Notes from the Trenches
A Series of Observations from the Real World of Screenwriting
These are lessons I’ve learned the hard way — in meetings, pitches and real attempts to build a screenwriting career. If you’re working toward the same goal, these notes may save you some time.What To Do At Lunch With Your Agents
I remember having lunch for the first time with my agents at UTA.
They kept talking about completely random things and sharing cocktail party anecdotes when all I wanted to know was what they’d heard about my recent meetings with producers.
So I eventually tried to steer the conversation that way and asked for any feedback.
One of the two agents looked at me strangely and gave me an extremely vague response, something like: “Some of them liked some of the ideas you pitched, and some of them didn’t like some of them.”
It became apparent that no substantive matters were going to be addressed at all at this lunch.
Afterward, I asked my manager why I wasn’t getting any feedback. My manager told me there was nothing to say. I was supposed to take producer meetings to make connections. Either I made them or I didn’t. There was really nothing else to discuss.
The lunch was supposed to be entirely social.
Apparently, agents are so busy they rarely have time to get to know their clients personally, so the lunches were for that.
My manager went on to explain that what I really should do on these lunches was play a persona.
In other words, I should pick an easily digestible and hopefully interesting character to be—someone these agents (and producers and executives) could lock onto and say, hey, that guy’s the “surfer dude” or the “frat boy.” My manager literally used those two exact terms. Only as examples. I’m neither of those.
Basically, he said you can’t be just a writer.
And here I was at lunch just wanting to talk about my writing career and whether or not I was going to have one—apparently not at all what your agents are there to talk about.
Surely, there are a lot of different kinds of agents and managers with lots of different approaches, but there’s something to this idea of having a character for yourself to play, a character people can remember easily.
I remember one producer telling me that Diablo Cody was fantastic in meetings. I don’t know if it was because of the whole “ex-stripper” thing she had in the beginning, but it may have been helpful.
I know another writer who’s literally an “ex rock star.”
My previous career was as a lawyer on accounting and life insurance cases—not really much of a persona.
I remember talking to one producer about restaurants, and she got the idea I was a foodie. Every time we talked after that, she brought up fine cuisine. Not exactly me either, although I do like food.
At some point I may just have to write myself a character to play.
It’s bad enough all our scripts need to be high concept. Now we need to have high concept personalities too?
Kinda.
Unless our writing is really, really good.
Then it doesn’t matter.
Learn From My Pitch Meeting Mistakes
We all learn from our missteps. These are the lessons we never forget. But to save you the trouble of making all your own mistakes, here are three of my own fumbles made during meetings with producers and studio execs.
One – Don’t Forget To Read Your Audience
I remember pitching to two young producers at Red Wagon. The two producers were very “mainstream” corporate types—nothing artsy about them. But I decided to pitch an oddball indie project I wanted to do. Neither of the two was taken with the idea, and one of them thought it was “gross.”
The lesson here: Know your audience. Take a few minutes to get to know the producers you’re meeting before launching into a pitch. A lot of producers and execs like to share their favorite movies with writers. That’s an easy way to learn their preferences. Have pitches in multiple genres ready to go, and then take the time to listen and choose the pitch best suited to hit home in the room.
Two – Don’t Forget To Support Your Argument
I was pitching an idea called Alien Baby. The idea of the project was that an Earth couple adopts a baby from outer space. In my pitch, I told a producer that all the things that are hard about raising children were a thousand times harder with an alien baby. And then I said something like: all the things that are great about raising kids, it’s even bigger and more emotional in the movie.
The producer’s reaction was flat. He said, “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” and then he asked to hear about something else.
The lesson here: Don’t pitch in vague terms about how great or funny or emotional your screenplay is. Unless you’ve already written a bona fide Hollywood hit, you need to provide specific details. You need to prove your script is what you say it is. And you need to do it from the get-go—before the person you’re pitching asks to hear about “something else.”
Three – Don’t Be Anywhere Near Late
This one hurts to recall.
I had my one and only meeting at Disney. Disney has an in-house writing program, and my agents were able to convince them to give me a shot at it.
I wasn’t actually late, but I got lost on the way, and I cut it too close. I was really frazzled by the time I got through the doors. I probably looked a mess. I felt like a mess. And the meeting just didn’t go as well as it could have.
I pitched an idea about snowmen having to cross the equator, and the exec brushed it off quickly, saying they already had a “snowman” story in development. I don’t know for sure, but this might be the project that turned into Frozen. Or maybe the exec just wanted a polite excuse to blow me off. It may not have mattered at all—but I’ll never know if it could have gone better if I’d had the time to get myself together.
The lesson here: Give yourself as much extra travel time as necessary to make sure you’re never ever even close to late.
Two Types of Screenwriting Talent
First off, let’s address the issue of talent or no talent.
Do you have talent at all?
Here’s the good news: most scripts I read show some talent. So yes—you probably have some talent.
The bad news is: even really talented writers have to struggle to write a script that works.
And now for more good news: identifying the type of talent you have can help you focus on the right projects and give you a better chance of succeeding.
Horizontal Talent
Movie execs need to worry about popularity. Popular stories generate big revenues.
Writers need to worry about it too. It’s hard to win major contests unless multiple judges respond positively to your script. And it’s certainly not easy to get anything sold—at least to the major studios—unless multiple industry players agree on the quality of your efforts.
But does popularity equal talent?
It’s a kind of talent—but it’s not the only kind.
The ability to get most people to think your writing is “pretty good” is what I call horizontal talent.
Vertical Talent
“Vertical talent” is the ability to get a reasonable chunk of people—say 25%—to think your script is amazing or truly special.
Charlie Kaufman is a classic example. His movies are not overwhelmingly popular, but those who like them absolutely love them.
Which Are You?
Both types of talent can lead to success, but it’s important to ask yourself which type you lean toward.
The more vertical your talent is, the more you’ll need to keep your budget low and focus on indie markets.
The more horizontal your talent is, the more you’ll want to focus on business aspects such as genre popularity and buying trends.
Wait—There’s A Third Kind of Talent
This blog is taking an unexpected twist.
There’s a surprise third talent.
It’s your job to push each script as far as it can go—both in terms of its popular appeal and its artistic excellence. It doesn’t matter if it takes ten drafts.
If you can get to a script that works, you’ll be proclaimed a great talent.
The third—and most important—kind of talent is something called grit.
Grit is simple: trying hard, consistently, for a long time.
In the end, it’s about effort. Writing multiple drafts of multiple scripts. Getting feedback and responding to that feedback.
Without grit, neither vertical nor horizontal talent is likely to sustain you.
But if you know yourself as a writer and then lock on to your career with a bite that won’t let go, your chances of success will be great.
Surviving the “Cold Room”
A few years ago, I brought a pitch for a feature film to several studios. The pitch played well enough at Fox, Sony, and Universal, but DreamWorks was a very different story.
The producer I was working with had a name for our meeting at DreamWorks: a “cold room.”
It was clear from the start that one executive wasn’t taking the pitch seriously. I wasn’t even sure he was listening. He had his phone out. He was checking texts, emails, catching up on the news.
And then it was over.
That was it.
A cold room.
It’s Part of the Business
Some producers and executives are very welcoming and won’t even let on that they don’t like your pitch. You might walk out thinking, “I’m about to sell this.”
But that’s not everybody’s style.
Some are more direct. Some will cut you off. Some will just sit there looking bored.
There are a lot of reasons you might find yourself in a cold room.
Sometimes the person you’re meeting with is having a bad day.
Sometimes your pitch just doesn’t land.
Pitching is sales—and your audience doesn’t always want what you’re selling.
It happens.
Brush it off and move on.
Pitch Meetings Are More About Relationships Anyway
The one thing you shouldn’t do in a cold room is get huffy.
A producer once told me—fair or not—that producers can get away with acting jerky to writers, but it doesn’t work the other way around.
You have to keep your cool.
One way to do that is to remember that meetings are more about relationships than about specific projects.
Just because someone doesn’t like your pitch doesn’t mean they’re writing you off as a writer.
Stay relaxed. Stay friendly.
Often it’s the second or third meeting that leads to something—not the first.
A Pitch Isn’t Over Until It’s Over
I remember pitching to two producers, and one of them literally rolled her eyes at one of my loglines.
I wanted to quit right there.
But you can’t.
I kept going—and eventually got both producers to laugh at one gag near the end.
That small moment kept the door open.
And that’s what actually matters.
Three Lessons From My Disastrous Pitch To Wilmer Valderrama
Wilmer Valderrama is best known for his work as Fez on That 70s Show, but he’s also had considerable success in animation.
A few years ago, my agent called with an intriguing opportunity.
In light of Wilmer’s hit animated series Handy Manny, Disney wanted to develop another show with Valderrama, and he was looking for family writers to come up with ideas. My agent suggested I get on the phone with Wilmer and his producer and pitch a few concepts.
I was pretty nervous. I’d never pitched to anyone famous before. And this guy was a veteran of one of Fox’s longest-running sitcoms.
I figured I’d have to be hilarious to get his attention.
I planned several “can’t-miss” jokes for early in the pitch, and soon after the phone call began, I hit the punch lines hard.
Bad choice.
The response to my hilarious gags was cricket-esque. After the second zinger clunked to pure silence, I actually asked: Can you guys hear me?
I was the desperate comedian tapping his mic and asking, Is this thing on?
It turns out Wilmer is a pretty serious, business-focused guy—or at least that’s how he was on the phone with me. He seemed less interested in my supposed hilarity and more interested in the big picture.
So I moved on from my ill-fated laugh-fest and pitched two ideas I had prepared in depth and was pretty damn proud of.
Wilmer said little about either idea and then asked if I had any others, preferably something with a Latin-American element. Neither my agent nor my manager had prepped me for this request, and I hadn’t foreseen it myself.
More than a bit thrown, I pitched a third idea—a makeshift concept I hadn’t really prepared—but I didn’t want to give up.
Well, actually, based on how this was going, I did want to give up.
But hey, if we writers want to be treated like pros, we have to act like pros. And professionals do their best job, even on a bad day, right?
So I did what I could.
And that was it.
Unceremoniously, the pitch was over.
One
You can’t plan for everything that will happen.
Do your homework, yes. Know who you’re talking to, yes. But also be ready to switch gears mid-pitch.
Two
It’s best not to “sell” a joke.
Don’t raise your voice or your tone to emphasize the sidesplitting thing you think you’re about to say. I’ve gotten the most laughs from producers by simply describing a situation that suggests funny things will happen.
If you’re a born stand-up comedian, then do what works for you. But if you’re like most writers—funniest on the page—then this advice should help you.
Play the pitch straight. If the material has potential for humor, it’ll come across.
Three
Never give up on a pitch.
I was surprised to hear from my agent that Wilmer did take one of my ideas to Disney—that third idea I threw in to keep the conversation going.
Disney ultimately passed on the concept, but I gave myself a chance by not folding when my jokes bombed and my meeting prep faltered.
It can be nerve-racking as hell, but don’t let your energy level fall.
Keep talking—even when you’re crashing and burning—because the next idea might be a winner.
The One Skill You Really Need To Be A Screenwriter
If you plan to be a screenwriter—in a sustained, professional, “actual” career—then there’s one thing you just have to get really good at.
Coping with the ups and downs.
Every screenwriter goes through it—the moments when you ask yourself, why the #$@&% am I still doing this?
Maybe somebody gives you great coverage on your screenplay, and you’re sure you’ve finally nailed it, but then another reader doesn’t like it at all.
Or maybe things are all coming together on a project, and then—whoosh—it all falls apart.
Getting past these moments and back to writing—it’s an essential survival skill for professional scribes.
I remember when I was going for my first “real” assignment (defined as one that actually pays and might actually lead to a movie on screen).
My agent had gotten me a phone call with a “high-profile” producer to pitch an adaptation of a popular book. I’m guessing it’s easier to schedule ten minutes on the phone with the President of the United States than with a “high-profile” producer, but we eventually spoke.
The call went as well as I could have hoped, and a few months later this producer walked into a studio with me, and we pitched the project.
The pitch seemed to go over pretty well with the studio exec, so I felt optimistic—but incredibly anxious.
In a follow-up call with the producer, in which I was definitely stressing out, she told me:
“Don’t worry, you’re getting the job.”
But I still wasn’t sure.
A few weeks later, while at a Knicks game back in New York, I got an email from the producer’s assistant. It went something like this:
“I had a great conversation with the studio exec! He plans to give you a call tomorrow to hire you!”
Woo-hoo. Now I was sure.
I cheered way too loudly for the Knicks that night. It was one of those ecstatic moments you hope for when you get into this business.
But the next day—no call.
And then another day.
And then a week.
Nothing.
I finally reached out to the producer and was told it wasn’t going forward—no real explanation given. I’ll never know why.
I had done my best, and I’d literally been told “yes,” but the actual answer was still ultimately no.
At times like that, it’s easy to give up.
But you can’t quit on yourself. And you can’t get bitter.
You just have to fully absorb the truth that this is how the industry works.
And if you love it enough, you won’t let that truth keep you from plugging away.
Since that fateful Knicks game—which they lost, by the way—I eventually got my first real assignment and proceeded to the next level of ups and downs.
There have been plenty of both.
If you’re working on a screenplay and want thoughtful, professional feedback, I offer detailed analysis and consulting through Four Star Feedback.