” may even indicate the head writer.

In any case, Story Editor doesn’t mean someone who sits and edits stories all day. Like all the other rungs on the ladder, it indicates a writer who does all the stages of an episode from breaking stories, through outlines, through first drafts, and rewrites. Generally, a story editor would expect to write two original episodes in a season, and might be asked to polish or re-dialogue scenes in other people’s scripts.

If you’re first trying to break in and your pitch meeting is scheduled with a story editor, though, see if you can change to someone higher. A story editor usually doesn’t have the power to hire anyone, and, worse, he wouldn’t have much personal incentive to make your pitch sound usable when he relays it to the showrunner. On the other hand, if the story editor is a buddy who recommends you, that might have some weight, if the boss trusts him. In a way, we’re back again to whom you know.

Story editors are salaried employees on contract for a defined number of weeks, just like staff writers. They’re paid more, though — in the vicinity of $6,000 per week (depending on the length of their contract), and that’s boosted by payments for writing. The minimums under “freelancing” apply to anyone above staff writer, so if you’re receiving approximately $24,000 per month as a salary, and you are also assigned an outline (“story”) for an episode at the same time, you’d earn around $12,000 on top of the salary, for a total of something like $36,000 that month.

Now, before you’re carried away with visions of paying off your student loans, I warn you: You’ll only see a fraction. Your agent takes 10%, federal, state and local taxes may add to 40% or more, guild dues are around 3%, and you’ll have other mandatory reductions (disability, social security, and so forth). If you have an attorney, he’ll take 5%, and if you also have a manager (though you don’t need both an agent and a manager at this level), that might be another 15%. All of that comes out of the gross (off the top) before you see a dime. In fact, you won’t even see the original check. That goes to your agency which takes out their share and mails you an agency check. And remember, shows get cancelled; writers are frequently out of work for months at a time. As they used to say on a cop show, “be careful out there.”

4. PRODUCER

If you watch screen credits before or after a show, you’ll see lots of names called Producer or Co-Producer, but they don’t all do the same job. Some are like line producers on theatrical movies, dealing with equipment, schedules, budgets, crew personnel. Others are writers who have risen to the producer title but have nothing to do with physical production. Their job is to write and rewrite, much like a story editor. And some are hybrids — mainly writers, though they interact with production (especially casting, and in creative sessions with the director and editor) and have a presence on the set.

Typically, producers are invested in forming the season and are responsible for the quality of the episodes, along with the showrunner. So if an episode needs to shoot tomorrow and a script has last-minute problems (no matter who wrote it), a producer may be the one up all night rewriting, though the credit would likely remain with the original writer. Not taking screen credit is one of the courtesies that higher level staff members traditionally give lower staffers and freelancers.

Producers on a set are also expected to rewrite on the spot if a scene isn’t working or the director or actors have a problem with a speech or action. Sometimes this involves staying out with the crew past midnight in the freezing rain. Offsetting the long hours is not only the satisfaction of having influence over the shape of the series, but, frankly, good money.

Producers normally are not salaried in the same way as story editors. They may have “points” (a partial ownership expressed as a percent of profits), and producing fees for episodes that air. This results in a bookkeeping oddity in which producers might work all summer without compensation to put a show on the air in the fall, but then pull in hefty sums (above $30,000 or so) each week an episode airs.

At this level, the studio may begin looking at you to create an original series while you continue up to:

5. SUPERVISING PRODUCER

The distance from Story Editor to Producer to Supervising Producer is in increments of responsibility, but all are writers. Some supervising producers actually run the writing staff, or even virtually run the show, while others spend the entire season writing and rewriting episodes like everyone else. If you’re breaking in, you’re likely to pitch to someone with this title. Though your deal will need approval from the executive producer, this office usually has the power to give you an assignment and guide your script.

6. CREATIVE CONSULTANT

Now here’s a mystifying title. On theatrical features “Creative Consultant” might refer to the person a movie is about, or the original writer who was totally rewritten, a famous writer who polished the final draft, an expert specialist, the financier’s nephew, or the director’s yoga teacher. On TV series it’s a specific job, though the status depends on the situation. Normally, the title goes to a highly regarded writer who comments on drafts of scripts but is not expected to keep regular hours in the office. This person may or may not actually write any episodes or attend meetings.

At one time I was working on a show where the neighboring bungalow housed an action series that seemed to be staffed solely by four executive producers. They were all good writers in their thirties who had been writer-producers on other shows, now promoted to the top title. Writing their series was no problem, but as for managing it, each of the four was lost. Any visitor could quickly figure out what was going on — in the shadows was a semi-retired
éminence grise
with the obscure title “Creative Consultant.” His credits were so eminent indeed that he didn’t want to be known for this little action show, and anyway all the executive producer titles were taken. I think he educated the “executive producers” as quickly as he could and got out of there, but when I knew that staff, the “Creative Consultant” was actually the showrunner.

7. EXECUTIVE PRODUCER / SHOWRUNNER

Executive Producers come in all sizes, and it’s not unusual for title promotions to create a glut at the top of a series that’s been around for years. Most of those executive producers are (as you’ve guessed by now) simply writers. But two other categories share this title, and you want to know who’s who when you go to a show, especially if you’re making a first contact.

Some shows have two tracks at the very top — one is the executive producer in charge of physical production: technology, crew, schedules, location planning, construction, equipment, and so forth. The other executive producer is the head writer, in charge of content, which means all artistic aspects of creating and executing the scripts, including directing, editing and casting. These two people work as a team, a useful division of labor on some shows. Occasionally you’ll also see an Executive Producer credit for a star with the clout to be called The Ultra-Grand Exalted Poobah, but don’t expect that person in the writers’ room.

Among all the executive producers, only one is the showrunner. Often, that’s the person who created the series from its original conception, and may have written the pilot, though that’s not always the case. For example, on
ER
, the pilot was written by Michael Crichton, who continued to receive screen credit as an Executive Producer, though he didn’t work at the show. A bevy of other Executive Producer names also appeared in the credits. But only one — John Wells — made the key decisions and ran every aspect of the show.