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This is a continuation of the reply to Lauren in Michigan who asked about the daily life of a TV writer.

A typical day when you’re working on a show varies from show to show. Almost all shows maintain some kind of writers’ room, although the amount of time spent there is wildly variable. The room might feature a large central conference table and desk chairs, or it might be filled with comfy armchairs and couches. There is a whiteboard or a corkboard-and-cards arrangement, or both.

This is where the entire staff works together to come up with the storylines for each episode. A typical day often involves sitting in the room helping develop the stories. As a new staff writer, you wouldn’t be expected to dominate the room, in fact, it would be a mistake to try. You spend a lot of time listening in a writers’ room. By the time a story is sent off to be given a detailed outline, the staff has worked out the general content of each scene through collaborative discussion — this is “breaking the story”. If it’s a comedy, especially a multi-cam, traditional sitcom-type comedy, you spend even more time in the writers’ room doing group rewrites of the current script. This involves the higher-stress activity of pitching jokes: coming up with jokes for the script and calling them out to the group. You probably already have an instinct about whether that sounds like fun or torture for you.

Some dramas don’t have a room, instead requiring each writer to work one-on-one with the show runner to develop their episode. As a writer you simply fold yourself into the method that your show runner prefers.

If there is a room, sometimes you won’t be there, because you’ll be “out on script.” Some shows like you to still come to the studio every day and write in your office, while others let you disappear for the one or two weeks you have to write the episode. Sleep in, go to Vegas, whatever, just turn in a great first draft when it’s due. Being out on script is great.

As you become a more experienced writer, other duties might come up to add variety to your days. You might be expected to go to set and watch your episode being filmed. You might be expected to go work with an editor. But no one would expect you to come in as a new writer with a full set of producing and editing skills. Some shows never require you to do much of this kind of activity anyway. To a large extent, writing scripts and breaking story IS the job.

I’ve left Lauren’s most interesting question for last. She wants to know what the hardest part of the job is. There are a number of potential answers to that:

— The hours. Some shows, especially but not limited to multi-camera comedies, require very long hours and/or coming in on the weekends. But you’re young.

— The humanity. If working with the same people, hearing the same voices, accommodating the same personalities for long stretches of time under stress and in a limited environment sounds like hell, then you may not enjoy the room. But you do get to go out on script now and then.

— The ego-crush. You will get notes. You will be rewritten. You may have your suggestions derided publicly. But you do get to see your name on television.

— The business. It’s hard to get that first job, and for a while it may be hard to get that next job. It can take time and luck to get traction in this career. There aren’t a lot of jobs and they’re highly sought-after. But you’re good, right? I see new people getting in every single year. There’s no reason it can’t be you.

I hope that answers your questions, Lauren! Hope this helps!

Lunch: that heirloom tomato salad again

I guess I assume that everyone out there wants to be a TV writer. I mean, why wouldn’t you? But a letter from Lauren in Michigan reminds me that some of you may want to know more about what you’re getting into before you hop that ol’ freight train for LA.

Lauren wants to know about what sort of educational background is a good preparation for the job, and what the typical daily life of a writer looks like, both when working on a show and when between shows. She also wants to know about the most challenging parts of the job — the downside of the work. This, in particular, is a great question, since it’s true that it isn’t the Emmys every day! This is a lot to cover in one post, so I’m going to start my answer today and continue it tomorrow. ‘Kay?

First off, every sort of educational background is found among TV writers. I know rich successful writers without college degrees, for example, although that’s unusual. I myself was a computer science undergrad (I can program in Pascal — useless now), and a linguistics/cognitive science grad student. Some writers have film school backgrounds, but certainly not all of them do, not even close. There is no educational background that would be inappropriate. In fact, a background in something beyond film is often considered desirable because it brings a diversity of knowledge to the room. Biology? Poli Sci? Psychology? Philosophy? Engineering? Great. The sort of skills that you need to work on a writing staff aren’t really part of any specific curriculum. If you have creative ideas, can write a good script, and get along with people in a cooperative venture, then you’ve got the skills. (This is not to say I’m encouraging you to enroll in a program with a poor record of post-graduation employment, thereby gambling it all on hitting the Hollywood Jackpot. I’d suggest you be a little more practical than that, of course.)

It’s also fairly common for TV writing to be a second career, giving you the extra selling point of real-world experience. There are ex-doctors and lots and lots of ex-lawyers and ex-journalists in writers’ rooms around town.

I think there’s also a perception that TV writers grow up in the business, but I’ve actually met very few second-generation writers. You can come from anywhere and you can have studied anything. Just write scripts. Write them well.

More tomorrow.

Lunch: veggie sandwich with extra avocado. No mustard today — I think it was the right choice.

Yesterday, I attended the Emmy Awards for my first time ever. I recommend it. The show itself moves along pretty painlessly and the Governor’s Ball afterwards is full of famous people, tasty food, and surprises like looking up and realizing that Tony Bennett is actually just over there on the bandstand, singing, and you can just walk right up. My goodness.

You saw the same broadcast bits that I saw, so you already know which parts of the show itself were fun, but I liked all the stuff you got from really being there. I enjoyed the vintage Emmy clips they showed in the theater during the commercial breaks, and the incongruously cultured voice that would request “applause in the house, please,” before the end of every break, and even the very end of the night was fun because there was this crush of people all waiting for their hired limos to come pick them up and everyone was in the same situation even though they might be, say, Vanessa Williams. Bizarrely egalitarian, the limo-waiting process.

Television writing is the best job in the world. It’s got so many rewards built in already: you work with smart and funny people, create something, have your work seen by millions… and then, on top of that, there are awards. Really?! Neat.

Polish those scripts, Gentle Readers. They’re the ticket to the show.

Lunch: turkey with spices for a sort of pseudo-Indian effect

Kathy in New York City writes to ask a question about aging spec scripts. She’s got a Grey’s Anatomy spec that is being quickly rendered antique by plot and cast developments on the show. She wants to know if she needs to update the script, or throw it out, or simply hand it over with the caveat that the show has changed out from under it. This is a common problem with the current surfeit of arc-driven shows. The shows change quicker than one can write the specs!

To answer the question, you’re probably best off replacing the script with an all-new effort, Kathy. That way, you’ll still have the old one and you can certainly hand it over with the “this got old” explanation in case someone wants to see it, but you’ll also have something brand new.

To answer the broader question, this is one of the reasons that the current trend is to write original material. It’s more in demand anyway, and it doesn’t present this problem. If you really want to write a spec of a show that already exists, you might want to pick one that is somewhat less arc-y. House, for example, although it has character arcs, usually relegates them to a smaller percentage of the script and is therefore easier to keep current.

Kathy also mentions that produced Gray’s episodes have also now touched on some of the plot elements that were still virginal and pristine when she used them in her spec. Hmm. Depending on the degree of similarity, this is of less concern to me. If they’re just themic similarities then you certainly don’t have to worry about anyone thinking you lifted them (if they even know the show thoroughly enough to notice the overlap), and you can take them as a sign that you’re thinking on the same wavelength as the paid writers. If, however, these themes have now been so completely explored on the show that your spec feels like it’s replowing old fields, then you probably should retire the spec anyway on the grounds of sheer exhaustion.

You should pretty much always have a new spec (for either a produced show or an original) in some stage of the process: either plotting or writing or polishing. If you never shut the factory down, you worry a lot less about a fire in the warehouse. Or something like that.

Lunch: bowtie pasta, pesto sauce

Psst. Gather ’round. I have insider info for all of you, Gentle Readers. I’ve received a letter from Jack Gilbert, who is in charge of the reading of the submissions to the Warner Bros. Television Writers Workshop, and he has information about the changes to the program that go into effect this year.

He writes:

Even though the program has had a lot of success in the past (both of last year’s writing Emmy winners – Greg Garcia and Terrence Winter were Workshop alums), the changing TV landscape called for a new chapter of the Workshop.

Now everyone (not just the sitcom folks) will come out with a completed new spec. The mix of the smaller class (something like 7 drama and 3 sitcom writers) is an experiment, but will not only allow for a better writers’ room simulation, but will permit Chris and the other execs overseeing the program to concentrate on placing this select number of participants.

Ooh. Interesting. It sounds like the program has become more accessible monetarily, but more selective creatively. Obviously the smaller class size makes it a harder “get,” but the resulting improvement in the amount of attention and likelihood of being placed on a staff makes it much more likely to actually launch your writing career. I think it’s a positive change. You know you’re good, right? You wouldn’t be pursuing this if you didn’t. Therefore, anything that rewards you for being good is exactly what you want.

I’m interested to learn that Jack is in charge of the reading of submissions. I’d love to hear his reaction to what he’s seeing — namely, what are the big mistakes that he’s seeing over and over. I’m going to write back to Jack and ask, and I will report the results back to you, Gentle Readers. Due to the reduction in size, the target for this program has gotten smaller. The only response is to improve our aim.

Lunch: Miceli’s restaurant near Universal. I had the 1/2 spaghetti, 1/2 ravioli. Nice meets lovely.

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