Writing for the Green Light

by Scott Kirkpatrick

  Many television writers I know have a much more positive view of agents than feature writers… . TV writers will insist that you need an agent in order to get your work before studio-level staff writing teams—which is totally true. However, the likelihood of a staff writing team plucking an unknown writer to join them based upon a spec script is extremely unlikely—and if that writer were so talented, they’d be able to land that position without the help of that agent.

  When you’re starting out, go solo, pocket 100 percent of your money, and build a valuable network of connections—with real Hollywood decision-makers—directly.

  Myth #2: You Need an Agent to Negotiate Your Contracts

  Contracts of any kind are intimidating; they’re always long and overly complex (and screenwriting contracts are no exception). However, if a producer or production company is going to hire your writing talents for their needs in exchange for money, then a contract of some kind will be involved, and you will have to be the one signing it in order to secure the job (whether you have an agent or not). And precisely because contracts are so intimidating and complex, you should have an agent negotiate all contracts on your behalf (so you don’t get screwed)… right?

  Of course not! If you’re reading the words on this page then you’re perfectly capable of reading (and understanding) an agreement. And if you’ve ever given a specialty order at a restaurant (“Could I get a salad instead of fries?” or “No mayo, please”) then you’re perfectly capable of negotiating terms within a written contract as well.

  Negotiating a deal is about finding common ground. Break it down to basics: If a producer or production company needs a screenplay written, and you have the ability to write the screenplay they want, it seems to me there’s plenty of common ground for both parties to engage in a pretty straightforward agreement. Adding an agent into the mix (a third party) makes finding that common ground much more difficult because their common ground would require both you and the production company giving something up. You as the writer must give up 10 percent of your payout, but the production company loses out on something vitally precious to them: Their time.

  True story: I once overheard a loud speakerphone conversation in our office between our head of production and an agent. The head of production really liked a script one of this agent’s clients had written and wanted to commission this writer for an upcoming TV movie. She and the agent had been going back-and-forth for three weeks trying to work out a deal to hire the writer. Our head of production was furious with the situation, but she remained calm and kept trying to meet the agent’s needs while remaining true to the budget she had to work with. This particular conversation was to be the final negotiation call. The agent saw it as yet another opportunity to play hardball instead of actually working a deal out. What resulted was the agent holding out over the difference of $500 from the overall deal. Our head of production finally just said: “Look, I’ve really tried to make this work, but it’s obviously not going to… . Thanks, but we’re in a time crunch and my gut is telling me this just isn’t worth it… . Sucks for the writer cause he’s really good.” The agent then tried to rebut saying “No, no, no, we can make it work, we can go at your price”; my head of production paused, then said: “Sorry, I’m sticking to my guns on this one, I’ve given you plenty of opportunities and it’s been a battle every time. We’ll pass, thanks.” She then hung up on the agent as he again tried to argue his point.

  In the end, because this agent muddied up the situation, he blew it for everyone. The head of production really wanted that writer… . And that writer really wanted the job. It was the agent (as a third party) trying to make the situation more favorable for himself that caused the deal to fall apart—and blew it for the two legit parties that already had common ground. Our head of production had to go find another writer—which wasn’t difficult, but the irony was that the writer who secured the job represented himself (meaning he had no agent). He had basic and simple terms, ones that were very in line with how our production company could operate; they signed a deal in two days.

  Conclusion: You Do Not Need an Agent!

  So, if you don’t need an agent in order to secure yourself with writing jobs and you don’t need one to negotiate your contracts, then what real reason is there to sign with an agent at all? Truth is, there is no reason—at least not at this early stage in your career. When you’re first starting out, an agent cannot do anything that you cannot do on your own. And, let’s be blunt, no one is going to value your talents or put as much focus and attention on your career than you will.

  Most agents are not really looking for talented writers as much as they are looking to keep talented writers from slipping through their fingers and getting gobbled up by their competitors… . At the end of the day, the majority of agents really only care about one thing: Getting their cut of your money. There are certainly great and stellar agents out there, ones who will work with you—for a period of time—to get your portfolio into strong shape… . But if your work isn’t selling soon after, just watch how quickly all that attention and accommodation fades away.

  As already explained, the majority of screenwriting books on the market spend most of their pages first discussing how to write a spec script, followed by a very thrown-together chapter explaining that the next phase of your journey is to simply “get an agent,” leaving you with the false belief this “magical” agent will take the reins from there. This has resulted in many talented writers entering Hollywood with the objective that after they write their spec scripts, they must secure an agent, which is simply not true—that time and energy would be much better applied to writing and pushing their own scripts!

  As a newbie writer, you cannot view an agent as some sort of “career messiah” who will make all your dreams come to life after entering a deal with them. At the end of the day you must only think of an agent as a tool, one that assists you in managing your workload, and not as the gatekeepers of screenwriting success.

  You are more than capable of representing yourself at the beginning of your career, and later you’ll be able to secure the right kind of representation (after a few legit paying gigs). Agents will always be there, waiting for their 10 percent of your income… . So build your own career to begin with and obtain a qualified agent—one who you like and want to work with—later on when you start getting the kind of volume and reputation that requires proper representation.

  When Is the Right Time?

  So if so many successful screenwriters have agents, when is the right time in your career to sign with one? When you actually need to outsource the work! Once you’re able to secure yourself with a steady flow of work, you might eventually find yourself negotiating back-and-forth with a new production company while simultaneously trying to meet writing deadlines for a different production company. Rather than overworking yourself or risk missing deadlines, this would be the right time to hire an agent.

  Yes, they will be taking their 10 percent fee from your income… . But now that 10 percent commission is worth it, since they are aiding you in maintaining a steady flow of consistent work—paying 10 percent without the volume is when it’s a big-time waste. And for real-world context, the time to start looking for an agent is when you find that negotiating your latest writer-for-hire agreement is starting to interfere with your ability to meet an already existing professional screenwriting deadline; for example, the writer of 9.6 Mega-Tsunami, who’s well-known enough to receive writing work out of the blue would be considered to be in a good position to begin initially thinking about agency representation.

  Can you see how the tables have now turned? Rather than going out and sucking up to agents in the hopes of securing one, you are now the one hiring an agent to serve your needs, which is how it’s supposed to work. You can audition them, meet with them, see which ones you like. You now have clout and understanding of basic contracts and will be able to discuss with them the ways you like to work and the ways you do not.
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br />   Again, the timing is right when you have a need for an agent. If this seems like a far-fetched dream for you, it’s completely within reach. Once you start writing what Hollywood needs (gold-mine genre type scripts), rather than what you want to write, doors will open. And once you network and get a good sense of who’s who and how you can serve their projects rather than your own, they will take notice and give you a shot.

  Whereas an agent’s true purpose is to broker individual deals on a project-by-project basis, another form of representation that writers can work with are managers. A manager serves as a career coach for a screenwriter and helps guide him or her during professional transitions—including aiding in deciding which projects to take versus which projects to pass on. They also work for 10 percent of your pay, but will sometimes work on a retainer basis (a pre-negotiated monthly fee). There is no storefront you can head to in order to find a manager, but they will be available through recommendations via connections once you’re gaining a steady flow of work… . However, as with an agent, in the short term when starting out you really don’t need one; you can get great career development advice, if you desire it, from writing consultants or instructors (as outlined in Chapter Three).

  A Business of Commissions and Fees

  If there’s a dollar trading hands in Hollywood, then there’s someone not far behind trying to wedge their way in to take a cut.

  After you work your fingers to the bone writing your spec scripts, promoting your talents, and securing yourself a legit writing deal, it might suddenly feel as if the floodgates have opened up. Out of nowhere, agents, managers, and producer’s reps will all be calling, telling you how much potential you have (and how far—and fast—they can get you there). As explained above, their job is not to find new talent and promote it, their job is to find a Hollywood-related financial transaction and figure out a way to wedge themselves in, for their cut.

  But commissions and fees are perfectly reasonable since screenwriters make millions, right? Some do, but most don’t.

  I consistently come across articles in the trades boasting some new hot screenwriter who inked this-or-that script and who’s now under contract with [insert huge agency and studio combo here] for a $4 million deal.

  Wow… . That’s impressive. I mean, forget the fact that if that writer actually received that lump sum up front that they’d owe $1 million in taxes (possibly more); it’s still a huge sum of money. Now let’s also consider that if that writer were paid the full amount as a lump sum up front, they’d also now owe (and let’s be conservative here) 10 percent of the gross to their new big-wig agent and another 10 percent gross to their manager. That’s another $800,000 gone. But hey, they’re still pocketing over $2 million right? I mean, how could that possibly be bad? Minus of course the fees they’d owe to the Writers Guild of America (WGA) or any other affiliations they might be involved with, they’re still making crazy money up front… .

  The problem with the above scenario is that rarely do these big million-dollar script deals get paid out in a lump sum; they get paid out in stages or “steps,” which has led to these agreements being structured (and referred to) as “step deals.” And each of these contractual steps are “hedged” to protect everyone involved in the process with money on the line (not the writer). The contract might be worth $4 million on paper, but it only pays $4 million if each step of the agreement is met.

  This writer must first enter into the agreement (meaning they must sign the deal). One of the first components might be that he/she sign with the WGA (the writer’s union), and that his/her new agent and manager get set fees off the gross for every dollar earned. Okay, a small price to pay to be associated with such great entities that exist to help you and secure you with more work. On the positive side, there’s usually a signing bonus on such an agreement, which is really just a tiny portion of that total figure paid out as an advance. Once you sign and accept that money, you’re committed (contractually locked).

  The first actual step of the contract might be to draft a treatment for the studio’s development team so that they can begin work on your next idea. You write and write and come up with something brilliant… . Only they reject it. Technically you’ve completed the step, but since they didn’t accept it and don’t intend on going forward with the treatment (meaning from their side the step was not completed), they’ll decline payment and you must start over.

  See where this can get tricky? On one hand, you have a talented writer who has just been touted as Hollywood’s next “it” screenwriter. He or she is now secured with the top players and is under contract. Even though the deal is for $4 million on paper, this writer might not ever get past the treatment/pitch stage for their next idea. And they’re now forbidden from writing any ideas for anyone else. Even if another studio thinks their initial idea is great, they’re locked with their current studio and cannot sell that property. Meanwhile, they still haven’t received any payouts since that initial signing bonus. Sure, the writer could attempt to hire a third party legal team to yank them out of this deal… . But that would cost a great deal of money—remember, the contract might be worth $4 million, but that writer’s signing bonus is probably long gone by now, given the taxes, commissions, and union fees spent. And unlike Hollywood’s agents, managers, and producer’s reps, L.A.’s everyday lawyers wouldn’t be working on a commission basis, they would most likely require an up-front fee on a case like this, one that’s probably now unaffordable (unless there was a clear breach of contract).

  So who in the above scenario has the writer’s best interest at heart? Other than the writer, no one. All other parties have laid out all the groundwork for their own financial success in the event that the writer takes off… . However, if that writer’s work does not take off, they lose nothing while the writer loses big time.

  Screenwriters Must Be Entrepreneurs

  You’re going to have to be the one promoting your talents, building your connections, and securing your initial professional writing opportunities. Waiting around for others to swoop in and kick-start your career on your behalf just isn’t going to happen. Essentially, you’re going to have to represent yourself.

  No successful entrepreneurial CEO blindly opens a division to offer a product that the market doesn’t need. They instead look for what the market wants, then make themselves available as the best company to provide that product. As a screenwriter, you already know what the marketplace wants: Gold-mine genre-type scripts. You also possess the skill to produce them.

  Most wannabes write a script, then go shop it around Hollywood hoping someone will buy it. However, if a novice writer (you) utilizes the lessons from Chapter Five (meeting people and building a professional network) and then add in the reality stated here in Chapter Six (that most producers and development executives are only in business for themselves), you are suddenly in a prime position to learn what it is these Hollywood insiders want. And with that knowledge, you can position yourself as the screenwriting answer to their prayers.

  With this scenario, you are no longer shooting blindly in the dark; you are identifying a relatively common occurrence in Hollywood—well-connected producers and development executives with great ideas who are looking to get ahead in their careers but don’t have the time to write the scripts they know will sell—and you’re strategically aiding their career objectives while also building your own.

  Think a busy development executive with a great idea for a movie (and all the connections to make it a reality) has time to go home each night and pound away at a script? No… . But you do. Think a busy producer constantly hustling and schmoozing clients has time to personally write the perfect script to satisfy both the money people and the talent they’re current wrestling with? No… . But you do. And, just to rub the point in one last time, do you think an agent will put two and two together and link up any of these real world Hollywood needs with your ability to write? No… . But, you can.

  Just as you wrote a spec scri
pt that made the readers’ and line producers’ jobs easier, you can make the career objectives of the producer and development executives easier as well. Utilizing the skills learned in Chapter Four about schmoozing and pitch meetings, you can wedge your way into their professional lives just as an agent or manager would attempt to wedge their way into yours; you’re coming to them offering the answers to their problems (“I could write that script for you, if you have the means to produce it”), rather than trying to add one more task, which is what most wannabes do (“You wanna read my script?”). One scenario helps a producer or development executive, while the other one hinders them. Which do you think they’d be more receptive to?

  Don’t Say “Yes” to Opportunities… . Invent Them

  When opportunity knocks, my best advice is to simply open the door and say, “Yes!” The problem is, opportunity doesn’t knock very often, and when it does it rarely arrives in the way you imagined.

  That’s because real opportunities begin as broken leftovers or disjointed ideas—in other words, opportunities usually show themselves first as problems. What transforms these problems into opportunities is when you see a way to solve them by applying your skills or talents in order to fix them. That “knocking” that everyone talks about has nothing to do with an opportunity being presented to you; it’s your own realization that you’re able to see a way to apply your skills to fix it.

  Sending a blind email pitch to a production company, trying to sell your screenplay to them, does not solve any of their problems—it only adds to their workload. But learning directly from the heads of development at that company what scripts they need written in order to lighten their workload will help them tremendously. That’s opportunistic thinking… . It’s more about approaching the situation in the way others are not that usually gets the job done.