[*sung to the refrain from 'Panic' by The Smiths]
I came up with a great opening for the spec script I'm working on at the moment. Chock full of interlinking imagery, eye-catching moments and pulse-pounding punchiness. Would've worked a treat too, but for one tiny problem: it was bolted to the wrong script. It'll work fine later on should my pilot spawn a returning drama series.
But my wham-bang-thank-you-ma'am opening was wrong for the first ep. Why? It was all about the personal livestyles of my core cast, when the pilot needs to focus on what they do professionally in the series. If I'd kept it could've created expectations the ep wouldn't have met. Openings should hook you in, but mustn't lie to you.
How did I know it was wrong? That's a fair question, especially as I haven't written word one of the pilot script yet. But the wrongness became apparent as the format for my drama emerged during development [a process that to the uninitiated resembles staring a window, mostly because I tend to think while staring out a window].
The show I've devising focuses on three characters doing a particular job. My pilot needs to establish them within that arena as soon as possible - within the first three pages if possible. I simply don't have time to indulge in elaborate prologues set the night before in a variety of locations featuring characters who don't recur again.
If nothing else, the combination of numerous locations and a plethora of guest characters makes for a very expensive show. Now, the chances of my pilot ever getting made are somewhere between slim and anorexic. But it doesn't hurt to be realistic about how many locations and speaking characters you can have in a pilot ep.
You might well say I'm thinking too small, constricting my creativity. Maybe. But I like restrictions, they challenge you to be more creative IMHO. Why overwhelm readers of my script with a blizzard of non-recurring characters? If I can keep the focus tight on my core cast, it challenges to know them better - to write them better.
Took me a couple of days to reconcile my decision with the loss of my hyper-kinetic opening, but I've killed my babies and moved on now. Even if I never get to write the sequence, it lives on in my head and it informs how I write the core cast. I know what they did the night before my pilot, even if the events never get seen. Onwards!
Showing posts with label Specs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Specs. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Working free as a necessary evil for writers
Writers often find themselves doing unpaid work in the hope it'll lead to a paying gig. This endeavour tends to divide into two categories, specs and samples. Speculative writing is uncommissioned work a writer does in the hope they might get paid for it later [or or that it will lead to an offer of work]. Samples are work done free for a potential employer, in the hope of securing a commission.
Let's talk about specs first. Novels are often a speculative effort, written by an author or wannabe without a commission or contract in hand. There's no guarantee the book will ever get published, let alone make anybody any money. That doesn't make the effort any less rewarding, so long as publication isn't your sole source of validation. [If it is, you could be in for a bumpy ride with no happy ending.]
Spec scripts are often written by scribes between commissions, or those changing career direction [e.g. from comedy to drama, from kids' TV to adult shows, or from film to TV]. In Hollywood a spec screenplay is written to be sold. Elsewhere the spec is known as a calling card script, which has a different purpose. These showcase what a writer can do, demonstrate their skills, talent and unique authorial voice.
These days most people expect a TV calling card script to be original, like a pilot for a new show. Creating a great calling card script takes a lot of time and effort, but it's a necessary evil to get yourself noticed as a writer. I'm working on a new calling card script at the moment. I've already got several in my portfolio, but it's time to add something fresh and contemporary. I work on that between paid gigs.
In short a piece of speculative writing is a gamble, undertaken willingly, in the hope it will lead to a commission of some sorts. The spec is a multi-purpose investment in your future as a writer. Even if one particular editor or producer or script editor doesn't like your spec, you can always send it to another. You own your spec and you control it. The spec remains yours until contracts say otherwise.
A sample is more like an audition piece. It is written for a specific purpose, often to a supplied brief. It's a try-out designed to win you a particular commission - some games writing, a tie-in novel, an open slot in somebody's schedule. My Doctor Who audio drama Enemy of the Daleks was commissioned on the basis of a sample. If I hadn't got the gig, I'd have struggled to reconfigure it for use elsewhere.
When I devise, develop and write story of the day pitches for the BBC1 drama series Doctors, the results are samples. The show requires a specific style of storytelling and narrative that can't easily be reworked for submission elsewhere. [That proves the show has its own distinctive voice and format.] Creating new pitches is a speculative process, but the show's specificity means those pitches are samples.
[Ironically, I've been using a rejected Doctors pitch as the basis for one plot strand in the new calling card script I'm developing at the moment. But as my spec project develops its own style and voice, so I find myself being able to use less and less of my rejected Doctors pitch. One simply doesn't translate into the other. That's a good sign, but it had me stumbling for days before reaching this realisation.]
Much as we would love to be paid for every piece of work we do, writers know that you will hear no far more often than you'll get the much desired yes. Specs and samples are a necessary evil in that process, something you have to do to get a commission. But there should be limits on how much free work you're willing to undertake in the hope of securing paid future work. Where do you draw the line?
It's tricky. My batting average on Doctors is roughly five or six rejections for every story pitch banked. A full two-page pitch can take a week of effort [albeit spread out around other work]. So that's seven weeks of work to get one idea banked. In return for that I'm getting TV drama credits and gaining invaluable experience. It's a long process with no guarantees, but one that's worth it for me.
I've spent far longer on other free samples that came to naught. There was a Warhammer 40K novel that haunted me off and on for six months before I pulled the plug. I spent just as much time developing storylines for a TV tie-in novel that worked well for the show's producers, but couldn't find a publisher. And there are plenty more examples that led to nothing except frustration and overdraft.
That's the danger of doing free samples as a writer: you end up with nothing. You can't easily rework the material you created for submission elsewhere. No only did you get no money for the samples, you could have been doing other work - paying work, potentially - while devoting yourself to the free samples. But a successful sample can open all sorts of doors, as my Doctors experiences show.
By comparison, spec writing is portable. It is less likely to lead directly to a new commission, but it's yours to keep. A spec will tend to be more creatively satisfying, as it's all your own work. [It can also be more frustrating, as the infinite canvas of creativity has no boundaries, making it hard to know when you've finished.] When a spec pays off, all the effort's worth it - even if the spec goes unmade.
I've got a clutch of scripts in my writing portfolio - two short film scripts that have won awards and placed in competions, a pilot script for a returning drama series and another for a serial, plus my new kids' TV pilot. By September I hope to have the first draft of another returning TV drama series pilot in hand. In the meantime I've got some story of the day sample pitches to write for Doctors. Onwards!
Let's talk about specs first. Novels are often a speculative effort, written by an author or wannabe without a commission or contract in hand. There's no guarantee the book will ever get published, let alone make anybody any money. That doesn't make the effort any less rewarding, so long as publication isn't your sole source of validation. [If it is, you could be in for a bumpy ride with no happy ending.]
Spec scripts are often written by scribes between commissions, or those changing career direction [e.g. from comedy to drama, from kids' TV to adult shows, or from film to TV]. In Hollywood a spec screenplay is written to be sold. Elsewhere the spec is known as a calling card script, which has a different purpose. These showcase what a writer can do, demonstrate their skills, talent and unique authorial voice.
These days most people expect a TV calling card script to be original, like a pilot for a new show. Creating a great calling card script takes a lot of time and effort, but it's a necessary evil to get yourself noticed as a writer. I'm working on a new calling card script at the moment. I've already got several in my portfolio, but it's time to add something fresh and contemporary. I work on that between paid gigs.
In short a piece of speculative writing is a gamble, undertaken willingly, in the hope it will lead to a commission of some sorts. The spec is a multi-purpose investment in your future as a writer. Even if one particular editor or producer or script editor doesn't like your spec, you can always send it to another. You own your spec and you control it. The spec remains yours until contracts say otherwise.
A sample is more like an audition piece. It is written for a specific purpose, often to a supplied brief. It's a try-out designed to win you a particular commission - some games writing, a tie-in novel, an open slot in somebody's schedule. My Doctor Who audio drama Enemy of the Daleks was commissioned on the basis of a sample. If I hadn't got the gig, I'd have struggled to reconfigure it for use elsewhere.
When I devise, develop and write story of the day pitches for the BBC1 drama series Doctors, the results are samples. The show requires a specific style of storytelling and narrative that can't easily be reworked for submission elsewhere. [That proves the show has its own distinctive voice and format.] Creating new pitches is a speculative process, but the show's specificity means those pitches are samples.
[Ironically, I've been using a rejected Doctors pitch as the basis for one plot strand in the new calling card script I'm developing at the moment. But as my spec project develops its own style and voice, so I find myself being able to use less and less of my rejected Doctors pitch. One simply doesn't translate into the other. That's a good sign, but it had me stumbling for days before reaching this realisation.]
Much as we would love to be paid for every piece of work we do, writers know that you will hear no far more often than you'll get the much desired yes. Specs and samples are a necessary evil in that process, something you have to do to get a commission. But there should be limits on how much free work you're willing to undertake in the hope of securing paid future work. Where do you draw the line?
It's tricky. My batting average on Doctors is roughly five or six rejections for every story pitch banked. A full two-page pitch can take a week of effort [albeit spread out around other work]. So that's seven weeks of work to get one idea banked. In return for that I'm getting TV drama credits and gaining invaluable experience. It's a long process with no guarantees, but one that's worth it for me.
I've spent far longer on other free samples that came to naught. There was a Warhammer 40K novel that haunted me off and on for six months before I pulled the plug. I spent just as much time developing storylines for a TV tie-in novel that worked well for the show's producers, but couldn't find a publisher. And there are plenty more examples that led to nothing except frustration and overdraft.
That's the danger of doing free samples as a writer: you end up with nothing. You can't easily rework the material you created for submission elsewhere. No only did you get no money for the samples, you could have been doing other work - paying work, potentially - while devoting yourself to the free samples. But a successful sample can open all sorts of doors, as my Doctors experiences show.
By comparison, spec writing is portable. It is less likely to lead directly to a new commission, but it's yours to keep. A spec will tend to be more creatively satisfying, as it's all your own work. [It can also be more frustrating, as the infinite canvas of creativity has no boundaries, making it hard to know when you've finished.] When a spec pays off, all the effort's worth it - even if the spec goes unmade.
I've got a clutch of scripts in my writing portfolio - two short film scripts that have won awards and placed in competions, a pilot script for a returning drama series and another for a serial, plus my new kids' TV pilot. By September I hope to have the first draft of another returning TV drama series pilot in hand. In the meantime I've got some story of the day sample pitches to write for Doctors. Onwards!
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Plotting your antagonist's through-line
You know the cliche about there being two sides to every story? Cliches are a truth made banal by repetition - but still a truth. In a world where writers are encouraged to investigate their protagonist's character arc and emotional journey, it's easy to forget the antagonist. They may be the bad guy, but they're on a journey too.
Everyone's the hero of their own life story. You make your antagonist deeper, richer and more compelling as a character if you put some thought into their goals, their wants, their needs. The antagonist shouldn't simply be an obstacle for the hero to overcome. The more dimensionality you give your antagonist, the stronger they become.
Can't recall from whom I stole the following tip, but it's a good 'un: plot your second act from the antagonist's point of view. Good genre writers are wary of having a passive protagonist in their narrative. But too often in such stories the bad guy(s) are just as guilty of being passive, reacting to events rather than setting the agenda.
If the antagonist is always two steps ahead, it makes the hero's task that much harder - and that much more compelling. Need a good example? Try the film Se7en, where the detectives are always scrambling to catch up with an antagonist who's been planning events for more than a year. That gave the film an uncomfortable edge, but it was also bloody compelling.
Yesterday I was thinking about a new pilot script I'm developing. Didn't write a word, but I was happier at the end of the day than at the start. Why? Because I dug into the antagonist's POV. Suddenly a through-line emerged, pulling together disparate plot threads and weaving them into a story. Love it when that happens. Onwards!
Everyone's the hero of their own life story. You make your antagonist deeper, richer and more compelling as a character if you put some thought into their goals, their wants, their needs. The antagonist shouldn't simply be an obstacle for the hero to overcome. The more dimensionality you give your antagonist, the stronger they become.
Can't recall from whom I stole the following tip, but it's a good 'un: plot your second act from the antagonist's point of view. Good genre writers are wary of having a passive protagonist in their narrative. But too often in such stories the bad guy(s) are just as guilty of being passive, reacting to events rather than setting the agenda.
If the antagonist is always two steps ahead, it makes the hero's task that much harder - and that much more compelling. Need a good example? Try the film Se7en, where the detectives are always scrambling to catch up with an antagonist who's been planning events for more than a year. That gave the film an uncomfortable edge, but it was also bloody compelling.
Yesterday I was thinking about a new pilot script I'm developing. Didn't write a word, but I was happier at the end of the day than at the start. Why? Because I dug into the antagonist's POV. Suddenly a through-line emerged, pulling together disparate plot threads and weaving them into a story. Love it when that happens. Onwards!
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Importance of format in TV drama spec scripts
I'm developing a new spec script at the moment for a returning TV drama series. Writing for Doctors is brilliant experience and I learn something from every draft, but few people read sample scripts from continuing drama series. Why? Because you're writing to an existing format, working with pre-created characters and storylines.
So you need to create an original series and writer the pilot script as your calling card. Chances are, it will never get made, but you need to prove you can do it. Just look at the roster of writers who've worked on Doctor Who since it returned in 2005. How many of them hadn't already created a TV drama series of their own? Very few. That's the benchmark.
And you'd better make it contemporary. Very few writers get to create a drama set in the past. The period shows you do see on British TV tend to be based on books. Period drama costs more to make, so commissioners want the insurance of a story that's already worked in print. Put it this way: how many original period TV dramas can you name from the last year?
So I'm developing a new, contemporary returning drama series. I've devised a cast of characters, been doing research into the working world where my concept is set, and got a clutch of different storylines for my pilot episode. Yesterday I spent nailing down the format for my series. Unless I get my format right, all the other effort might well be for naught.
Format is an ugly word to be throwing about while you're developing a new TV drama pilot script, but it's something you do have to think about. What exactly does the word mean in this context? It's long been applied to game shows or reality TV series when production companies, broadcasters or whoever holds the rights looks to sell their properties into other territories.
Witness the worldwide success of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire or the many international iterations of Strictly Come Dancing. Even a cookery competition show like Masterchef can explode in other countries [it's a massive hit in Australia]. But when it comes to TV drama, a lot of companies simply sell the original for transmission in other countries, dubbed into the local language.
US shows such as CSI, CSI: Miami and House are hugely successful internationally. The UK also exports plenty of drama, with series like Doctor Who and the Morse spin-off Lewis broadcast around the globe. [Lewis sells into 120 territories, more than Inspector Morse ever managed. If it keeps going until 2014, it will have made more episodes than Morse as well, unlikely as that seems.]
But there are examples of TV dramas [and sitcoms, come to that] getting remade in different countries. Doc Martin is Doktor Martin in Germany, Doctor Mateo in Spain and there's a French remake in production too. US series Ugly Betty was based on the Colombian telenovela Yo soy Betty, la fea. HBO drama In Treatment was based on an Israeli series, Be Tipul.
New Zealand drama series Outrageous Fortune has been renamed to the UK [where it was renamed Honest and ran on ITV] and the US [renamed Scoundrels]. The show's been a huge hit in NZ, with the final series launching on Tuesday with the 100th episode imminent. But the US and UK versions haven't recaptured that lightning in a bottle as Ugly Betty or In Treatment did in the US.
So, what is a format in TV drama terms? I'd say it's a lot of things - the characters, the set-up, the arena, sometimes whole storylines. But essentially format is what sort of stories your series tells, and how it tells them. An awful lot of that is about tone and attitude and viewpoint. Through whose eyes is the narrative seen? Who does the show makes us care about?
I was going to try a mix of scenes featuring my regular cast and scenes that introduced or developed the guest characters. That works well for an ongoing series like Doctors but poses problems for a calling card script. By including scenes with none of your core characters, you run the risk of losing focus. I need to keep this first ep tight on my regulars.
That means adopting a narrative rule used by shows like The Bill: every scene must feature one of the core cast. It makes plotting tougher and forces you as writer to work a lot harder to ensue key story events are shown, not told. On the other hand, it automatically create empathy with the core cast, as they become our point of view on events as storylines unfold.
That narrative choice - how I'm going to tell stories - will have a major effect on format for my calling card script. It means completely rethinking the stories I had planned. Hopefully it's a choice for the better, even if it means more development work now. Better to sort out format issues up front, than spend forever rewriting later to resolve them. Onwards!
So you need to create an original series and writer the pilot script as your calling card. Chances are, it will never get made, but you need to prove you can do it. Just look at the roster of writers who've worked on Doctor Who since it returned in 2005. How many of them hadn't already created a TV drama series of their own? Very few. That's the benchmark.
And you'd better make it contemporary. Very few writers get to create a drama set in the past. The period shows you do see on British TV tend to be based on books. Period drama costs more to make, so commissioners want the insurance of a story that's already worked in print. Put it this way: how many original period TV dramas can you name from the last year?
So I'm developing a new, contemporary returning drama series. I've devised a cast of characters, been doing research into the working world where my concept is set, and got a clutch of different storylines for my pilot episode. Yesterday I spent nailing down the format for my series. Unless I get my format right, all the other effort might well be for naught.
Format is an ugly word to be throwing about while you're developing a new TV drama pilot script, but it's something you do have to think about. What exactly does the word mean in this context? It's long been applied to game shows or reality TV series when production companies, broadcasters or whoever holds the rights looks to sell their properties into other territories.
Witness the worldwide success of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire or the many international iterations of Strictly Come Dancing. Even a cookery competition show like Masterchef can explode in other countries [it's a massive hit in Australia]. But when it comes to TV drama, a lot of companies simply sell the original for transmission in other countries, dubbed into the local language.
US shows such as CSI, CSI: Miami and House are hugely successful internationally. The UK also exports plenty of drama, with series like Doctor Who and the Morse spin-off Lewis broadcast around the globe. [Lewis sells into 120 territories, more than Inspector Morse ever managed. If it keeps going until 2014, it will have made more episodes than Morse as well, unlikely as that seems.]
But there are examples of TV dramas [and sitcoms, come to that] getting remade in different countries. Doc Martin is Doktor Martin in Germany, Doctor Mateo in Spain and there's a French remake in production too. US series Ugly Betty was based on the Colombian telenovela Yo soy Betty, la fea. HBO drama In Treatment was based on an Israeli series, Be Tipul.
New Zealand drama series Outrageous Fortune has been renamed to the UK [where it was renamed Honest and ran on ITV] and the US [renamed Scoundrels]. The show's been a huge hit in NZ, with the final series launching on Tuesday with the 100th episode imminent. But the US and UK versions haven't recaptured that lightning in a bottle as Ugly Betty or In Treatment did in the US.
So, what is a format in TV drama terms? I'd say it's a lot of things - the characters, the set-up, the arena, sometimes whole storylines. But essentially format is what sort of stories your series tells, and how it tells them. An awful lot of that is about tone and attitude and viewpoint. Through whose eyes is the narrative seen? Who does the show makes us care about?
I was going to try a mix of scenes featuring my regular cast and scenes that introduced or developed the guest characters. That works well for an ongoing series like Doctors but poses problems for a calling card script. By including scenes with none of your core characters, you run the risk of losing focus. I need to keep this first ep tight on my regulars.
That means adopting a narrative rule used by shows like The Bill: every scene must feature one of the core cast. It makes plotting tougher and forces you as writer to work a lot harder to ensue key story events are shown, not told. On the other hand, it automatically create empathy with the core cast, as they become our point of view on events as storylines unfold.
That narrative choice - how I'm going to tell stories - will have a major effect on format for my calling card script. It means completely rethinking the stories I had planned. Hopefully it's a choice for the better, even if it means more development work now. Better to sort out format issues up front, than spend forever rewriting later to resolve them. Onwards!
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