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When you’re actually on the writing staff of a show, an outline isn’t just something you write for yourself. You actually write it for the show runner and for the studio and network executives to read so that they can have input on the story at this stage. This means, of course, that it’s a somewhat more polished document than what you might put together for your private use.

An outline written for this purpose often starts with a short summary of the episode, condensed into a few sentences. I always spend a lot of time on this, and not just because I want it to be compelling and clear. The best summaries capture the “what it really means” of an episode.

Here is a bad summary for an imaginary episode of an imaginary show:

Mella and Ben get in a fight over her immaturity, and she storms out of the house late at night. When she gets locked out of her car in a scary downtown neighborhood, she is protected by the local homeless population until she can call Ben, which she does reluctantly. He picks her up, but the fight continues.

Here is a better one for the same episode:

Mella storms out of the house when Ben suggests she’s immature. When she’s locks herself out of her car in a scary downtown neighborhood, she doesn’t want to call him, knowing she’s proving his point that she can’t take care of herself. Only an encounter with the local homeless population makes her put her own ego into perspective. She calls Ben, losing the fight, but knowing she did the prudent thing. She lost the battle, but she just might have won some maturity.

First off: bleah. I don’t know what this imaginary show is that I just cooked up, but I can’t say I’m that interested in it. Mella sounds like a load, and the homeless thing? A bit precious, no? But I think you can see the difference. The second summary traces her emotional arc, and tells you how each event leads into the next and what it all means.

It’s often the writing of the logline, the forced condensation of the story, that brings it into focus for me. You’re forced to drop out all the embroidery and just concentrate on that strong central line. This, ultimately, can actually affect how you write the episode, since you’ve been reminded of the importance of making that line clear and vibrant throughout the whole script. Wouldn’t you rather sit down to write with the second summary in front of you than the first?

Even if you’re just writing an outline for your own private use, I recommend coming up with a good strong summary you can keep in mind.

Lunch: taquitos!

Hey there! Did everyone enjoy tonight’s episode of Andy Barker, PI? This was “Fairway, My Lovely,” the episode I co-wrote with Alex Herschlag. Unusual for a half-hour script, it included an action sequence, and I thought you, Gentle Readers, might enjoy looking at how it was written. Here is part of it, exactly as we scripted it:

ANOTHER ANGLE REVEALS Brian on the roof of the cart. He must’ve grabbed hold of the cart as it went past him.

He bends over to check on Brian. But Brian was playing dead and now he GRABS ANDY by the shirt front and pulls him down onto the ground. Brian stands above Andy…

First of all, I should say that I don’t consider myself a great action writer. It’s always the last part of the script that I write. I even tend to zone out when watching action. Just tell me who won, you know? But I’ve gotten better at it over the years as I’ve finally learned that the hard part is the visualization of the action, that writing it all down can be pretty easy and straight-forward once the hard part’s done.

This is how I tend to like to write action. There are a few camera directions, like “On Andy” and “Close on:”. But mostly I’m striving for a succinct description of exactly what’s happening without telling the director how to shoot it. The main actions are in capital letters, but that’s not an exact science. I mostly use this for things I’m afraid people will miss. Also, you’ll notice I’m free with the sentence fragments. I want the sequence to feel quick, almost breathless in the writing, and fragments can help with that.

Notice also that it’s not strictly true that you can only include descriptions of things that can be seen. Look toward the end. “Brian was playing dead.” That’s a conclusion that I want the readers/viewers to draw, and it’s the intent of the moment. But it’s not, strictly speaking, only visual. Earlier in the piece, “possibly badly injured” is also something that’s less than purely visual. It’s there to make clear to a reader why Andy is getting so close to his opponant. Don’t get all hypervigilant and discard things like that on the basis of some kind of screenwriting rule. The purpose of the exercise is to be clear, not to follow the rules. So loosen up, forget about a bunch of technical stuff. Thoroughly visualize what you want, then just get it on paper as clearly as you can.

Lunch: pasta salad and banana squash soup. No one was taking the soup. I think maybe they thought it was squash banana soup.

Just a reminder — my episode of Andy Barker, PI airs tomorrow night (thurs) on NBC! Check it out. After it airs, I’ll talk with you all a bit about writing action sequences, since I got to write a really fun one for this episode.

But while we wait for the ep to air, I say we go to the mailbag. Robert in Orlando asks about how a novice can get an idea for a show to a network. Sorry, Robert (and everyone else with this very popular question), I’m afraid I don’t know of any such open door. I was working as a writer for more than ten years before I got to pitch pilot ideas to network executives. If there were a quicker route, most TV writers would take it.

Networks like to hear pitches from writers with the experience to write a polished and producible script, and ideally with the experience to run the show themselves. In short, it’s just not a system that’s really set up for input from the outside. But there is a way to the inside of the system, if you want to write a spec script and use it to apply to programs like the ABC Writers’ Fellowship. So pull up a chair and we’ll talk specs!

Finally, to comment quickly on some other notable notes:

In answer to Richard from New York — thank you for your letter — I’m not allowed to use any writing submitted to me, but thanks for lovin’ the blog! In answer to Andrew, also from New York — yes, I think your interpretation of the Balzac joke is exactly right! And a thank you to friend-of-the-blog Leona for the lovely card. And to Scott from Alameda for his Battlestar insights.

Thank you everyone! Soon: action!

Lunch: an ice cream sandwich (I know, I know)

Remember when Ricky Martin’s “Livin’ La Vida Loca” was the big inescapable hit song that you heard everywhere? My friends and I got into an idle discussion of what the Weird Al Yankovic parody of it was going to be called. We went through lots of options — you know the sorts of things — everything from “Livin’ with Melanoma” to “Swimmin’ in Aqua Velva” and “Lovin’ the Almond Roca.” We felt we’d pretty much exhausted the possibilities. It was hours later, in the middle of another conversation, that one of us unexpectedly yelled, “Livin’ La Vida Polka”!

Just because you’ve found a joke you’re happy with, doesn’t mean you should stop looking. I’ve been amazed at how often, in a comedy writing room, a joke has been sitting in a script for days before someone hits on a better version of it. Keep working, keep thinking, be open to the better line.

By the way, I don’t think Weird Al ever did release a parody of “Vida Loca,” although another parodist did one called “Livin’ La Vida Yoda.” Hmm. Didn’t even think of that one. We should’ve kept going.

Lunch: Minestrone and salad

In an observation related to the previous post, I’ve decided that there’s a definite advantage to turning in a spec that runs a bit short. Or, at the very least, I can now see a distinct disadvantage to turning in one that’s on the long side.

I used to think that one of the plusses of writing a spec was that you don’t have to make quite so many hard choices about cutting it down to the right length. After all, since it’s not going to be produced, making it producible isn’t quite as crucial.

But now I’m thinking about the busy agent, executive or show runner looking at the stack of specs they’re supposed to read. Which one would you grab first? The big fat long one? Or the one that looks like a quick read, an easy accomplishment?

If I were writing, say, a spec “House”? I’d look at my produced examples and turn in a spec that was several pages shorter, and certainly not longer than they are. It might not make a difference, but I sure don’t see how it could hurt.

Lunch: Something at the Universal cafeteria called “Cincinnati Chili.” It turned out to be served over spaghetti, which is how I like it anyway. A triumph!

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