Monday, August 10, 2009

TV Series Scripting: Part One: Setting the Table

IN MANY WAYS, the process of writing specs and scripts to get you hired as a writer couldn't be more different than the actual process of production. It's a hard thing to get for the uninitiated. When you're trying to break in, you might spend months on your original pilot spec, or episodic spec, polishing it just so, getting it to the point where you feel you can submit.

The day-to-day reality of the job on an ongoing series is that you'll rarely have that kind of luxury. Which is why it appeals to a certain type of writer, and why development doesn't really prepare you for the production line that is series production.

In the traditional series production model used in the USA and Canada, one of the reasons you employ a writers' room is to be able to compensate for the short timeframe between greenlight and the start of production. (If you have a long, long timeframe, you could also develop all the scripts ahead of time, but that takes much longer, so it's generally not done.) It's like the difference between single processors and multiple, linked processors in supercomputers. If you have one story engine, coming up with stuff takes one amount of time -- if you have multiple engines, and the right person directing them, you can solve problems, and challenge concepts as you go along -- and what comes out the other end will be stronger, having been tested and challenged as part of the process.

What does this mean for you as a writer? It means that you have to be somebody who is comfortable defending your ideas. You have to be open to challenge in the story room, and flexible enough to incorporate and recognize good and bad suggestions. Ego and experience (as you gain it) help you to define and sort these choices as you roll along. It tells you when to incorporate and when to challenge. This is a sophisticated high-wire act -- and it's what we're really talking about when we say, "best idea wins." When you think about it, there's a lot that has to go into that phrase: 1) You have to be flexible about your idea. 2) You have to be able to incorporate changes that are good, and that make that idea stronger, even if it changes things about it that you were attached to. 3) You have to be able to recognize when the ideas of others are taking you down the wrong path. To some extent, as a writer, you're insulated from that last task by your showrunner -- but it's still a good sense to hone on your own. The closer you get to being able to take and incorporate room ideas while staying true to the core of the story you want to tell, the faster and more effective writer you will be.

The reason I keep saying "fast" is because it's important. Traditionally, there's an idea that you get two weeks to write a first draft. I can't remember the last time I've had that when I was in production. A week is more normal. [All of these timeframes I'm talking about are Canadian timeframes. U.S. series have more resources and are most likely quite different, though with every staff having shed one or two writers this year, they're starting to meet in the middle.]

I've also written a first draft in two or three days (from a really good outline -- and that's the key.) I've done page-one rewrites overnight. I've done "Frankenwrites" -- where you're writing Act One and Two, say, while another writer works on the back half simultaneously.

You might scratch your head and say one of the following:

"uh, that doesn't sound like much fun."

or

"Oh my God, how do you do that and not come up with a pile of crap?"

These are both good questions, and the answer to them both, though incomplete, hint at the challenge and the psychological makeup you need to be a good Television staff writer.

Because for most of us, having to work that fast -- though never the ideal, and never something that you can do for very long -- is incredibly exciting. We get juiced by it, and we miss it when we're not doing it -- in those long stretches in development. It's not like pondering over and turning over an idea for months; the exciting thing about it is that it's like very well paid improv or slam poetry or something -- at some level you're writing this from your gut. You know that it could change; and you write it from a place that keeps you loose, connected and immediate. You can be influenced by what's going on in your world, your life, your environment -- you bring the immediacy of life and the working environment to the work, which gives it zip and energy.

The second part is trickier. And if you're not as experienced, it might be more terrifying. But it comes from having seen the process work, and knowing how each piece results in the final product. If you take the burden on yourself of writing the perfect first draft, one that tells the story elegantly, is totally produceable within the schedule, balances the in/outs and locations and day/night splits and everything else, you're going to be on a stretcher to hinky town before you say, "boo."

But if you have a sense of which each stage is designed to accomplish, you can do what you need to do to accomplish any huge task: break it into manageable bits, so that you're always moving forward and never feel overwhelmed.

Now, what I'm going to be going over for the next several days is my impression of the scripting process -- from start to finish, on an ongoing television series -- and how and when the writer balances the concerns of production and the concerns of creative. This is subjective, my thoughts only, and should be read as such. I'll be more than happy to hear different impressions from fellow scribes below in the comments. Seriously. Have at it. Feel free to disagree with my categorizations and offer your own impressions.

First things first.

Every story starts with a card. An idea spun out, mulled over by the group. From that, the next step is the pitch. In most cases, the network gets to approve the idea before you go to outline. Sometimes this is done verbally in a phone call, sometimes the pitch will be delivered in the form of a one-pager -- a document that's got a lot of handwaving, but gives a general idea of the action and emotional action in the episode, maybe hints at twists and what's cool about the story, and gets you hyped to see how it will develop. You might have a couple of cool turns at this point, but the idea is still very fluid, because you don't want to invest too much time in it until you've got signoff. (This part of the process is very much the same when you're in development.)

Once the pitch is approved, you break the story and prepare the outline.

Which we'll talk about next time.

2 comments:

Daniel said...

"(If you have a long, long timeframe, you could also develop all the scripts ahead of time, but that takes much longer, so it's generally not done.) "

I'm wondering if this was Chris Haddock's approach on Intelligence? The plot was so comlpex, and he did have sole credit on every episode in season 1 (and I believe a writing partner on every episode of season 2) I keep thinking he must've spent weeks or months in a room with index cards. Also...

"Traditionally, there's an idea that you get two weeks to write a first draft. I can't remember the last time I've had that when I was in production. A week is more normal. [All of these timeframes I'm talking about are Canadian timeframes. U.S. series have more resources and are most likely quite different, though with every staff having shed one or two writers this year, they're starting to meet in the middle.]"

One of the Lost box sets had a "Day in the Life of Lost" which gave a glimpse of most of the production roles on the show in a 24 hour period. I they show us the writers breaking a story a week or two out. Maybe more. I'll have to double check that.

Looking forward to more posts on this particular thread.

Shawn Writes said...

This makes me so pumped.

I just moved to LA and I want nothing more than to get into some, ANY, writers room. That sense of pace and collaboration....DAMN!