JaneEspenson.com

Oh my. That little LA Times piece about this blog has just borne fruit. Fruit in the shape of envelopes! So much mail has just reached me! Oof! (I collapse under the mail bag, just my little feet sticking out, one on each side.)

Some of the mail either contains ideas for television series (which I simply CANNOT read, no matter what kind of waivers you include, seriously – in fact, they don’t even get to me, having been thrown away before I receive your envelopes), or questions about how to sell such ideas for television series. These questions generally come from those of you who are in situations such that it’s not practical for you to move to Los Angeles and spend ten years establishing yourself in a writing career before you begin pitching pilot ideas. So, of course, you want to know about other avenues for turning ideas into shows.

I wish I knew of such avenues. But I don’t. There are so many working writers with ideas – we pride themselves on them – that there’s no sense of a need to seek out other sources.

I am reminded that there was, briefly, an attempt to do something like what you are looking for. There was a fairly low-profile reality show on Bravo last season called “Situation:Comedy,” that was a sort of Project Greenlight for sitcoms. Unproduced writers submitted spec pilots, and two finalists had 15-minute versions of their scripts produced. (These mini pilots were called “pilot lights”.) Unfortunately, I have heard of no plans to repeat the project, although I personally thought it was great, and I wish it would continue.

And how did I happen to be reminded of this short-lived project? Well, one of the letters I received was actually from one of the “Situation:Comedy” semi-finalists! I’m delighted to learn he’s finding the blog helpful! Here’s wishing you continued success with your career!

Maybe other projects and contests like that one will come along. We can all keep our eyes open for them. Until then… keep thinking, keep writing… what you’re doing now is very much like how I got started. It takes many hours of flight training before you become a pilot. And many hours in the writers’ room before you pitch a pilot. But both are, in the end, attainable.

Lunch: steak and potatoes.

A very cool site called popgurls.com did an interview with me the other day. You can jump right to it here.

Anyway, they asked me if I had a Ten Commandments for spec writers. Here’s what I came up with:

1. Don’t spec a show you don’t respect.

2. Don’t make your spec about a guest character. Focus on the main character.

3. Get sample scripts of produced episodes. Study them.

4. Follow the show’s story structure exactly.

5. Find a story for your spec that plays on the show’s main theme.

6. Don’t write an episode that resolves the show’s mystery or consummates its romance.

7. Place the story turns at the act breaks, and give us reason to come back after the commercials.

8. In a comedy, spend time polishing the jokes, especially the last one in each scene.

9. Spelling, formatting, clarity of stage directions – they really matter.

10. Use strong brass brads.

Even with more reflection, I’m pretty well pleased with these. Maybe the thing about brads doesn’t deserve to make the top ten, but it’s not a bad list. I was interested to see that the first one is one I haven’t touched on much in this blog. About only spec-ing shows that you respect. It’s a topic that’s tricky, because sometimes there may not be a lot of choice in this matter.

For example, if you really want to be a multi-cam comedy writer, and you aren’t a fan of Two and Half Men… well, where does that leave you? With a spec pilot, I suppose.

Now, this isn’t to say you CAN’T write a show you don’t like. Once you’re hired on a staff, it’s not uncommon to have to write for a show you wouldn’t actually be a fan of. (I’ve been ridiculously fortunate in this way.) But I think if you ever find youself writing *down* — writing lines that are perfect for the show but that you personally don’t like — well, it’s hard to see how that spec is gonna sparkle.

For you drama writers too, if everyone around you is clamoring for you to write a show you don’t like, because it’s the hot show to spec, well, it’s probably best to resist. Find a show you love and do that one instead, even if it’s not the “Must-Have” spec.

Lunch: heirloom tomatoes and store-bought tabouli

One more word about Little Miss Sunshine, if you will indulge me, gentle readers. The movie is as good an example as you’re likely to find of cutting out of a scene at the earliest possible moment. The INSTANT that a scene has done its job, we’re moving on. And the implied sentiment of “you don’t really need to see what happens next” is funny in itself.

I was going to praise this dynamic as an unimpeachable positive. Who wouldn’t want to write a script full of scenes that march along in this swift and entertaining manner? But then I realized there is another type of aesthetic. Does The Office cut out of scenes at the earliest possible moment? Or does it wait up for agonizingly funny awkward pauses and horribly diverting endless embarrassments? Albert Brooks movies also can live in those moments that never end, and that get funnier the longer they hang there.

The first kind is funny because it suggests what happened in the missing moments, and you laugh at the way the situation has led to an inevitable and universal moment that we all understand without seeing it. It’s the funny of understanding — a conspiratorial wink at the audience. The second kind, the late cut, is funny — I think — because it tends to be about the utter relentlessness of human nature. The hapless tourist just keeps arguing with the unmoved casino boss. Michael Scott won’t give up his determination to make an employee concede a point. It’s less of a wink and more of a pointing-at, I’d say. A “look at this guy not giving up” kind of funny. At any rate, that’s my first guess. Feel free to discuss this among yourselves.

I’m reminded of the rule about jokes. Tell a joke once, it’s funny. Twice, it’s not funny. Eight times… it gets funny again. (The oft-cited example of this is the Simpsons bit in which Sideshow Bob steps on a very long sequence of rakes.) Could it be that the rules of cutting out early versus cutting late follow a similar pattern? Short good, long good… medium bad. Hmm?

At any rate, if you’re writing a spec of an existing show, do whatever your show does. Pay close attention to the moments in which their scenes end – do they end with everyone exiting and one character left alone to settle back into their chair? Or with everyone still up on their feet? With the sense that something is about to happen, or the sense that it just has? With a focus on inevitabity of the outcome? Or on the nature of the character in the situation? Emulate!

If you’re writing your own spec pilot, you get to find and apply your own style here. Which aesthetic speaks to you? I’m a early cutter outer myself. But your mileage may vary.

Lunch: Half a pastrami sandwich and a cucumber salad from Art’s Deli.

Here is a super cool thing about having this blog. The other night someone asked me how to add dimensionality to a character. At a party, they asked me! I love that – party conversation is a lot more fun when you can talk about aspects of writing instead of just praising the appetizers and gossiping about which celebrities smell bad (a surprisingly long list).

The problem this person was having was that they were working on a spec pilot featuring two main characters. The lead character was coming across as sparkling and vibrant, but the slightly more secondary character (the sister of the lead), just wasn’t as interesting. Here’s what I eventually came up with:

A neat trick to quickly devising an interesting character is to think about the contradictions in their nature. You probably do this already when you’re trying to describe an interesting actual person whom you know. You say things like “He’s this big bruiser of a guy, who writes the most amazing poetry.” Or “She’s so quiet and shy, except when she’s arguing a case in court.”

Imagine character traits that all support each other as a field of arrows all pointing in the same direction. When you add arrows that point in other directions, you start getting a more interesting dynamic… shapes and forces and complexity. Of course, the traits don’t really contradict each other; they just support each other in non-obvious ways. Ways that make you want to dig deeper into the character’s psyche, to find the connection.

I think Starbuck on Battlestar Galactica is a great example of a character who seems all the realer because of her contradictions. Fierce yet vulnerable (or is it fierce *because* she’s vulnerable?). Smart and skilled but impulsive and intuitive. Self-destructive, self-deluding, but also capable of startling insight. You want to get to know her better to figure out where all these traits come from.

Here’s one of the first lines I ever wrote for the character of Cordelia on Buffy:

CORDELIA
I do well on standardized tests.
(off their looks)
What? I can’t have layers?

I was so tickled with that line, and completely delighted when it actually made it into the final episode. I just love those moments of unexpected revelations of character. This one was done with purposeful obviousness, for the sake of the joke, but it got the job done anyway.

Come up with the main traits first. You don’t want “contradictory” to be the only thing that shines through. Figure out who this person *mostly* is. Then add some arrows jetting off in other directions. I bet you’ll get interesting results right away!

Lunch: wonton soup from Noodle Planet.

When I first moved to Los Angeles, there was a criminal of some sort – possibly a bank robber – who was working the valley. The police nicknamed him “Radar” because, the newscasters explained, “he looked like the character from M*A*S*H.” I’ve always wondered how that was different from looking “like Gary Burghoff.” And I’ve always wondered how Gary B felt about the whole thing in the first place. Did he get hassled by cops a lot that year? And, how lucky were the police that the same actor played the role in the movie and the series?! Anyway, you have to admit, it is just about the most effective way I can think of to describe someone quickly and evocatively.

There’s a similar trick you can use when you’re working on your spec pilot. Especially when you’re pitching it to friends and advisors – anyone whom you want to have a quick feel for what you’re intending. The trick is to think of a show with the same tone.

Here’s what I mean. Right now, I’m getting ready to pitch an idea for a series. If the premise is described baldly, it sounds a bit silly — like it’s probably a broad comedy. But it isn’t. So I find that it helps a lot to explain first that I’m going for the tone of “Alien Nation.” Remember that? Aliens have integrated into our society and now live and work among us. Great stuff. And although there were lots of funny moments, the tone was very realistic. It could even be quite dark at times — even with actors looking like they stepped out of a Coneheads sketch. If you’ve seen the show, you know the cool effect that was achieved by treating such a wild premise with such realism and respect. Hafta say, I feel a lot more confident that I can convey the show I have in my head if I evoke the other show first.

If you’re working on a spec pilot, see if this helps you. It might even help in other ways, providing a guideline as to what has worked and what has not worked with a show that has something in common with yours. I feel like Alien Nation is providing me with a sort of tuning fork — keeping my tone pure and true.

Lunch: triscuits and a candy bar

Correction: Not “evoke.” I meant “invoke.” Geez. [forehead slappy noise]

« Older Entries

Newer Entries »