Where should I send my Script? Part 2

Given the enormous interest in the last post (largely thanks to a RT by Mr Linehan), I thought it might be worth following up some specifcs questions that arose.

The producer works for a company that says it doesn’t accept unsolicited scripts. Should I send it anyway?
It’s up to you. If you do, it would be unreasonable of you to pester them with phonecalls and emails subsequently for feedback. I would says there’s no harm in sending it. But, given their pre-stated policy, don’t expect anything back. Personally, saying you don’t accept scripts is a bizarre policy for a comedy company to have, given that scripts are where the jokes/money come from. But given there are tens of thousands of sitcom scripts floating around the UK at the moment, and thousands more generated every year, you have to draw the line somewhere. (Also, as someone has helpfully commented, send the script to a particular person, not a company.)

Should I send my script to agents?
Yes. You can. You probably should – especially if you feel you’re running out of options. But my experience is that agents tend not to get involved if you don’t have ‘stuff going on’. Many are good-hearted and want to encourage new writers, but they have to make a living like the rest of us. But agents are, by no means, a magic wand. Their good allies, and not bored by contracts and money, but tend not to get you sitcom work. (Some get you day-rate gag-writing work, but that's an area I'm not all that familiar with.)

Isn’t it all about relationships with producers?
Yes it is. One or two tweeted that they thought that writing sketches for shows was the way in – and this is the tried and tested formula. The likes of John Sullivan, Richard Curtis, David Renwick and Andy Hamilton to name a few started this way. In one sense, a sitcom is a series of sketches, so getting the craft of economic funny writing is probably the best foundation you can have. And through it, you develop relationships with producers, with whom you can develop longer narrative scripts. But many writers have had other routes into sitcom. I believe Simon Nye wrote a novel that he was persuaded to turn into a sitcom, and he happened to be brilliant at writing sitcom. Lee Mack has come through live performance. But sketch comedy is the best way for most, I think.

Should I send an electronic or hard copy?
I’d say hard copy. My reasoning is thinking about it from their point of view (or mine!) If I get an email, I have to print it out myself at my expense. And then put it down somewhere where I’ll remember to read it. Most likely, I'll fail to print it out, and then the email disappears off the bottom of my list, and it’s all forgotten. (I’ve forgotten to read plenty of scripts this way from people whom I know personally and like (Sorry)).

I shouldn’t bother asking where you can send them a script first out of politeness. It’s just more admin. If a script is already printed out and sitting on a table, it might get picked up and read very quickly. Especially if the first few pages are actually proper funny – which is rare. And if it ain’t funny, it goes in the bin and their day continues. We’ve all had scripts thrown in the bin. The solution is to send it someone else, or write another one.

Is it worth sending to producers as well as BBC Writersroom?
Yes. I know one of their readers very well and he knows stuff and can spot funny. You can send it to BBC Producers too – one or two – but try the Writersoom. They are mandated and paid to find new talent and encourage it. That might well involve you.

Should I send a pilot ‘set-up’ episode or a typical episode?
Send a funny episode. The debate about whether to write Ep 1 as a set-up or whether to do it in the first five minutes and then move on, or just write a typical episode is not something to worry about at this stage. Really and truly. When you are sending a script to a producer, you are primarily showing what you can do with a half-hour script. The odds of the script being turned into actually TV are truly tiny. There are so many hoops to jump through first. A script is a calling card – in the hope of developing a relationship with a producer. They get sent hundreds of pilot episodes, and plenty of typical episodes – but they don’t get sent many funny, fresh, original versions of either. It really is all about the funny at this stage. The cold-hearted planning of how you can take over the world with your sitcom comes later.

Could I send a script to you, Sitcomgeek?
I’d rather you didn’t. Sorry. I do get asked now and then. Reading a script properly – as I would like my script to be read – takes half an hour. Then you have to read it again. Think about it. And then write something useful. That’s probably a 3-4 hour job. No offence, if I’m giving away my time for free, I’d rather give it my three-year old daughter (whom I only invoice occasionally) There are script reading services available at relatively low cost. You could try the excellent and experienced writer Dave Cohen, or the delightful Hayley McKenzie.

I’m not getting anywhere at all. What should I do?
Write something else. If you’re a writer, you’ll like writing for it’s own sake – and that is the thing that gives you pleasure. But given the lack of manufacturing and an increasingly graduate population, an awful lot of people want to be writers. It’s hard work out there, and it can be slim pickings at times. And if you’re pitching a sitcom to BBC2, you’re competing with Paul Whitehouse, Steve Moffat and Ricky Gervais. You’re in with the big boys. Quit whining, and turn that into something funny. (I hasten to add I regularly ignore my own advice and whine with the best of them.)

Please feel free to ask other general questions about sitcom, industrial or scriptorial – maybe on the comments below or via twitter – and I’ll try and get to them via the blog over the coming weeks.

Where should I send my Script?

This is a question I get asked a lot. You can send it in to script competitions. No harm in that. (I write about that here) You can send it nebulous corporations who have a public service remit and will genuinely read it eventually. Better than leaving it in a drawer. I shouldn't bother sending it to an agent (unless it's a movie script or novel).

But for sitcom, I give the same answer every time. Send it to a producer who makes programmes you like - and whom you think will 'get' what you're trying to do. Print it out, put it in an envelope, spell their name correctly, write a polite covering letter that doesn't make you look like a nutjob, a stalker or a precocious 12-year-old (even if you are, hide this fact). Then wait.

If it's really good, they'll call you. Really and truly. Most scripts aren't any good, including those written by experienced professionals. So if you've written something that isn't even broadcastable, but shows promise and talent, they'll call, email and contact you somehow eventually.

Bear in mind they have work do, a job in hand and it doesn't really involve you - but they need shows to produce, and every time they open and envelope, they fear the worst, but hope for the best.

If you don't hear back ever, and you've sent it three different producers, maybe, just maybe, the script isn't as good as you thought it was. In which case, do what all decent writers do: do it again. Rewrite, edit, change, delete, type, scream, delete, type, read, simmer, pause, read again, edit then send. If you're not prepared for any of the above, may I recommend another job?

Any producers on the receiving end, please feel free to confirm or deny any of the above, but that's my experience and recommendation.

Constructed Reality: The Script

A producer, writer and a TV exec are shooting the breeze and talking about TV in general after a meeting in which writer is being told that there’s no money to make his well-written, carefully observed sitcom. The Producer leaves for another meeting, while writer remains behind, unsure of protocol.

Exec leans back and stretches.

Exec: So tonight, it’s the big show.

Writer: Big show?

Exec: Masterchef.

Writer: Oh.

Exec: Not a fan?

Writer: (shrugs) I like food. And competitions. Just not sure I want to see it on television?

Exec: Ha, ha, ha. (Beat) Seriously?

Writer: Also, you can’t taste what they’ve made, so the key experience is missing. Like porn with very bad lighting.

Exec: Ha! That lighting is hard to get right.

Writer: I’m sorry?

Exec: (Cough) The point is that this is event TV. Unmissable. Insanely popular. Sitcom is all very well, but this is Reality.

Writer: Is it? But is the entire thing not total artifice? When do total strangers normally cook competitively with each other and then told off on national TV for not sufficiently devilling the kidneys?

Exec: Okay, fair enough. But the people are genuine.

Writer: They are, but they’re carefully chosen.

Exec: Yeah, and it’s really important that the casting is right.

Writer: You just called it casting.

Exec: No I didn’t. Beside, everyone know it’s not real reality. But some kind of…

Writer: Fake reality?

Exec: It’s not fake. Anymore. A lot of my close personal friends had to resign over that. Some of them were out of work for several weeks.

Writer: Sorry.

Exec: It’s called Constructed Reality.

Writer: Ha. It’s funny what TV does to you, isn’t it? I mean, it makes you say things like ‘Constructed Reality’ without laughing straight away afterwards.

Exec: (Beat) Why would you laugh?

Writer: Well,… because… No reason.

Exec: The other trick is spending enough on promoting the thing.

Writer: Really?

Exec: Hell, yeah. They really have to make it count because it’s not cheap to make. These celeb judges cost a fortune, and you should see the riders these people insist on. Plus the bespoke tense music. That’s pricey. And then the advertising.

Writer: Advertising?

Exec: Yeah. If you’re shelling out that kind of money, you have to make sure you’re getting bums and eyeballs.

Writer: I thought you said it was insanely popular.

Exec: It is. It is. It’s just sometimes you have to remind people how popular it is.

Writer: I see that.

Exec: Plus you have to get it all on the first showing and the cheap spin-off discussion show afterwards. You can’t repeat this stuff, or sell it on DVD. You get peanuts for re-runs on UK Food 3: Leftovers. We tried ‘Masterchef: Reheated’ but it just didn’t fly. It’s not like you can show it again and again forever like Blackadder or the Vicar of Dibley or those, you know…

Writer: Sitcoms?

Exec: Yeah, whatever. Listen, I have to go. It’s a celeb restaurant opening. I’ll try and steal you some bread rolls.

Exeunt. (Exec via door. Writer via 4th floor window)

Dissolve to several months later. BBC4 shows comedy biopic of sitcom writer who jumps from 4th floor window.

The Business of Not Getting Paid

Earlier today, I retweeted a link to an extract of a film about Harlan Ellison - in which he talks about many things, but in the clip he talks about how writers are often treated.

In America, writers seem to be held in far higher esteem than over here in the UK. In America, writers don't just write, but produce and cast and everything and make a ton of money. And yet American writers still have stories of injustice and being cheated out of money. They even go on strike. The extraordinary thing is that they're often legitimate complaints, and their money is being creamed off by people who have done nothing to make the hit in question such a success.

We have a long way to go over here. If it's not bad form to quote oneself, here's something I've said in a previous post:

The fact is that if you're a writer, you will write. No-one will be able to stop you. And nothing else will matter to you. Getting paid is great. And is essential every now and then. But the money is always secondary to the project - or at least it should be. If you're a writer, money is something you need to help you write.

There is no doubt that this desire to write is regularly abused by our paymasters. Here is my greatest frustration, which I will paint as a generic and regular scenario.

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM. DAY.
I'm sitting in a small conference room talking about a new idea for a sitcom with a producer, their boss, the executive producer - and maybe an assistant. Maybe I'm at the BBC. Or an indie. It rarely makes any difference, sadly. This is the fourth meeting I've had now. At the first, I pitched the initial idea, which they cautiously said they might like if they could see more of it. At the second we talked about the treatment that I worked up over a few days. I was told I'd need to come up with some more storylines. At the third meeting, having spent two or three more days on storylines, we talked about which channel this show would be suitable for, who could be in it, how to sell it. And all that.

INT. SAME CONFERENCE ROOM. DAY.
And here I am at the fourth meeting, and it's being suggested that we'd need script samples and that kind of thing. There's talk of a 'taster' tape. And that more work will be needed in order to bring a channel on board. And I can't help noticing that so far, the only one coming up with any ideas, fleshing them out and doing all the work is the only one who has not been paid a penny. Everyone else in that room - who's livelihood depends on writers coming in and pitching ideas that they will go off and be paid to make - is on a salary, gets paid holidays, sick leave and pension contributions. Their office expenses are covered and it doesn't really matter if they bunk of early now and then. And then there's me.

How is that right? No money is ever available for scripts from indies until they've managed to get the money off a potential broadcaster. Even multi-million pound companies that have six or seven different series in production, swanky offices in Central London and several layers of management. Trying to pin down the company for an option is barely worth the bother since it's only a few hundred pounds and is a pretty poor deal anyway.

Why more money isn't made up available up front for writers is baffling to me, since it is they who generate the ideas. The current business model for most indies and producers is akin to a pharmaceutical company who are rather hoping a scientist will wander in and tell them all about their cure for cancer. But that is the insane world we work in.

Anyway, if you've ever had the feeling that I've had in scenario painted above, you'll feel better after watching this clip in which an angry, wealthy, talented writer swears a lot and sticks it to the man. Enjoy.

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I'm running an all-day webinar, Write a Sitcom In A Day. Which you obviously can’t do. But the idea behind the day is help you understand the process and make a plan so you can get a script written. Polished. And done. Wanna join me?
It’ll be with me, via Zoom, going through the whole process and with loads of time for questions. Find out details, and book here.