5 Harsh Truths About Screenwriting

How to know what you’re getting into

How do we know stuff about professions? How can we understand what’s it like to be a lawyer, an engineer, a writer before we get ourselves into it? Well, we have our role models in parents. And their friends. And our friends’ parents. But it’s a close circle. I’m from the family of an actress and cardio surgeon turned screenwriter. And I can tell you that: until I married a lawyer I had no idea what’s that profession looks like from within. I mean, I had clues, but they were wrong. I knew too well what it’s like to work on a role in theatre. To edit scripts at night, or to pull double shifts and donate blood after 48 hours on your feet in the operation room. But I had no clue about musicians, painters, engineers, lawyers, directors, accountants, bankers, and the whole bunch of different kinds of professions.

And there were movies. Movies and series about accountants and musicians, lawyers, and politicians, and I assumed they were at least to some extent true. Life of a musician — “Some like it hot”, “Whiplash”. Surgeons and doctors — “ER”, “House, M.D.”, “Grey’s Anatomy”, “Scrubs”. Lawyers — well, there are too much… So, I bet that too many people — if they don’t have relatives or close friends in the field — are basing their understanding of a profession on movies, series, videos, books, and articles. On over the top, dramatized, purified and distilled stories created for entertainment.

My imaginary writer

I’ve mentioned that my father was a screenwriter but he rarely worked on scripts. His second degree as a screenwriter was his ticket to work on television as a producer, editor, and PR-specialist. So when I was thinking about becoming a writer I’ve had no real-life role model. But I’ve had movies, series, and my imagination.

The writer in my head was two words: thought and freedom. I imagined a free and exciting life working on whatever I find worthy. Advancing the human thought, being clever and witty on the page. Imagining away and thinking of shit that never came across someone else’s mind. I envisioned long walks and satisfying talks with other thinkers and artists about current affairs and ancient-old problems. The writer is a creative philosopher, I thought, who emerges himself in the boiling pot of human emotions and comes back with insights and wisdom.

When I thought about the writer’s work, it was almost magical. It was a work of a lonely genius who lives atop a mountain but who is so good that everyone comes to him anyway. An avalanche will kill a couple of world-known producers trying to get to him to buy his new Script. And when The Writer comes to the village to buy pineapples and paper everyone stop and whisper: “That’s him! That’s him…”

Well, that’s a wonderful image. But very far from the truth.

Curb your enthusiasm

Things that I imagined weren’t even close to the screenwriter’s lifestyle. Even specs demand a high degree of cooperation with others and much more hands-on work. But they were not true for a novelist or a freelance writer either.

When you decide on your future or the future of your family you need all the information you can have. That’s my belief. Otherwise, it is a blind leap into the abyss. It may be wonderful and it may hurt like hell. And no matter how beautiful it looks from the distance you should come closer and see for yourself.

You see, there is little thing called reality and we must face it no matter how ugly it may seem. And I’ve learned some harsh truths about screenwriting business in Hollywood (the majority of today’s entertainment comes from that place). I’ve learned it talking to writers who are trying to launch their careers in writers’ groups and chatrooms. I’ve learned it researching first-hand testimonies of agents, managers, executives, teachers, and coaches who are kind enough to share their knowledge on the Internet.

So let me tell you 5 harsh truths about screenwriting that you should know before you make a decision to pursue a screenwriting career.

Harsh Truth #1: selling yourself

You have to sell yourself. Constantly. It’s marketing, positioning, presenting your ideas, dressing them the right way. A pitch meeting is a sale. Sale of your idea and yourself as a person they want to get in business with. You become a brand and you need to win an army of fans and super fans so the industry would know about you, talk about you, and want to hire you.

And by the way, your work should be top-notch too. You should be a brilliant and exceptional writer and a brilliant and exceptional marketer. That’s why Tarantino goes to Comic-Con and gives tons of interviews — he wants to be seen. And remembered. He wants to hammer his brand of excentric quick independent a bit-of-an-asshole genius into our brains and the brains of the industry.

And it doesn’t stop with you getting some work. If you’re staffed on a show or sold a pitch or writing a feature and even working on the set of the movie that you’ve written. Because in the writers’ room you have to still pitch your concise ideas to stay in the room. You have to continue to work with producers, directors, and executives and balance between being a complete pushover who always does what he’s told and a narcissistic malcontent no one wants to work with.

Sure, you can learn and master that: writing, pitches, networking, small talk, negotiations, presenting your ideas, and all that jazz. But you need to see the industry and your place and role in it as clear as possible. It’s a shame to get into something for the wrong reasons.

Harsh Truth #2: never-ending scripts

When I was younger (6 months younger to be precise) I thought that I could write a killer script, sell it, write another one, sell it. Live in Paris for a year on the proceeds from my first two scripts. Then work on some show. Then get bored and write another script because I can. That’s dangerous bullshit.

Smart people like Corey Mandell, for example, say that you need to think in 6 script cycles. In that cycle, you must write at least 2-3 scripts a year regardless of work on shows or writing assignments. From those 6 scripts, 2 or 3 will die for no reason. 2 of them will go out and get the director attached and the studio attached but something will inevitably happen as it does and they won’t get made. And 1 of them will do the job and either sell and get made or get you the next three-four years of work on a show or with a studio. Managers and agents want to work with writers who produce new content constantly. Because of logic. And life. And the universe.

Imagine, you come from an exhausting day at the writers’ room on a big show. Your kids surround you: “Oh, yey! The parent is home!” You smell lasagna and your feet almost crave the couch. You want to rest in front of the TV because today is the day that the episode you’ve written by yourself is coming out. But you kiss your kids, grab a plate with a big piece of lasagna, ask your spouse to watch an episode and make notes. And march to the study to sort the scenes in the ending sequence of your current thriller.

When you’re imagining your life as a writer, imagine this. And if you’ll end up working 4 hours a day like, say, Steven King or 5 to 6 hours like, say, Mr. Tarantino, it will be an unexpected and nice surprise.

Harsh Truth #3: talent is overrated

When we talk about talent it’s usually implied that talent is something you either have or don’t. If you have it, then you pretty much set and if you don’t, then there is no amount of work in the Universe that can help you. Research tells us that that approach is not quite right and not at all helpful. You can read more about that in Dr. Carol Dweck’s book Mindest. In a nutshell, there is no talent that requires no work and you can definitely develop your talents, and work on your deficiencies.

I myself thought that if people would see my talent and gave me a chance to prove it, I would be golden. Then all my problems would disappear and I would share my brilliant thoughts and effortless pages with the world for the rest of my life. The problem wasn’t that my process or my current state as a writer was not optimal. That I wasn’t ready to work hard on getting better, but rather in the situation around me. I don’t know anyone in Hollywood, that’s the problem. I don’t live in LA, that’s the problem. I don’t have enough time to write, that’s the problem. Basically, I don’t have enough time and opportunity to showcase my talent and that’s the problem.

The thing is, you always have to grow and stretch yourself. Otherwise, someone who is behind you now but keeps working will outrank you soon enough. And the problems could be in the outside world, but the wast majority of them are in the processes and strategies that you use.

In any case, talent can get you only so far. You can get representation. You can get meetings. You can even get a job. But your talent cannot help you in doing consistent work, producing the highest quality of the material every day. Here you have to rely on working processes that are tailored to your needs and features.

The good news is you’re not a slave of the so-called talent and you can master a lot with hard work and right strategies. The bad news is you have to keep working or you’ll drown. So basically you’re a shark.

Harsh Truth #4: you might hate it

The thing is, sometimes our wishes come true. And we hate it. Some writers say that working on big projects and shows was complete torture for them. Despite the fact that they were living their dream. They became moody and angry, tired, and edgy for different reasons. Pressure, responsibility, procrastination, self-doubt, self-hatred, impostor syndrome… And not being happy with the results and the work. They’ve imagined something completely different. They wanted to sit on the beach with a typewriter and they are crammed into a small room with other ambitious creative people. They were dreaming of running their own show and instead they run around trying to impress the showrunner. Or… You can be unhappy in a thousand ways.

It can be not what you’ve imagined and it’s very painful. It’s bad enough to never get what you want, but it is a hundred times worse to get what you’ve always wanted and not be happy. I was in shock when I first heard the accounts of writers who didn’t like their job. I was sure that they were all spoiled children, too arrogant to see their happiness. Too greedy and too stupid to realize how lucky they were.

But the more I looked the more it became clear: it is not the aberration — it’s the norm. Because the reality is usually not what you’d expect. That is the most important part of all. Your career and your lifestyle would probably be very different from what you’re imagining right now.

So when you get there, you should ask yourself: is it feels awful because it is or because it is not what I’ve expected? Maybe that question will save someone’s career. Or marriage. Or life.

Harsh Truth #5: you’ll never know

You can plan and research, you can learn and get behind the scenes. But what the future holds for you is never within reach. The industry always changes. Traditions die and new ones emerge. Standards shift and demand fluctuates. The only constant thing is change.

Yesterday studios were looking to please everybody with broad appeal. Now it’s better to be hated by some but loved by a few than to be tolerable for all. Tomorrow? Who knows? Everybody who says they do is wrong. Or worse. Trying to sell you something.

You have to understand the basics, be OK with doing it the way it seems to be today. But you also have to understand that nothing is forever and the industry can change rapidly and not in the direction you’d like.

Look no further than to Dalton Trumbo’s story. He was one of the biggest names in Hollywood, award-winning, tickets-selling screenwriter. But in an instant, The Cold War swept him and his colleagues off their feet. He was convicted, went to jail, and for 11 years had to cheat his way around Hollywood’s blacklist writing B-movies for scraps. His name was dragged through the mud. He’s lost friends and allies, became bitter to his own children. It was arguably the darkest era of Hollywood and for sure the worst part of Trumbo’s life.

But he never stopped writing. Would you?