JaneEspenson.com

When you decided to try to launch a writing career, you were faced with the question of what to do first. Unfortunately, once that’s settled, there’s a question that can be even trickier. What to do second?

Patrick in L.A. writes in with this question, which is also relevant to Zach, whose letter I answered a while back, and I’m sure, to a lot of the rest of you. You’ve got that first spec — one for a produced show, so you can submit it to ABC/Disney. Now you’ve got to decide what to do next. Another spec for a real show? Maybe a comedy to balance out that drama, or vice versa? Or a spec pilot? Or a spec feature? Or a spec short film?

The truth is, it hardly matters. Because ultimately, you will probably end up having at least one of each of these. So all you’re really worrying about here is the order. Don’t waste time worrying about that. Just pick one and do it, and then do the other one. Specs for existing shows aren’t as valuable now as they used to be, but I still think there’s probably value in having one for a dramatic show and — perhaps, why not — for a comedy if your instincts lie in that direction. But you’re clearly going to need other material, too. So even as you’re writing that “House,” keep an active file of feature-or-pilot ideas, too. And, of course, no one is keeping you from working on two projects at once — that can be a good way to stave off writing fatigue, in fact, having a way to change gears by switching to work on the other project.

So stop sweating, Nation, about which one to write next. In the long run, the order isn’t going to matter. Except in your autobiography. (Which you should write last.)

Lunch: Doritos, doughnut, coke. I know, I know.

Robin in Kansas writes to ask about my opinion on writing with a partner. She points out that I recently had a shared writing credit on Battlestar Galactica (with the delightful Anne Cofell Saunders), which suggests that I have experience in this regard. I have shared writing credits at other times in the past, as well, with Alex Herschlag on Andy Barker, PI, and with Doug Petrie on Buffy, as well as others.

But here is the secret truth. If you are a solo writer, (which is to say you aren’t employed with a partner as a single writing entity), you will probably never be asked to collaborate with another writer in the sense of actually sitting down to tackle the writing of a scene together. All the times in which I’ve shared a credit have either involved a splitting of the script (“you take acts one and two, I’ll take three and four”), or they’ve been a case of either taking over a script after a draft has been completed or having your own script taken over, because of other demands on the time of the initial writer.

This means, of course, that the decision as to whether or not you are a solo writer, or a part of duo, is an important one. It defines how your writing days are spent, probably for the entirely of your career. So think hard about which kind of day you enjoy: a day of fighting and compromise or a day of lonely responsibility. They’re both very satisfying, of course.

So, if you’ve just acquired a partner, and you find yourself dreading your sessions — even if you’re liking the product you produce… think long and hard about whether this is how you want to spend your career. Similarly, if the long hours of solitude as a solo writer make you want to scream… well, there is an alternative.

Lunch: left-over edamame and cucumber salad from a Japanese dinner

Some letters require only a brief reply, not enough to build a whole entry around so let’s take care of some of them all at once!

For Melanie in Chicago: I don’t think the new Dr. Who would make a good spec for the ABC/Disney fellowship. I think we should assume (to be on the safe side), that they only want US-produced shows.

For Brandi in Seattle: It looks like How I Met Your Mother has been renewed for another season. Looks to me that that makes it an eligible spec for ABC/Disney. Go for it!

For Jason in Calgary: I’m not really familiar with the sorts of informal-pitching-at-a-TV-festival that you’re going to be doing. Wish I was. My only advice is keep it brief, enthusiastic and end with a loud “And that’s our show!” to keep yourself from kind of dribbling off. I have no idea what kind of leave-behind you might want to prepare or what kind of reception you might get. But brevity is the soul of profit, so use that.

For Nic in Germany: Hi again. She wants to know if her Grey’s Anatomy spec has to include all twelve main characters. This is a great time to consult the produced episodes. If they always have the whole dozen, then you’d better find a way to do it, too.

And finally, Taylor in L.A. actually wrote a spec entry for this very blog. Nicely done! Thank you!

Lunch: veggie sandwich — loads of avocado. Nice.

Some series require you to make a “buy”. To suspend your disbelief in a major way right at the outset. Is that a flying nun? A talking car? Are those supposed to be teenagers?

Some spec writers are tempted to put an innovative spin on their script by bringing this presupposed, but possibly problematic, element to the forefront. Don’t do it. For example, if the implied documentary crew is featured on camera in your spec for The Office, you’ve probably taken a wrong turn. The documentary frame for the show might look like a tempting bit of low-hanging fruit, but if you pull it, the whole orchard unravels.

AND IN OTHER NEWS: I have it on very good authority that “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” is indeed eligible — and very welcome — as a spec for the ABC/Disney Fellowship.

Lunch: stuffed jalapenos and Dr. Pepper from Jack in the Box

We all know how boring it is to listen to someone else’s dream. But if you’ll indulge me, I think you’ll find there’s a fine writing lesson at the end of it.

Last night I dreamed I was running late, trying to get to a concert that was set to start at 2PM — one of those early afternoon hard-rockin’ events. I wasn’t terribly concerned because there was still time and it wasn’t a band I really cared about. I was finally on my way when I realized I didn’t have the tickets. But again, I wasn’t that invested, so it was okay. I ran back to the hotel room, got the tickets and discovered that time was getting short, but not impossible. And as I ran from the hotel I remembered that concerts often start late, and discovered that the concert hall was surprisingly close and easy to get to. I ducked in a back door of the hall to find that I’d stumbled into the band’s dressing room. I got to meet them, but I had to feign excitement because I didn’t really know anything about the group. Then I was shown to my front row seat with time to spare.

You know how some people think spicy food causes wild dreams? Well, I had tofu last night, and apparently bland food causes this.

The problem with the dream is that there are no STAKES and no TENSION. There were no negative stakes in terms of a bad consequence if I was late. And there were no positive stakes in terms of whoo, getting to meet the band! As you’re putting together your plot always keep the stakes in mind. What’s the bad thing that could happen? What’s the good thing? And the closer you get to fulfilling or frustrating those stakes, the more tension there is. In my dream, not only were there no consequences to being late, but it was always about ten minutes to two, a very boring time indeed. No tension.

Another reason to keep an eye on the stakes is that it’s one of the first thing that people who read scripts as part of their jobs are taught to look for. When I worked on sitcoms, at which executives give their notes right after the table read, this was by far the most common note: give us bigger stakes.

It is also a common request of vampire slayers.

Lunch: salad bar

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