Television series aren’t bought or sold on ideas, but the ability to deliver on those ideas.
Now, don’t freak. There are ways. The closed loop of staff writers becoming showrunners who hire staff writers who will one day be showrunners is loosening. Sometimes feature filmmakers who have clout but no television experience are paired with TV veterans. A second infusion of outsiders is the twenty-something producers, often with a track record in small Internet series or credits in independent films, journalism, or published fiction, including graphic novels (comics). Since some outlets pursue teen audiences, they tend to prefer writers under 30. But could they have the experience to run a show? Here’s how it worked at The O.C..
At 27 years old, Josh Schwartz, creator of The O.C., became the youngest person in network history to produce his own one-hour series. He was a junior at the USC School of Cinematic Arts when he sold a feature script for half a million dollars. A few months later, he sold his first TV pilot. And suddenly he was a TV producer, though he never spent a day on the staff of a series. Fox supplemented him with Sex and the City writer Allan Heinberg, who helped structure stories for the first 13 episodes, and Bob DeLaurentiis, who’d spent two decades running shows. DeLaurentiis oversaw all aspects of production while Heinberg ran the writing staff. As for Schwartz, he wrote or rewrote episodes. In an article in The New York Times, Schwartz commented, “It’s not like writing a movie — you still have to learn how to map out a season, how to track characters. It’s not something I could’ve done by myself for the first time. You need people … who’ve been through it. Who know how to build to sweeps, or this is how a teaser works. I had to get educated.”
That brings us to your starting point on:
YEAR ONE
APRIL
CREATE YOUR PROPOSAL
So, here you are with your fresh idea — though I hope you have more going for you than that, even if you’ve never worked in television. The genesis of new shows ranges from the sublime to the ridiculous. On the high end, fifteen years of journalism covering Baltimore’s police department led to a fact-based book titled Homicide, which was bought by experienced television producers and turned into the series Homicide: Life on the Street. And a decade later, that journalist, David Simon, created The Wire and Treme. On the other end of the spectrum, the comedy show $#*! My Father Says originated in a series of Tweets. You might not have years of journalism or an audience following you on Twitter, but do arm yourself with something, at least accomplishment as a screenwriter.
One of my former students (described in Chapter Seven), parlayed his credit on a quirky independent film But I’m a Cheerleader into several steps that led to writing a pilot for the WB (with his writing partner), and then the team joined the writing staff of Smallville, and nine years later they became the showrunners. Leverage whatever is special about you.
In this early stage, you’re not aiming to shoot a series, only to land a meeting with a production company that has a track record. So your first goal is to be “adopted.” For this, you’ll need the same tool that will carry you all the way to the network, so everything else rests on square one, when you’re on your own. Let’s assume your idea has been percolating all winter, and now in April you’re ready to form it into a presentation of some kind. But what kind? Actually, this stage doesn’t offer the clear guidelines you’ll find in the other steps. You’ll need to discover the most compelling way to put across your unique concept. With that in mind, here are six possibilities:
(1) Write a TV Format
That term “format” can be confusing because it’s used in different ways throughout filmmaking. “Format” may refer to a film stock or camera lens, to the way a script is laid out on a page, or even a genre or franchise. In this context it means a series proposal. Though a format isn’t an exact process, certain components are advisable because you’ll be asked about them in meetings anyway. In reality, most formats aren’t even written except as notes for a network pitch. But I suggest you write everything, for now, to clarify your show for yourself and a production company. Lay it out this way:
Cover page: Find a title that grabs attention and suggests the tone of the show (funny, scary, dramatic, provocative, comforting, whatever). The title will probably change; think of it as a toe in a doorway. Underneath, identify the franchise or general category (e.g., teen drama, comedy-drama, political thriller, sci-fi…). If it’s based on something (book, play, movie, cartoon) you’d better say so, but make sure you have clear rights to the underlying work. Your credit is “Written By” or “Created By” and that goes on a separate line. Place your contact information at the bottom of the page. If you’re represented by an agent or manager, of course, the cover is done by their office and your agent will be the contact.
Do register the completed format with the Writers Guild (specifics on that are in the Appendix). But do not put your WGA registration number on the cover — it’s tacky. Also don’t include any dates or draft numbers. Every draft you deliver is the first, untrammeled and never before revealed to human eyes — or that’s what you’d like the producer to think. (No one wants something that’s been rejected or gathering dust.)
On the top of Page One, write a “Log Line.” You’ve encountered that term in screenwriting classes, but did you know it originated in television? For decades, television station owners have been required by the FCC to keep a log of everything they broadcast. These had to fit on a line, like “Lassie finds lost boy.” Then TV Guide and newspapers began printing short episode summaries like this one from Joan of Arcadia: “Joan learns the downside of vanity when God asks her to take a cosmetics class.”
Soon the promotional tag found its way to movie posters, as in: “Tom Cruise stars as Nathan Algren, a heroic American military officer hired by the Emperor of Japan to train the country’s first army. After being captured by his Samurai enemies, Algren becomes unexpectedly inspired by their way of life and fights to defend what he has come to love.” Or, for a simpler example: “The women of Stepford have a secret.” Before long, either full log lines (like the one from The Last Samurai) or “hooks” (like the one from The Stepford Wives) became necessary to pitch films, episodes, and series, not merely to log them or advertise.
A log line for a series may be less specific than the story summaries you’ll use for individual episodes. The goal is to orient a listener (yes, listener, not reader) to your project, to catch an executive’s attention. “MTV Cops” is a famous log line for Miami Vice from an era when MTV was new and hot. Grey’s Anatomy, on the heels of the success of Sex and the City, was described as “Sex and the Surgery.” When he was first presenting The O.C., Josh Schwartz knew the Fox network was looking for an updated Beverly Hills 90210, so he pitched his show as “90210 on the beach in Orange County,” and later admitted that was a Trojan horse to set up a far more nuanced show.
Once your log line sizzles, take the first couple of pages of your format for an Overview. This is not a summary of the pilot (a common mistake), but an introduction to the world and the quest of the whole series, including location, style, tone, context, and, most of all, characters. Though full characterizations come later, the main cast must be mentioned up front. Use brief tags like “a single, middle-aged