IFP so sweetly asked me to do a few write-ups on “Making Short Films”. I’m certainly not the expert by any …]]>  

IFP so sweetly asked me to do a few write-ups on “Making Short Films”. I’m certainly not the expert by any means, but I can relay my own experiences and what works for me in case it helps anyone else.

Recently, I’ve had two short films play Sundance, Hellion (2012) and Black Metal (2013). And before that I had a children’s short film, Love Bug that played the kids’ festival circuit for several years. I’m a little all over the map with genre, but at the heart of it all, I just believe in a good story and interesting characters.

Writing a short film should take the effort of a feature. I’ll spend 10 drafts on a 6-page script just like I would on a feature script. I’ll use the same principles … three act structure, inciting incident, wants, flaws, character arcs, choices …

But the first thing I ask myself when approaching any project is “What makes this special?” What makes these characters and this story unique? Have we seen it before? If so, how can I flip it or take an interesting approach?” It certainly helps having been a shorts screener at a few festivals. You realize what people are making over and over and over again. Let’s just say zombies, gun toting drug deals gone bad, heavy abuse stories, the apocalypse, grim reapers, the afterlife … you get the point.

With that said, usually the first few ideas you have are the first few ideas everyone has. So go deeper. Make a list. Usually the crazier ideas you have that are further down that list are the more unique and interesting ones.

As far as approaching story structure, I’m a big fan of creating a pretty simple spine or backbone for all of my scripts. It doesn’t matter how insane or crazy or out there your script is, but what are the fundamentals? This is where I start.

Main Character: Which character has the biggest character arc? Who’s POV is this from?

Want: What does your character want? (Love? Acceptance? Fame? The Girl?) What kind of tangible goals do they have?

Flaw: What’s your character’s flaw? I always start with the seven deadly sins. Wrath, Sloth, Lust, Greed, Envy, Pride, Gluttony … and then thinking of things like lack of confidence or loss of faith. What is the internal flaw that my character is going to grow from throughout these five to ten minutes? Are they going from Pride to Humility? Or Lack of Confidence to Confidence? Or Wrath to Peace? What their flaw is and what they’re learning are the most important elements of any story. Basically how does your character change?

Inciting Incident: What is the event that changes this from any other day? What sets your story in motion? Is it discovering an alien? Or getting grounded? Or watching someone’s head explode?

Stakes: What’s at stake? What heightens this situation for us? What’s challenging our character’s flaw and forcing them to grow? What keeps us on the edge of our seat to find out what happens next? Will he tell her that he loves her? Will they get out of the cave alive?

Climax: What is the pinnacle of this story? What kind of situation can you put your character in so that they have to make a huge choice? What is this moment of crisis?

Choice: What’s the choice your character makes? Hopefully they’ve learned something and make a choice away from their flaw.
Learns: What does your character learn in the end? You want your character to change or grow, so usually what they learn is the opposite of their flaw. Confidence, selflessness, humility …

Theme: This is usually one word that I’ll hang my whole story on. On former projects those words have been: Strength, Fear, Monster, Manhood … this is the word I write on a post-it and tack to my computer. It’s a word I’ll come back to when I find myself in a rut with a specific detail … whether it’s what kind of job they go to, to what kind of stuffed animal they cart around. I go back to that one word.

I feel like if you can break your script down into really really simple terms, a word here or there for each of these things, it simplifies and demystifies the writing process. This is what really helps me.

But again, the most important question you should be asking yourself about your story or your film … “What makes this special?”

I mentioned the Biennale Cinema College grounds are a former insane asylum, right?  Because we have all gone entirely bonkers.  The schedule has been one of crushing deadlines on rewrites that have occupied much of our free time, budget analysis and re-analysis and production schedule fine-combing …]]>

I mentioned the Biennale Cinema College grounds are a former insane asylum, right?  Because we have all gone entirely bonkers.  The schedule has been one of crushing deadlines on rewrites that have occupied much of our free time, budget analysis and re-analysis and production schedule fine-combing down to the dollar (and Euro) and minute. Okay, so,

The good:  Our project, Memphis, is looking really strong – the characters now feel like real people and a key scene at the end has gone from an interior to an exterior and, for some magic reason, it makes the entire concept work in a more natural and organic way. The budget and schedule are air tight and, even more important, truly feasible.  And it isn’t just our project – everyone’s film here has gone through transformations and changes and, with the bulk of the work done, each project stands on firmer ground than when they arrived – the lab works.

The bad:  during this process, we have all gone somewhat insane or suffered a flu/fever on this island.  I walked by an Italian producer yesterday and instead of greeting me he simply said, ‘Blah blah blah.’ And it was perfect because I knew exactly what he was saying!  A Thai film project has changed its title and storyline 3 times in 5 days (and it is awesome, btw).  A Spanish producer and I guzzled wine last night as the conversation around us was on a philosophical approach to immersive media.  I thought he might have lost consciousness twice during the conversation.  Maybe I did.

The ugly:  on Thursday, each project presents their work to the head of the Venice Film Festival, the head of the entire Venice Biennale, along with numerous journalists and students coming from as far as Rome to watch us deliver or melt down.  Pressure.  So, say a prayer for Memphis and, as everyone says right before festivals announce:  fingers crossed.

I figured why not start with a couple of masterpieces to get me in the right frame of mind.  So, packing up to head off to the Venice Biennale College Cinema workshop to pitch my second feature, Memphis, I did the math for the long day of travel …]]>

I figured why not start with a couple of masterpieces to get me in the right frame of mind.  So, packing up to head off to the Venice Biennale College Cinema workshop to pitch my second feature, Memphis, I did the math for the long day of travel ahead: book –  Geoff Dyer’s Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi.  Movie - Joachim Trier’s Oslo, August 31st.  I figured those two daring and beautiful pieces were the right first steps in getting into the mindset to engage in what lies ahead – ten days of collaborative development with fourteen other film projects  to try and carve out which ends up one of the three fully funded microbudget projects to premiere at the 2013 Venice Film Festival.  But it gets even more intense when it turns out we’re staying on an island that is home to an ancient monastery-turned-mental-hospital-turned-university.  The room I am staying in feels like all three.  The seclusion of the campus just across a waterway from San Marco square is both beautiful and well, ghostly.  And the mist that comes in off the lagoon as thick as velvet helps both said beautiful and ghostly achieve even greater depths.

Filmmakers from Israel, Lebanon, Phillipines, Thailand, Brazil, UK, Italy, South Africa…and a sister team from the U.S. along with me and my producer, John Baker (Dragonslayer), so the mix isn’t just providing a diverse community, it is entirely inspiring.  After running my first feature, Pavilion, through the IFP Narrative Lab in 2011-12, I knew there would be some of that inspiration for sure.  However, housed on the watery outskirts of Venice – a city that may have created the term ‘wonder while I wander’ – this lab has an endless sense of creativity and intensity.  Every day, thus far, John heads off to his producer’s grilling – the base of which are the questions ‘can you actually get this film done in time and on budget’ and ‘how do you define the producer’s role’ – while I work with a group leader and four other projects – defining our creative goals, challenges, and directions – in essence, proving our project’s validity.  The afternoons, I engage with story consultants to try and defend and expand the notions of the story I am trying/hoping/praying to make.  Evenings are social and filled with the type of dialogue I missed by not going to film school – theory, references, personal histories – beautiful film nerd stuff – over a glass or two of wine. And then coming back by vaporetta to our little insane asylum in the deepest fog to sleep it off and press restart.  So far, so good.

May 15th, 2011. I am given a book by my favourite poet, Bob Hicok. In it there’s a poem about the 2007 Virginia Polytechnic Institute massacre – to date the deadliest shooting of innocent people by a single gunman in US history. This excerpt from the poem …]]>

May 15th, 2011.
I am given a book by my favourite poet, Bob Hicok. In it there’s a poem about the 2007 Virginia Polytechnic Institute massacre – to date the deadliest shooting of innocent people by a single gunman in US history. This excerpt from the poem speaks for itself -

People wrote, called, mostly e-mailed
because they know I teach at Virginia Tech,
to say, there’s nothing to say. Eventually
I answered these messages: there’s nothing
to say back except of course there’s nothing
to say, thank you for your willingness
to say it. Because this was about nothing.
A boy who felt that he was nothing,
who erased and entered that erasure, and guns
that are good for nothing, and talk of guns
that is good for nothing, and spring
that is good for flowers, and Jesus for some,
and scotch for others.

March 23rd, 2012.
Two kids get in a fight on the platform of an L train stop in Brooklyn, New York. Both fall in front of a train coming into the station. One of them leaps from the tracks just in time and flees the scene. The other is dragged down the platform by the train, right in front of my eyes. His body half under the train, his arms grabbing at the side of the train, his torso spinning like a propeller, his blood smearing down the side of the carriages. I turn away in disbelief, my brain numb as people run past me screaming in tears, vomiting as they run. There’s one girl standing still in front of me as everyone rushes past both of us. She’s looking at me, her face all wet, her eyes pleading at me as if somehow I can provide an answer. The best I can do is not look at her.

The kid is still alive. There’s a woman crouched down by him trying to help him in whatever way she can. Unsure about what I can do I turn and leave. Halfway up the steps I curse at myself, and turn back. A few of us gang together try to push the train away from the body, so we can get him out. It’s a hopeless exercise. Soon the Fire Department arrives and we are all ejected onto the streets.

People are opening their front doors and letting those clearly in shock come in and rest a while. I call my friend, whose apartment I’d just left 15 minutes before, and he talks me through it. He invites me back over to his, but it seems to make more sense to walk home alone.

July 17th, 2012.
A friend posts a photograph on the internet that he’s taken of a poster from the new Batman film, The Dark Knight Rises. Below the photograph he’s excitedly left the comment -

THREE. MOTHER. FUCKING. DAYS.

I type my response beneath it. My words expounding on my similarly outrageous levels of enthusiasm. My friend replies, and our proverbial high-five is over just moments after it began. The occasion and the words we used are swiftly forgotten about.

July 20th, 2012.
In Aurora, Colorado, a 24-year-old man opened fire on his fellow cinema-goers during a screening of the new Batman film. Thanks to our phones, everyone everywhere knows about it moments after it happens.

Soon after New Yorker film critic Anthony Lane, a friend of my father’s, publishes a thoughtful and lengthy article swiftly reminding people of art’s inability to drive people to kill -

Having a mind to kill, at least in any systematic fashion, means that your mind is ready-warped; that the warping may well have started long before, perhaps in childhood; and that you may perhaps seek out, or be drawn to, areas of sensation—notably those entailing sex or violence—which can encourage, inflame, or accelerate the warping. Whatever we learn of the Aurora murderer, whatever he may profess, and whatever the weaponry, body armor, and headgear that he may have sported, and however it seems like a creepy match for what is worn, by heroes and villains alike, in the Batman movies—despite all that, he was not driven by those movies to slaughter.

July 21st, 2012.
Some time in the afternoon I receive an email from a filmmaker friend of mine that simply read -

Dark Knight Rises murders is the most bleak metaphor of art and cinema in American cultural history.

This coming from a man with two children of his own, and a deep-set distaste for exploitative artwork. I wrote back saying that I was inclined to agree. I said that it reminded me of when my father read from a newspaper article in 2001. An article that was suggesting that part of what made the World Trade Center attacks so powerful, was what an artistic gesture they were. 911 being the emergency services number in the US, and the two towers being hit by one commercial airplane each, and both completely collapsing in such a seemingly unlikely way as a result. My father also added that film and television are of course also responsible for making violence appear to be something beautiful.

Back in the present, film critic Roger Ebert weighs in on the continuing debate about the connection between violence and art  -

I’m not sure there is an easy link between movies and gun violence. I think the link is between the violence and the publicity. I don’t know if [the Aurora killer] cared deeply about Batman. I suspect he cared deeply about seeing himself on the news.

LA Times reporter Patrick Goldstein blames advertising -

This, of course, has happened before. In 1981, Taxi Driver became embroiled in controversy when John Hinckley Jr. tried to assassinate then-President Ronald Reagan after becoming obsessed with the film, whose character Travis Bickle attempts to kill a presidential candidate. In Hinckley’s case, he was affected by the movie. With the Colorado gunman, the inspiration may well have come from the pull of a mammoth Hollywood Big Event.

In almost any big city today, it’s nearly impossible to avoid being exposed to the wall-to-wall advertising for a global behemoth such as “Dark Knight.” The result is almost Orwellian — nearly everywhere you look, your gaze meets the stern glare of Batman and his nemesis, their eyes full of menace. On TV, the film’s ads are chock full of thunderous collisions and mass brawls.

Talk about life imitating art. Days before the film’s release, the movie review aggregation site Rotten Tomatoes had to suspend user comments on reviews of “Dark Knight” after readers made derogatory and threatening remarks about the critics who wrote them. Incensed fans heaped abuse on one critic, Marshal Fine, saying he should “die in a fire.” Rotten Tomatoes’ editor said it was the first time the site had suspended user comments, explaining that “it just got to be too much hate.”

July 22nd, 2012.
A friend and I race back from a New Jersey beach town to catch an afternoon screening of The Dark Knight Rises in Manhattan. 15 minutes into the film we are aware of a group of four men behind us talking loudly and occasionally walking up and down in the isle next to us, using their phones as flashlights. I turn to tell them to shut up, and so does my friend. The looks we are greeted with from these men leave us speechless, and we quickly turn back to the film. I suddenly feel unsafe and start looking around me in the darkness. It dawns on me that this is the first trip to the cinema since the killings the week before. I start imagining how the same thing could happen to all of us in this room. The words of my filmmaker friend the day before start going around and around in my head. Eventually the film rescues me from these thoughts and I lose myself in its story.

As the film ends and I’m left slightly shaky by its moving denouement, a second wave of fear sweeps over me. I have to quickly pull my hands to my face to hide a wash of quite unexpected tears. I feel in a moment like I’ve lost something very dear to me. I realize that it feels like we have lost the sanctity of the cinema. I realize that until this point I’ve used the cinema as a place I can completely escape from the world, no matter what. It feels right there and then like this is now gone.

I try to relate this to my friend afterwards and he tells me I’m talking nonsense. Coming to my senses in the outside air I realize that I probably am.

July 23rd, 2012.
I mention to a friend and co-worker that I’m thinking about writing about my feelings on the Dark Knight Rises murders. He sits down on the couch opposite my desk and we talk it through. Half-way through the conversation he points out that as far as he was aware the last time there was a killing in a theater in US history, it was when President Abraham Lincoln was assassinated.

Lincoln’s killer, John Wilkes Booth, as noted elsewhere in the Goldstein piece quoted above, perhaps similarly chose a place to commit his crime that would give him the necessary ‘stage’ for his actions. One similarity between the events that did seem to gel with this, was that Wilkes Booth shouted a line from a killing in William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar before shooting Lincoln. This seems to tie to the fact that the Aurora killer later told police he was The Joker, a murderous character from the previous Batman film. Wilkes Booth’s Shakespearean line of course being that famously uttered by Brutus before the murder of Julius – “Sic Semper Tyrannis.” This literally translates as “Thus always to tyrants,” and is also the Virginia state motto. Wilkes Booth was from Virginia.

July 24th, 2012.
The documentary film maker and director of Bowling for Columbine, Michael Moore, just posted an article on his website asking America to think deeply about their obsession with killing. He points out that it’s likely not the guns. He states in fact that it’s the American people and their apparent inability to care for each other, hinting of course at the country’s precarious healthcare system -

We are an easily frightened people and it is easy to manipulate us with fear. What are we so afraid of that we need to have 300 million guns in our homes? Who do we think is going to hurt us? Why are most of these guns in white suburban and rural homes? Maybe we should fix our race problem and our poverty problem (again, number 1 in the industrialized world) and then maybe there would be fewer frustrated, frightened, angry people reaching for the gun in the drawer. Maybe we would take better care of each other.

Oliver Gettel, the same day, publishes an article for the LA Times in which he pulls together the responses to the killings from 6 of the western world’s more notable film critics. A comment beneath the article reads -

What’s completely lost in all this chatter is that the hero of The Dark Knight Rises saw his parents murdered by a gunman and DOES NOT CARRY A GUN for that reason.  Also during the movie, he knocked Catwoman’s gun out of her hands saying “no killing”.  John Blake, on using his gun in self defense, found the whole thing distasteful and threw his gun away.  If there’s one hero who would be the symbol this is Batman. 

July 25th, 2012.
US President Barack Obama is on national television addressing the issue of gun violence in cities, stating that AK-47s belong in the hands of soldiers, not criminals. He continues to say -

When there’s an extraordinarily heartbreaking tragedy like the one we saw, there’s always an outcry immediately after for action. There’s talk of new reforms. There’s talk of legislation. And too often those efforts are defeated by politics and by lobbying and eventually by the pull of our collective attention elsewhere. But what I said in the wake of Tucson is we’re going to stay on this persistently. I will continue to work with members of both parties and with religious groups and with civic organizations to arrive at a consensus around violence reduction.

Warner Brothers is pulling trailers of its forthcoming film Gangster Squad, which depict assailants with Tommy-guns shooting cinema goers from behind a cinema screen. The film has also been pulled from the studio’s Fall release schedule.

July 26th, 2012.
I sit down to write this article, and just moments after I’ve written a working title I get a message on my phone. The message tells me that someone has replied to the comment I left on the internet on the 13th. They’re replying to the comment I left beneath my friend’s photograph of a Batman poster, just days before the killings. The reply simply reads -

A week later, your comment doesn’t sound like the best wording, does it?

I’m confused. I quickly scroll back up to my original comment, and read it again -

Better be good. Really good. World crushingly good. So good it actually kills me. So good everyone in my theater dies. Like end of the world good, you know?

I look back at the essay I’m writing. I almost vomit. I close the computer. I reply to the person on my phone apologizing profusely, but my comments feel futile. I know it’s extremely unlikely that I’m responsible in any way, but nevertheless my thoughts are racing. I call two friends and ask them to talk me through it. I then go for a long walk. I need to be out among people.

July 29th, 2012.
Michael Moore is on American national television for the first time in 10 years talking with talk show host, Piers Morgan, about American gun laws. He’s remarking upon President Barack Obama’s comments about his awareness that it could have been his own daughters in that screening that night. Michael Moore, undeniably a fan of Obama, doesn’t hesitate to fire back at the President -

If President Obama is watching right now — and I — and I say this with all due respect — what if it were them? What if it were them last Thursday night? Would you stand at the microphone the next day and say I feel your pain and, you know, we just — we — the — the existing gun laws, that’s what he said — the existing laws are enough. Is that really what you’d say, Mr. President? I don’t think so.

August 1st, 2012.
An anonymous comment has appeared at the bottom of Michael Moore’s July 24th article that reads -

American Pop Culture Quiz

Questions:
How many High School kids were shot in Compton this year? How many of them made the news or got their medical bills paid? Why are kids from Colorado so much more important than the ones in L.A.?

Answers:
Dozens. None. They’re White!

August 8th, 2012.
It’s midnight. I’m sitting down to watch a film with my brother that’s been produced by an old friend of mine. The film is called Boy A, and is based loosely on the aftermath of the killing of the 2-year-old James Bulger in England in 1993. The two kids who committed the killing splashed their victim in blue paint, in imitation of the 1991 film Child’s Play 3.

Boy A is good, and my brother and I end up arguing afterwards about how sympathetic the killers friends would have been ‘in reality’, compared to the film.

August 10th, 2012.
I am sitting at my laptop in my brother’s apartment in London, sun streaming in through the windows. It’s an unusually hot day, after what’s been a very rainy English summer. There have been at least two more widely-publicized shootings in the US since the Aurora killings. Unable to escape the feeling that I should write something, I delete everything I’ve written and start over.

Not every director is suited for low-budget indie filmmaking, and that’s OK if you’re Terrence Malick or David Fincher. But chances are, you’re not…or not yet, anyway. I get a fair number of calls from biggish directors and producers who are having trouble raising money for their …]]>

Video Village, Indie-Style

Not every director is suited for low-budget indie filmmaking, and that’s OK if you’re Terrence Malick or David Fincher. But chances are, you’re not…or not yet, anyway. I get a fair number of calls from biggish directors and producers who are having trouble raising money for their films and want to explore how to make them on the super-cheap. I’ve entertained some of these requests, collecting funny anecdotes along the way, like the director who wanted to fly in stars from another country and rent large trailers for them, but forego unions and production insurance. Or the producer who wanted to cast an actor whose agent demanded $12,000 worth of perks, when our entire costume budget was just $4,000. As much as I want to work with these namey folks, I usually end up politely declining because I know that it will be difficult for them (and for me, especially) to make a movie on a fraction of the budgets to which they’re accustomed.

I’ve now worked with twenty different directors on mostly low-budget indie projects–some of whom I’d like to work with again and again; others, never again. By now, I can tell when a director is lying, even if he or she doesn’t realize it–”it’ll be 70% handheld,” “we can just run and gun it with a skeleton crew,” “all I need is an extra half day for second unit stuff.” Yeah, right. Most of the director foibles I’ve dealt with are due to inexperience and will likely resolve themselves with time. But sometimes, I wonder if some people just weren’t meant to direct–at least not low-budget indies.

So what are the traits that I think make a director “indie-friendly” (and more generally, “producer-friendly”)? Besides the usual traits that all directors should have–passion, confidence, focus, a high E.Q., a collaborative spirit, a sense of humor, the ability to command respect, an openness to feedback balanced with decisiveness–here are the traits that are especially important when working with limited resources:

1. Fast Writer

I’ve worked mostly with writer-directors, which offers an efficiency that’s often missing when the writer and director are different people. So much rewriting is done not just during development and prep, but also during production. Some of my directors have had to rewrite whole scenes minutes before shooting them. There is probably a lot more production-directed rewriting in the indie world since we are constantly trying to figure out how to stretch a budget. Development periods are also a lot shorter for us because they have to be–typically, no one gets paid during development; we only get paid if we’re in production. As such, it’s nice to work with speedy writers who can discuss, digest, and incorporate notes quickly to produce a shoppable draft.

2. Adaptive

Anything can happen in filmmaking, especially if you have limited resources–extras stand you up, location owners change their minds at the last minute, the G&E truck takes a wrong turn and shows up 2 hours late. So it’s critical for a director to be able to adapt to these exigent circumstances and figure out how to make lemonade from lemons. I’ve worked with directors who refused to shoot because a featured extra didn’t show up. Even after I’d come up with workable solutions, the directors still resisted, insisting that the entire film would be ruined without this extra. Really? You have a set, a camera, equipment, and a cast and crew of 50 at your fingertips, and you’re just going to cross your arms and pout? You’re a creative person…create something! If it ends up sucking, then reshoot it. But for now, use what’s right in front of you and try to make something. (By the way, I’ve never had to reshoot any scene that called for an unexpected last-minute fix like this.) Being adaptive and thinking on your feet also helps when there are happy accidents. Filmmaking is organic and unpredictable, and when the right mix of elements strikes on set, a good director will know how to capitalize on it.

3. Editing Experience

It is so valuable for a director to have editing experience because she or he will know on set what’s important and what’s not, what can be sacrificed and what can’t. Indie films are scheduled so tightly that it’s often very tough to make the day. All of my feature productions have been between 19 and 24 days, shooting between 4-7 pages and 15-35 setups per day. Sometimes, shots and even scenes have to be cut on the day of shooting. A director who also edits will have a much better sense of which shots are expendable, and how to make up for losing them.

4. Ability to Visualize

This seems obvious, doesn’t it? But you’d be surprised how many directors can’t do this. Many indie directors I’ve encountered come from writing or theater backgrounds–they can write great dialogue and work well with actors, but they have no idea how to compose a frame. Yes, this is what cinematographers are for, but it’s much more efficient when a director can actually visualize what shots will look like before crew and cast go through the trouble of setting them up.

5. Doesn’t Sweat the Small Stuff

This is probably the most controversial trait on the list. Artists are, by their nature, perfectionists–and they should be!  However, the reality is that perfection is tough to achieve on a small budget. Of course, we should always work very hard to achieve it, but the obsession over minor details–like the way a curtain drapes over a windowsill in the background–should not compromise more important things like the actors’ performances or the entire shooting schedule. Except, of course, if you’re making an art film in which the position of curtains is paramount. But if you’re making a traditional narrative film where the writing, acting, and storytelling are the main events, then those are the things you should focus on. A production’s budget and schedule are a zero-sum game. It’s rare to get everything you want; it’s usually very give-and-take. So it’s important for directors to choose their battles wisely.

6. Highly Prepared

One of my favorite first assistant directors, Nicolas D. Harvard, has a great motto: “Fix it in prep.” Indie films benefit immensely from directors who are incredibly diligent about doing research, shot lists, storyboards, and the like during prep. Some directors I’ve worked with have refused to do shot lists because they don’t want to be “locked in” to doing those particular shots on the day of shooting. This is silly because a good producer and crew understands the importance of being flexible on set and allowing for the organic nature of filmmaking to take its course, and would not pressure a director to stick strictly to his or her shot list. On the contrary, a shot list is what allows a director the freedom to improvise on the shoot day. Going into production without a shooting plan is very dangerous because it could easily throw the entire schedule (and consequently, the budget) off the rails.

7. Solid Work Ethic & High Stamina

Making a movie is hands down the hardest work I’ve ever done. That’s why I’m so picky with my projects. I cannot imagine working so hard on something I don’t care about. So when I take on a project, I expect to work very hard on it, and I expect no less of my director. Once, during late-stage prep on a film, the director kept checking into bars and restaurants on Foursquare, and tweeting about how much fun he was having hanging out with his friends. I did not like this one bit. If I and your crew are working our asses off on your film, then you should be too. Indie directors must have a very solid work ethic, and a high stamina for long hours spent doing what will likely be the most intellectually, physically, and emotionally challenging work they’ve ever done.

8. Vast Knowledge of Film

It’s important for all directors to know the language of cinema. By knowing what’s been done before and what certain shots have traditionally communicated, a director doesn’t have to reinvent the wheel. He or she can then more easily pay homage to, do variations on, or reject conventions. Being able to refer to certain films, scenes, or shots also makes it much easier and quicker for a director to articulate his vision to the crew and cast.

9. Articulate

In all productions, but especially indie ones, a director often has to defend the creative decisions that conflict with budget or schedule limitations. As such, a director should be able to clearly articulate why he needs 5 picture cars instead of 2, or 21 shoot days instead of 20, or a Steadicam instead of doing it handheld. A good producer will listen and OK the expenditures if the director provides a strong rationale for them. Of course, it’s also beneficial when directors can clearly and efficiently communicate what they want to their actors and crew, and woo financiers with a pitch. Directors should practice untangling the creative jumble in their heads to form coherent thoughts and actionable requests (that, or find a producer who can translate for them).

10. Publicity-Friendly

Being articulate also helps when a director is promoting a film. Communicating your vision to the media and the public can be a difficult thing to do, especially if you can’t afford fancy publicists to guide you. Some directors I’ve worked with are great at making movies, but can’t write loglines or synopses, pitch their own films, or conduct coherent Q&As, so I’ll have to pinch hit. But it’s really nice when they can do these things, because no one cares about the producer! Distributors also expect directors to play an active role in film promotion, especially now that the landscape is so difficult, and so much rides on the cult of personality. Bonus points for the director who is active in social media. There is no substitute for authenticity, and when a director can tweet in his or her own voice, it generates a lot more interest and engagement.

11. Technically Adept

Knowing how to use Twitter and Facebook is part and parcel of the overall technical aptitude that’s important for an indie director to have. Indie directors and producers often have to be jacks of all trades–more so than ever now that so much of marketing and distribution falls on our shoulders. When you can’t pay your Web designer, graphic artist, or assistant editor enough to be on call (or when you can’t afford these folks in the first place), you should be prepared to do the job yourself. So if you have some spare time, learn how to use video editing, photo editing, illustration, and web design programs, and of course, social media tools. You should also try to stay abreast of the latest camera and post-production technologies because in indie land, post supervision often falls to you and your producer.

12. Appreciative

Directors can be spoiled, bratty, entitled people. There is no place for that in the low-budget world, where everyone is working very long hours at very reduced rates. Directors who consistently show appreciation and respect for their cast and crew effectively motivate them, and that motivation is necessary fuel for low-budget productions. The director–not the producers or the actors–is the one who ultimately sets the tone of the production. If he or she is an unappreciative jerk, then everyone is miserable and left to wonder what all the suffering is for. An appreciative director also shares the limelight, and gives credit where it is due. And if/when Hollywood comes a-callin’, an appreciative director will remember the “little people” and “give back” by continuing to work with those who believed in his or her vision before anyone else did.

So there you have it! If you don’t possess most of these traits, please don’t call me–unless you are David Fincher or Terrence Malick. Actually…no, never mind, not even then. I will just enjoy your brilliant films from afar.

The clock reads 4:30 am.  It’s dark outside.  Must drag ass out of bed and try to look somewhat presentable for the 6:30 am crew call.  Must also review scenes for the day and be prepared to answer the barrage of questions from the director and actors: “How do you …]]>

The clock reads 4:30 am.  It’s dark outside.  Must drag ass out of bed and try to look somewhat presentable for the 6:30 am crew call.  Must also review scenes for the day and be prepared to answer the barrage of questions from the director and actors: “How do you pronounce octyl-cyanoacrylate?” “The knife should be sticking out of the body, right?” And “My character sounds a little mean.  Can you soften these lines?”   Ok.  Now we’re awake.  This is the benefit of being a writing team.  Two brains are better than one.  Especially before Starbucks.  But it’s all in a days work when you’re a writer/producer on a TV series.

We know it sounds like a cliché, but if you can get paid for doing something you love, that makes you the luckiest person on the planet.  We consider ourselves to be very lucky people.  But we’ve also worked very hard to get here.  We come from humble beginnings.  Just two friends who started writing together at Ryerson University in Toronto, Canada.  We had a professor who believed in us, who helped us believe in ourselves.  He taught us that if we wanted to be TV writers, we should watch TV, a lot of it, and most importantly, write.  A lot.

Once out of college, we both worked part-time, wrote full time.  Movies, sitcoms, one hours.  You name it, we wrote it.  This helped us figure out that our true passion was in one hour drama.  Five years after graduation we landed our first staff job.  We were thrilled.  It was a period show, Little Men, which was executive produced by Carl Binder, one of the nicest, most talented men we’ve ever worked with.  From day one, Carl taught us how to be better writers and how to produce.  One very important lesson he taught us was to always be open to notes, because you never know where a good idea might come from.   TV is all about collaboration.  You’ll probably spend more time with your fellow writers than with your own family.  That’s why it’s important to surround yourself with good people, not just good writers.

If you write one genre for a number of years, people in the industry feel that’s all you can write.  We wanted to move from family shows to crime drama, but we didn’t have any samples to prove that we could write dark and edgy.  We threw ourselves into the genre, writing specs for The Shield and CSI.  But most showrunners want to read original material, really get to know your voice, so we wrote a very dark and twisted pilot, called Hog Heaven.  We pitched it as Twin Peaks meets Dallas on an organic pig farm.  It had lots of sex, violence, and gallows humor.  No one called us soft writers after that.  In fact, our nickname in the industry now is “The Murder Girls.”

Law and Order: Special Victim's Unit

But that script didn’t land us a staff job.  We went two years without being on staff.  And money was getting tight.  We only had enough to keep our houses for six more months.  Our hope was to sell a pilot.  We came up with an idea and pitched it to Universal.  They liked it, but because we’d never run a show before, they paired us with Robert Nathan, an experienced writer/producer from the Law & Order camp.

Our first time meeting Robert was pretty terrifying.  He said he had 32 objections to our idea.  Things that needed to be addressed before we pitched to the network.  One by one, we found solutions for them and Robert became part of our team.  He helped shape our good idea into a great idea and we sold that pilot and got to keep our houses.  We learned a lot from Robert, especially about pitching.   Even if you’re unsure about what you’re saying, say it with conviction and people will listen.  After all, if you don’t believe in your story, why should anyone else?

That pilot helped us land our first job on a crime series, Crossing Jordan.  When that finished, we worked on other shows, The Unusuals, Flashpoint, and CSI.  Every show gave us the opportunity to work with some pretty incredible people, and to grow as writers and producers.

Crossing Jordan

We’ve made our share of mistakes along the way, like telling our boss his joke wasn’t funny.  Sometimes honesty isn’t the best policy.  And we’ve recently learned the importance of being careful of how you speak to people in all areas of production.  From actors to editors, we’re all craftsmen who take pride in our work, and an offhand comment can be taken as a harsh criticism.  When you’re in the editing room, don’t say, “Is there a better take?”  It implies the editor put in the shittiest take he could find. Instead, ask, “Is there an alternate take?  Or a take where he’s less angry?”  Words are powerful.  Be careful how you use them.

If you want to be a writer, write.  Don’t let anything or anyone stand in your way.  Believe in yourself.  Believe in your work.  Eventually, your hard work (and a little luck) will pay off.  We hope we get to work with you one day.

Let me start by saying everything is NOT a TV Show.  Some things just are what they are, and should not be televised.

A Pitch is much more than just an idea you have.  The idea may be the starting point but the pitch is much, much more.  And the pitch …]]>

Let me start by saying everything is NOT a TV Show.  Some things just are what they are, and should not be televised.

A Pitch is much more than just an idea you have.  The idea may be the starting point but the pitch is much, much more.  And the pitch is a different animal than the actual script.  And the script is different than the pilot.  And the pilot is different than the series.

The Pitch I’m talking about today is based on personal experience as opposed to an adaptation.  They are very similar except one you were inspired to create the other you found interesting enough to want to create a pitch.  I will never understand the difference between hi and low concept and premise and non-premise pilots.  Here’s what’s worked for me.  And I have sold 98% of my pilot ideas.

1. Inspiration

Executives love to hear how your idea affects you personally.  Perhaps you were shocked at the billion dollar shoplifting industry the number of cesarean sections each year.  Or maybe you’ve had a very unique personal experience.   Or a character that you really admire or a story that you feel really needs to be told — The first time you fell in love.  Innocently catching your parents sharing private moment together.  Getting fired from a job you loved.  Things that are universal

2. The World

This is very important.  If the person you are pitching to doesn’t understand the world or if it’s a world we’ve seen too often you will be in trouble.   In addition to the popular mash-up of two ideas — Godfather meets Laverne & Shirley.  You want to describe the feel or tone of the world.   Does it feel like a place Cheers that is so comfortable and everyone wants to be your friend:  Or a sterile, cold, corporate culture where no one really gets to know each other.  Can’t trust each other.  Yet need each other.

What are the universal elements?  Everyone has trust issues?  We are a nation run by fear?  Does the media tries to control us through fear?

3. Characters

In a half hour they usually want one character with a very strong point of view. Surrounded by funny, supporting characters — Unless it’s an absolute ensemble.  Then you can tell stories about all of them.   In dramas unless it’s about a particular, unique crime solver, it’s usually an ensemble of some kind like Grey’s Anatomy, or ER or Brother’s and Sisters.

Also, what are the characters relationships to each other?  In half-hour; the execs are obsessed with the character’s knowing each other and how do they know each other?   It’s easiest to make some related in a family way:  brothers, aunts, cousins or best friends from child hood.  In drama’s they usually meet on the job or Med school or the Academy.

4. Pilot story

Broad strokes –and only if they ask for it. And/or other broad stroke story ideas if you have them.

I also like to add multi-platform ideas now that those are such a part of the current television experience.  For example: if you’re pitching a show where someone is a temperamental Chef – maybe one of the web ideas is to have the Chef character giving recipes on the Show’s web site.

I was graciously invited to write this blog for IFP and was told I should focus on my experience of writing for television.  I was actually asked to write about writing.  What a fantastic idea!  So I gladly accepted.   One problem.  I forgot that I’d actually have to sit down …]]>

I was graciously invited to write this blog for IFP and was told I should focus on my experience of writing for television.  I was actually asked to write about writing.  What a fantastic idea!  So I gladly accepted.   One problem.  I forgot that I’d actually have to sit down and write it.

I can only approach this piece on a personal level and bring my own experience to it.  I don’t know how else to do it.  That said:

Writing is brutal.  You may be one of those fortunate few who set your alarm for 3:30 in the morning so you can make sure it’s still dark outside as you hop, skip and jump to the blank page.  I’m not that guy.

I find writing to be hard.   You often hear how writers always start with that blank page and create something from nothing and if everyone thinks it’s so easy, let them do it.  Whoever “these people” are, they’re right.  The blank page staring back at you from your computer screen can be crushing.  And to make the matter even more challenging, you are seldom writing for just yourself.  You are writing for a ton of people.  Network, Studio, Producers, Department Heads, Casting, Crew and Actors.  And if you’re not careful, that can be a trap because you might find yourself second guessing yourself.  “What will he think?”  “What will they think?”  “This one usually hates whenever someone is physically ill, so instead of pneumonia, I’ll have them go water skiing instead.”

My best work has always been when I was writing for myself.  I created a show called Huff and it was on spec.  (Speculative, as in for free.)  I wrote it in Hawaii while on hiatus from another show, and sat on the floor in my boxers having a great time.  I wrote it in three weeks.  There was one scene I remember, which was two thirteen year old boys  having a sleepover in a tent in the back yard.  We cut into the scene to discover these two kids frantically masturbating in their sleeping bags.  And when I finished writing it I literally laughed out loud and said “Like this will ever get shot!”  Thank you Showtime.  It got shot.

Showtime's "Huff"

The point of the story is I wasn’t writing for anybody but myself, because I never expected it to really go forward.  It was just a spec.  And I had to remind myself as I wrote, that I didn’t have to answer to anybody.  To find that balance and freedom as a writer for a television show that’s on the air, takes an odd discipline and creative mind.

And, yes.  The blank page on a laptop can be daunting, especially when there’s a little icon at the bottom of the screen that is a direct connect to the Internet.  I did a lot of writing for that show.  After finishing every scene I’d reward myself by signing onto Ebay and bidding on a piece of glass.  Near the end of the first season, I had an office riddled with over a hundred red glass vases.   I bid high.  There were a lot of scenes.

One of the issues that I was asked to discuss are the day to day realities of working in television.   Let’s get one thing straight from the very beginning.  There is no “reality” in writing for television.   And if I were to give a complete answer addressing the day to day realities of television we’d be here for days.  I would also probably never get hired again.

However, I used this opportunity to click the Internet icon and go to dictionary.com.  There, I hoped, I would find a definition of “reality” that would somehow trigger a response.  Oddly enough I was taken first to drugstore.com/realities which hammered home the message of “free shipping” and then I was taken to freeforclosureslistings.com which boasted listings of properties that “must sell.”

And I realized that this is actually the reality of television.  First, it must sell or you don’t have a job.  And once it sells, it has to ship fast since there are always three scripts in the works all at the same time.  One in prep, one shooting and one in post.  Production devours scripts.

So I guess the first reality of television is you will be working approximately 480 hour weeks.  You arrive at the office, sometimes before dawn, and you go home when it’s dark.  It’s possible to even forget your dog’s name.  So a major reality is you have no time.  If you don’t have scripts, you don’t have a show.  Period.  That’s the major reality of television.  You need scripts.  There are a hundred and fifty people waiting for them every week, and that’s not counting the network and studio.  If you don’t have scripts, someone will die.  And you don’t want it to be you.  So make your deadline.

“After three days he’ll be immortal, and then you’ll need to open a passageway, there’s a sarcophagus, it’s a whole big thing.  Just take my word for it, kill it now or it’s a huge pain in the ass.” 

It …]]> Or: So You Have 70 Pages of Room Notes. Now What?

“After three days he’ll be immortal, and then you’ll need to open a passageway, there’s a sarcophagus, it’s a whole big thing.  Just take my word for it, kill it now or it’s a huge pain in the ass.” 

It breaks my heart that this little piece of dialogue never made it into my first episode of “The Middleman”.  Someone pitched it in the writers’ room and I always thought it was pithy and clever and just sorta cute.  I liked it, the room liked it, it was even bolded it in the room notes to signify that the showrunner liked it.  So why didn’t I include it in my draft?

To answer that question, let’s take a look at the writers’ room process.

Every show is different, but most rely heavily on the writers’ room to generate stories.  On “The Middleman”, the process went a little something like this; we’d gather at ten in the morning, spend half an hour or so arguing about where to order lunch (from what I hear, this process takes longer in comedy rooms), then another half hour to decide on our individual lunch orders (again, add time to this if you’re in a comedy room), then once lunch was settled, we’d dive into breaking the episode.  “Breaking” is just a fancy TV way of saying “outlining”.  We’d come up with a basic idea that would become more specific as the days wore on.  Pitches included everything from story beats, to scene work, and even specific dialogue.  Most Middleman episodes took about five to seven days to break.  As you can imagine, a lot of material gets pitched out over this time.  A LOT.  Our intrepid writers’ assistant wrote down every word.

By the time I was sent off to script for that first episode, I had so many pages of room notes, I had to use a three ring binder to hold them all together.  So now what?

Well, if you’re young, stupid, and eager to please, like I was, you sit your overachieving butt down with a highlighter and go through every page of notes.  I highlighted everything that I liked in pink.  I highlighted everything the showrunner liked in yellow.  My intent was to include every piece of highlighted awesomeness in the script.  Sounds brilliant, right?

My first draft was 78 pages.  78 PAGES!

Not only was the draft long, but the scenes were meandering and I didn’t feel like they were landing emotionally.  I still had a few days before it was due, so I did what all TV writers would do in that situation.  I flung myself facedown onto my bed in a fit of melodramatic self-loathing, cried for a few minutes, then had a glass of wine.  When I was done with that, I tossed the highlighter and got out the red pen.

Walking away from good material is hard.  But I had to do it.  People always ask me the most common mistake I see from rookie writers.  Undoubtedly and unequivocally it’s what I did.  Trying to include it all.

The room notes can be extraordinarily helpful, but they can also totally screw you.  You’ll read over the notes and come across pitches that made the showrunner laugh or cry or say, “yeah, we should do that” and the instinct is to put them all in.  He/She loved it in the room, he/she is gonna love it on the page.  Uh… not necessarily.  They’ll love it if the scene work is solid and the emotional moments land.  But it’s really hard to make that happen if you’re shoehorning in every single thing they responded to in the room.

Of course the flip side to this is not including enough of the material from the room.  I haven’t seen this mistake with quite the same frequency, but it does happen.  Every now and again a script will come in that bears little to no resemblance to what was discussed in the room.  All I can say about that is, don’t do it.  Unless your script is really, really, really, good.  And probably not even then.  TV is constantly moving forward and if you go completely off the rails, it’s going to screw over every story coming down the line.  Going rogue is for CIA operatives and Sarah Palin.  Your showrunner expects you to turn in the story they sent you out to write.

So how much is the right amount to pull from the room?  There’s no magic answer.  Some stories break clean and every moment magically works from fade in to fade out.  Other stories will require a little heavy lifting.  Other stories require a lot of heavy lifting.  Always go back to the core of the story.  Let the dramatic beats and the emotional arc guide the dialogue, not the other way around.

I no longer print the notes out when I get sent off to script.  Not only is this kind to the trees — who already take a serious beating from TV production — but it helps me focus on the bigger picture and to not get bogged down in the minutia.  And if something isn’t working or I need a refresher, that’s when having 70 pages of notes can be used for good and not evil.

My favorites are Breaking Bad, The Walking Dead, The Killing, Boardwalk Empire …]]> Some of the best writing and directing is on cable TV right now and it doesn’t surprise me that some of the people who are responsible for that work are artists who started out as independent filmmakers, like yourselves.

My favorites are Breaking Bad, The Walking Dead, The Killing, Boardwalk Empire and Homeland. The fact is a bunch of fantastic independent filmmakers with singular/distinctive visions have transitioned nicely into television. Patty Jenkins, (writer/director of, Monster) directed the pilot for AMC’S, The Killing, Tom McCarthy (writer/director of The Station Agent) directed the pilot for HBO’S Game of Thrones, and Michael Cuesta, (writer/director of L.I.E.) directed the pilot of Showtime’s Homeland and Dexter.

That is just to name a few and to me it is clear that those filmmakers had a vision for those pilots. These directors brought themselves to the material and they shined. Think about it. Who would have thought that the director of The Station Agent and The Visitor would direct something like Game of Thrones. HBO wanted someone with a singular, uncompromising vision and with McCarthy they knew they were in the capable hands of an amazing independent film maker.

You may ask yourself, how do I break into TV from my mother’s basement in Queens or from the set of my first independent film? Good question. My answer to that question is HARD WORK. Create something original like the writer/directors above did. You don’t need an agent to sit down and write a script. You don’t need a manager to shoot a short, but what you do need is passion and a relentless desire to be seen and heard.

That is what I believe to be the motivation for all creative pursuit – the desire to be seen and to be heard; to be understood by another individual; to communicate and connect with others and find your tribe. This is a very primal and human desire and I’m here to tell you that it is achievable. I too started out and as indie filmmaker in New York City. Now I work in the television world and I love it. I’d like to share my story with you and hope that it will inspire you to go after what you want.

I often hear young writer/directors say something like, yeah, they got in the business because they had connections. They knew somebody. They slept with somebody. They went to school with somebody. I can tell you, that may be true for some, but not for all. I for one did not have one single connection to the entertainment business, but I did have a burning desire to be seen and to be heard; a yearning to find my tribe.

My journey to becoming a writer/director/producer was not a linear one. I lost my parents at a very early age, here in New York City. I dropped out of high school and I bummed around New York with a soft spot for vodka and the nightlife until I couldn’t take not doing what I wanted anymore. And what I wanted, was to be a writer.

I would actually go to sleep at night, when I was in my twenties and I would pray. I would ask God to please lift the desire from me to be a writer if it in fact was not what he wanted me to do.  I would pray that if I was shown God’s will, I would gladly give up this dream; this ambition that was bringing me no joy…and I would wake up and the desire was still there, I still wanted to be a writer, and I would sit my ass down and write something new.

I was trying to figure out my way into the business when actually, I became a member of the IFP.  I was a young fledgling playwright and it was at one of IFP’s panels that I introduced myself to one of the creative execs that was on the panel. Her name was Elizabeth Carroll. She worked for Vanguard films at the time. Elizabeth was being swamped by hungry people like myself, looking for a break and I took her card and when I got home I sent Elizabeth not one but two of my scripts. I know, I know. I was pushy/ballsy. Remember – I grew up on 10^th avenue in Manhattan and I had a drinking problem. I was parentless and I was very blurry with boundaries.

Anyway, to make a long story short, Elizabeth read my scripts, luckily thought they were great, and called me in for a meeting. We got along well and at the end of the meeting, Elizabeth gave me a book to read and asked me how I would adapt it. I went home and worked on it, then came in and pitched the director Harold Becker (who directed City Hall among other wonderful films) and I got the job.

I want to stress how important it was that when I met Elizabeth Carrroll that I had a body of work to read. It really was the definition of luck, which they say is opportunity and preparation meeting at a single moment in time. I was just like you, an independent writer/director and a member of the IFP, looking for a break.

I got my break in TV by being a prolific writer; by practicing my craft. Writers write. They don’t wait for a job to be offered to them. It’s been said that it takes ten thousand hours of practice to get good at something. Malcolm Gladwell says in his book The Outliers, “Along with passion and persistence the key to expertise and success is ten thousand hours of practice.” I agree one hundred percent with that sentiment.

Ten thousand hours is equivalent to roughly three hours per day, or twenty hours per week, of practice over ten years. Trust me, by the age of 29, I had put in my hours of practice and I had waited on so many tables that I felt like I had served America dinner. I was prepared for my close up with success. My opportunity in Television came through writing and directing an independent film. I had written a play called .45 that was never produced, but I had blind faith in the material, so I adapted it on spec and set it up as a film.

No one paid me for this. I wrote it, because I had to.

I wrote and directed .45 that stars Milla Jovovich and it was that film that gave me an entry into the television world where I have been happily working as a writer/producer/creator for some years now. My big break came when a DVD of my independent film was shown to Shawn Ryan, creator of The Shield.  My agent at the time gave it to him. Shawn liked what he saw and then he read a few pilots that I wrote. I went in for a meeting with him, the meeting went well, and I was fortunate enough to land the job.

Those pilots that I wrote never sold but they were great writing samples, and they helped me land my job on The Shield. This is why I believe that nothing that you write goes to waste, and why I believe you have to write what you want to write and not ask your agent, your manager or your friends what is selling. Don’t ask, “What is hot?” “What’s the next trend?” “Should I write a spec for CSI MIAMI?

The answer to that question, in my opinion, is NO. I think that way of thinking is a waste of time. Most showrunners want to read original material so that they can get a peek into who you are. Who you are as a person is everything in this world. I once told one of my agents (who I am no longer represented by) that I wanted to write a script about an old Italian woman who was a bookie and booked numbers with her grandson. Now, I know that doesn’t sound commercial, hot, or sexy like “Training Day in Space”, but it was what was calling me at that time.

The agent told me flat out that I was crazy, that what I had was a terrible idea, and that I should try and shake it off like a bad cold. Basically he was saying that I shouldn’t waste my time. He went on to ask me who was making movies about old women. I told him that I didn’t know. I went ahead and wrote the script on spec, again, because I had to. It made the rounds and didn’t sell, but it gathered fans.

After a few years of it sitting on my desk, I received a phone call from writer/producer/showrunner Greg Berlanti (Everwood, Brothers and Sisters), who asked me if I still owned the rights to my script, which was called Conchette. I told him that I did still own the rights, and he told me that he had read it when he was an assistant and that he wanted to buy it from me. I sold that script five years after I had written it without changing one word. That is one of the reasons I believe that you have to write what you want and that no piece of good writing goes to waste. We learn something from every script we write and with every script we write, hopefully, we get better. Remember the ten thousand hour rule.

I suggest to people to write what they want. I believe that if you feel passionately about your subject matter, that will show on the page or on the screen, and that will eventually land you a job. It will separate you from the pack. It will help you land on your feet in the world of television. My advice to anyone looking for a way into the television world is, be yourself. Embrace yourself. YOU are what they want. In television, I believe people hire you because of you, not only for your writing. At some point in your career, you land at a place where you are confident in putting together a cohesive sentence or two, but then what? What do YOU have to say? That is what interests them.  That is what interests me. You. I believe what separates you as a writer is your point of view of the world. Your DNA. Your life experience. That is what makes you distinctive. That is what makes you original. That is what makes you a creator.

So don’t ever follow the pack. Lead, and others will step in line. When I first came out to Hollywood to make a go of it in the TV world, I was sort of embarrassed about my own impoverished past; my lack of traditional education.  One day when I was sitting around a table and people were asked where they went to school, I was intimidated to hear people respond, “Harvard,” “Yale,” “Columbia.” I grew up in Hell’s Kitchen with a bathtub in my kitchen. Most of my family had been to prison and none of them made it passed high school. When the same question was asked of me – “Where did you go to school?” I responded, “McCann’s Bar and Grill during the week, Studio 54 on the weekends.” I got a laugh but more importantly, I was myself.

I can not stress how important that is – to be yourself. Share your shame, your insecurities, your secrets, your hopes and your dreams with the material you’re working on. That will make your work authentic and whole. That was a light bulb moment for me, because it allowed me to embrace myself, my past, my troubled youth and realize that people were NOT going to NOT hire me because of my past but BECAUSE of it. My life experience was what I had to offer to the writer’s room – to the world – as a writer. I immediately stopped trying to fit in and write like others and wrote like myself. What a relief. Try it and you will see, doors will open. I promise you. Be patient Put in your hours. Practice. Write scripts. Make movies. The opportunities will find you.

I think a lot of writers try to figure out what the marketplace wants and then sit down and try to bang out a version of whatever they think is popular. I think that is the wrong way to go. You will never be ahead of the curve, you will never please anybody, including yourself. I believe that the quickest way to breaking into the TV business is sitting down and writing something that only you can write. Expose yourself on the page. Write the thing that separates you from the pack. I believe that it is much more satisfying to create work than to ask someone for a job.

If you are the type of person who is sitting there waiting for someone to hire you, you are taking a passive role in your career. If you write something new and get it in to the right person’s hands, you are not only employing yourself but creating jobs for others. What a gift. How rewarding is that? There is no quicker way to break into the TV business than putting your ass into your script Don’t think about what you think someone wants. Think about what makes you tick. What gets you going and put it on the page or on the screen. Mix things up. Find your voice. Write about your obsessions. All of them.

One of the things I was told as a young writer was that I confused people because I wrote dark and edgy stuff and then I would write a broad comedy. I am proud to say that I wrote for The Shield and I sold a road comedy called Soul Sisters to Oprah Winfrey at Disney. Those are two very different tones. The reason I confused people was because I was following my interests. I wrote about what I felt strongly about.  And while that may have made my own personal journey as a writer a little bumpy, I wouldn’t change a thing. I am so deeply grateful that I have written projects that I am passionate about, even if they have not made it to the screen… yet. I have a lot more in me and I am still collecting my tribe.

I think we are experiencing such a burst of creativity on TV right now and I am so pleased that I have been a small part of it. To me, the series that are on cable TV are just as good as many of the films of the 70’s. If you think of the best characters created in the last ten years in any medium, you would have to include Tony Soprano, Dexter Morgan, Vic Mackey (The Shield) and Walter White from Breaking Bad. They’d be there right alongside Hannibal Lecter, Gordon Gecco, Daniel Plainview, and Queen Elizabeth.

I hope that there’s a reader there who is sitting down at his or her computer right now, in the middle of the night, banging out a great character/story to add to that illustrious list. If you want to make the transition into writing for TV from the indie film world, you can do it. I am living proof. WRITE. NOW. Put in your ten thousand hours and soon you will be hiring your own staff.

Good Luck!

From the 2011 Independent Filmmaker Conference.