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Have you seen these new plastic plates and bowls? They’re the sort you might find on a picnic or a patio party. They look completely normal except the edges are sort of extra bumpy. Turns out, they lock together! One plate or bowl locks, upside-down, onto another one, creating a very solid little storage chamber. It’s genius! Is this the kind of thing I no longer know about now that I tivo through the commercials? It’s harder and harder to keep up.

Wow, that brings us effortlessly to the question of how one writes a spec script for a show that keeps changing. What if your spec relies on a character who is killed off in the very episode that is airing as you lick the stamp on the envelope to send it off to an agent? What if the story turn that you’d cleverly anticipated and incorporated into your spec never happens?

Well, in the case of the character that died, you actually might still be able to use the spec. It’s the other example that’s a bigger problem. Anticipating, projecting ahead so your script will seem current even into the future, is more dangerous than simply picking a moment in the current season and saying “Here. I’m making a script that will fit in right here.” If you pick a moment, the worst thing that happens is that eventually it’s obvious when the script was written – and that’s not a terrible thing. Every script has to be written some time. But if you project into the future and do it incorrectly, the script will seem to have been set in some alternate universe version of the show. Interesting, certainly, but probably confusing.

The fact is, spec scripts can have a surprisingly long shelf-life, especially if the show stays on the air. I once wrote a Roseanne spec that I used for years and years. When I wrote it, Darlene was in high school. In fact, the spec was about Roseanne’s reaction to Darlene announcing that she wanted to join the navy after she graduated, so it’s not like her age was inconsequential in the story. And yet, it was still getting me work three seasons later.

Writers who are already working have to write specs too. And most of the time, they will have no more idea than you do of what’s going to happen on the show they’re specing. Your script will not appear amateurish simply because it occupies a specific place in the time-space continuum.

When a showrunner is reading through a pile of spec scripts, looking for a good, cheap staff writer to round out their staff, they aren’t looking to find one who is clairvoyant. They’re looking for story, structure, voice, and some specifics like joke-writing or action-writing. They just don’t care that much if the episode would make time-line sense if it suddenly, magically, were on the air tonight.

So relax. This is one case where it’s easier than it looks.

Lunch: Spaghetti-Os.

Hi again! Another chilly day in Los Angeles. Unseasonable, unreasonable. Today’s irony: reading “Wicked” even as I sell my collection of childhood “Oz” books.

We were talking spec scripts, if you recall. And I kept nagging about making the episode typical, forcing it to conform, hiding the car keys so it can’t just take off — all that tough-love stuff. But now…

Look at the sample episodes you’ve collected of the show you want to write a spec for. You’ve been analyzing them as if they were samples in a lab. Mice, let’s say. Good. You’ve got cages and cages of mice, and you’re a mad scientist trying to build your own mouse out of undifferentiated flesh, mouse components, and your own evil genius. With each mouse you kill and dissect, you learn more about what makes something a mouse. Oh look, the foot bone’s connected to the ankle bone. Nice.

But — take a moment — look at the still-living mice in their cages. Some of them are better than others. Some run on their wheel, or climb the ladder to ring the little bell. They are kind to their offspring and they try to raise the spirits of their fellows as they all wait for death. Others are unpleasant, morose, slow at performing simple calculations and ungenerous in their love-making.

I think you see where I’m going with this. Some episodes are better than others. You enjoyed watching them more, you enjoyed reading the scripts more. If you can figure out what it is that made you like them more than the others, you have the key to making a script that will get you jobs, wealth and acclaim. You’ll make the best mouse ever.

My guess is that the scripts you like best will be the ones in which something about the main character’s character is revealed (to the audience or to the character herself), or illuminated in a new and surprising way. (These tend to be the Emmy-nominated episodes too, by the way.) Ask yourself some questions. What could we learn about the contents of Dr. House’s heart that we never suspected? What could Earl learn about his own constantly-revisted past that will shake his whole new belief system?

Whatever it is that you like about your favorite episodes, take note of it and keep it in mind as you pick up your mouse bones and begin to build.

My lunch: BLT, cheese fries and a coke with chocolate syrup in it!

If you’ve just joined us, we’re talking about writing a TV spec script. In a way, this is like analyzing the chemicals that make chocolate taste good; we’re taking something fun and making it into a bunch of hard work. Come join us!

Once you’ve picked the show you want to spec, and you’re noodling around, trying to settle on a story, or trying to structure a story, it’s really important to watch your show as often and as closely as you can. If you can buy or otherwise acquire produced scripts for the show, that’s even better. These used to be hard to get if you didn’t live in LA, but now the internet can help you find them. By the way, it’s worth the effort to find actual scripts, not the things you sometimes see in which someone has made a sort of ersatz script by transcribing the episode. But if you’ve got nothing else, even those will do for this stage of the process.

Whatever materials you have, study them thoroughly. Eventually, you’ll be using the produced scripts to pick up subtleties of the characters’ voices and the style of stage directions and preferred formatting of your show and many other fun and tingly things. But right now, you’re just trying to figure out how they tell their stories.

For every episode you have (tivo’d or in script form), try to reconstruct the original outline. Now you have a list of sets and a short description of what happens in each scene. This strips away the language and allows you to see the story, standing naked and shivering. Now you can examine it. You are a biologist, learning how this goose-bumpy little creature is put together. Here are some of the things you should take note of:

How many acts does the show have? (Not as simple as it sounds. Many four-act shows have recently gone to five, and three-acts to four. Try to find a very recent episode to check this.)

How many scenes in each act (on average)? Is any one act consistently longer or shorter than the others?

How many stories thread through each episode? Having A (main) and B (secondary) stories is common. Does your show have both? Does it venture farther into the alphabet?

What percentage of the scenes are devoted to the A story? To the B story? Are the stories often both functioning within the same scenes, or are they kept separate? Do they alternate?

What kind of event tends to occur at your show’s first act break? At its second? Third? Does the main character tend to take an action at any particular act break? Does he tend to face a surprise at any particular act break?

Is there a big action scene in each episode? More than one? In which acts? Or a big comedy scene with lots of physical humor?

Do the acts always break on the A story, or is a B story act break common?

Do events in the B story always end up influencing the A story? Vice versa?

How many pages are in each scene? (You have to go to the actual script for this one, but it’s important.)

How many of the show’s characters are in each episode? Are they always all there or not?

How much (if at all) has the main character learned or changed by the end of the episode? Some shows feature baby steps of emotional knowledge, others huge chunks of practical knowledge. Others take cynical delight in their characters’ refusal to learn.

Is there any commonality among the multiple episodes as to the kinds of things that are learned?

Are there any sets that are always used? Or other signatures you need to incorporate? (I’m thinking here of the balcony talks on Boston Legal, and similar.) Endings are good places to look for these.

Now that you’ve made your observations, you can make sure that your own episode will bear a strong family resemblence to its siblings. As strong as possible, in fact — at least structure-wise, and in terms of general story-shape. Not in terms of the actual events that happen in the story, obviously. Copy the skeleton, then hang your own scraps of flesh on it.

At this stage, you’re still looking to make your episode feel typical. Making it feel special is still ahead of you. We’ll get there.

Lunch: Homemade crabmeat cheesecake served at a “The Inside” writing staff get-together. Wow.

Hello, all! I hope you are all enjoying this or finding it helpful. I know I’m having a blast! Writing about writing is a good way to remind myself about the basics, too. It’s fun thinking about this stuff again; it’s been a while since I’ve had to write a spec. After a while we all become like Marley’s ghost, dragging behind us the chain we’ve forged from all the scripts we’ve written in our career. People take pity, and stop asking for samples.

I’ve been talking a lot about what not to do in your spec script, and I think it’s time to talk about a positive example. Forgive me for again using something from my own career, but man, it’s just so much easier that way. And I’ve already walked you though my bad Star Trek specs. And allow me to mention here a very troubled Perfect Strangers spec, a Golden Girls spec I completely abandoned and two (count ’em) two Seinfeld specs that make me cringe to recall them. But eventually, I wrote a Frasier spec years ago that served me loyally for a long time. I spent more time than usual coming up with the story, and I always felt it turned out well.

In my spec, Frasier was offended when a radio station promotional blitz featured his image on posters and billboards all over town, labeled as “Doctor” Frasier Crane. His ego drove him to attempt escalating tactics to remove the signs, finally culminating in a comedy set piece of him and Niles on a billboard platform in the middle of the night painting out the quotation marks. Eventually, Frasier realized that it wasn’t that he was afraid that Seattle didn’t believe he was really a psychiatrist, but that he wasn’t sure HE really believed it anymore. He needed reassurance that his radio career hadn’t taken his self-image as a doctor away from him. Ultimately, it was Martin, his father, who took advice he’d heard on Frasier’s show, unknowingly convincing Frasier he was still a good, effective, practicing psychiatrist.

This spec captured a lot of the central themes of that show. It was psychological, allowing Frasier to self-analyze. It had a big block comedy scene for Niles and Frasier. It showed Frasier torn between his most Niles-like impulses and his most Martin-like impulses. And it gave Frasier a way in which to learn and grow a little tiny bit.

Now, obviously, not every Frasier episode centered on Frasier. Niles was almost as important a character, and his arc drove many episodes. Martin, Roz, probably even Eddie could serve as the central figure for a produced episode. But with a spec, you aren’t just writing a typical episode. You are writing, in a way, the prototypical episode. The distilled, concentrated Essence du Show. Play with the most central character, using the themes that are most central to that character’s character, using a structure as close as possible to what the show usually uses.

But find a way to be fresh. Don’t do something they’ve already done a million times. Sound hard? Oh god, yes. But when you find that story, everything else will get easy. The act breaks will fall into place, jokes will come more easily, because the story will have a naturalness to it. Even as two prissy adult brothers correct punctuation on a billboard.

A big thank-you to Waylon Wyche, who wrote me a very much appreciated letter. Good luck, WW!

My Lunch: Chicken and waffles at Roscoe’s Chicken ‘n’ Waffle!

I’ve already told everyone about the ABC Writing Fellowship, and I’ve encouraged all you aspiring TV writers out there to start getting your writing sample (spec script) in shape for the spring deadline. Even if you’re not interested in this particular opportunity, you’re going to need at least one (probably two) spec scripts if you want to pursue TV writing work.

We were talking about picking the right kind of story to tell in your spec script. I mentioned one Star Trek: The Next Generation spec that I wrote which fell flat. I had decided to be ambitious in this one, to take advantage of the fact that what I was writing was only a writing sample, and would not ever have to be filmed. So I used lots and lots of extravagant exterior locations on an alien planet, to tell a big sweeping story of Data and Deanna, forced to try to create a life for themselves when they thought the Enterprise had been destroyed. I don’t remember for sure, but if I know myself, this story would have been intercut with scenes back on the ship of the crew, miraculously undestroyed, clawing their way back to their lost colleagues, probably facing effects-heavy interaction with an enemy or a flashy space-storm. It was all epic. And unfilmable. I had demonstrated a complete lack of ability to tell a story with an eye toward real-life budget constraints. And, as a result, I had ended up telling a story that they simply wouldn’t do on their show. Writing a filmable spec, keeping it small enough, is an important part of the process.

As a corollary to this, try not to kill off Earl’s brother, Dr. House’s boss, or Jack Bauer. You’re thinking too big. The trick to a great spec is that it’s a story that they show might actually do someday, but done BETTER than the show will do it. How in the world can your spec be better than the real deal? Because you’ve got months and months to write it. And they’ve got two weeks or less. Whether or not you think that achieving this is possible, there’s certainly no harm in having it as your goal. It’ll make you work hard and keep polishing until it shines.

By the way, the person who is least likely to break into TV writing is the one who throws popcorn at the TV during an episode of Who Ate the Cake? or My Dumb Husband, and says, “I can write better crap than that!” Sure, some television writing is uninspired, but that doesn’t mean the bar for getting to do it is set low. No job that pays as well as this one does is that easy to get.

Soon, I’m going to give you guys some examples of good spec script stories I have met.

My Lunch: Chicken Toscana at The Macaroni Grill. It was on their “low fat” menu but it was good anyway! Check it out!

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