Michelle Lipton
You can scroll the shelf using ← and → keys
You can scroll the shelf using ← and → keys
A little while back, I had an email from Circalit with some publicity blurb about the site. I had a little nosy round and was impressed by some of the competitions they had running which have since got even better, like this one to write a thriller screenplay, the best of which will be considered for representation by screenwriting agency Dench Arnold, or this one to write a TV pilot for a chance to win free development notes from script editor Phillip Shelley. They also have this idea of creating a “Gold List” of the best scripts they see, which sounds sort of the Black List or the Brit List but for newer up-and-coming-writers, which is a nice idea.
The site covers lots of kinds of writing, not just screenwriting – and there seems to be plenty of short story and novel writing schemes and competitions on there too. Agents at A.P. Watt will consider the best crime fiction novel, there’s a monthly short story contest with the winning story being published by the Ether Books mobile phone app, and a quarterly novel writing contest with The Literary Consultancy which gives the winner professional feedback and passes the manuscript to agents and publishers.
There are lots of other peer review type sites out there that claim to showcase new writers to agents and producers but as far as I can see, Circalit is the only one in the UK – and if you want to work in the UK film and TV industry, it looks like it might be an interesting thing to explore. But there are things I’ve always wondered about these sorts of sites and that is – whilst the peer review side of it makes perfect sense, why would agents and producers go trawling through a website looking for scripts when they have their own slush piles to get through?
So I asked them.
The result is a Q&A with Circalit’s Director of Communications, Rob Tucker – and it’s posted here:
Thanks to Rob Tucker for taking time out to answer my questions. If you want to check out Circalit for yourself, click here.
Hustling for work is an inevitable part of any freelance writer’s job if they want to build and sustain a career. Agents can open doors, get you meetings and promote your writing, but their main job is negotiating contracts and handling the business end of things. Out of everything I’ve done in the last four years only one actual job came about as a direct result of my agent and that was after she sent a new calling card script to a list of production companies, one of whom later optioned it. Everything else has happened through queries, pitches, personal relationships, recommendations and, more often than not, sheer bloody-mindedness.
So here’s a list of all the ways I can think of to generate leads, create opportunities, build relationships and get credits. I’ve done a lot of these things and I know others who’ve done the rest. There are no shortcuts though, it’s all about taking the long view, getting your ducks in a row for the future and getting as much experience as you can along the way.
If you’ve got any more suggestions, would you be a good sport and add them to the comments? Thanks ever so.
I’m still pretty new to this TV development lark so I’m no expert, but in the last couple of years I’ve developed seven projects for television. Some were original projects that I came up with, and some were ideas the production company were already working on and I was brought onto the project to work up treatments or episode outlines or write scripts. Some are still in the early stages, some are in full swing, and some are dead in the water – at least for now.
When I had my first series optioned, I had no idea what to expect or how the development process would work so the last couple of years have been a steep learning curve. I thought it might be useful, or at least maybe interesting, to write a bit about it here.
Two of the most challenging things about working freelance are:
For the majority freelancers, these anxieties will exist their whole career. There may be occasional pockets of stability here and there – but for the most part, the decision about whether you’re being recommissioned, or the length of time it takes to negotiate a contract, is entirely in someone else’s hands.
All this not knowing bothers some people more than others. And everyone has their own coping mechanisms for living in a permanent state of uncertainty. Personally, I have five “rules” I’ve developed for myself to keep me sane and stop me drinking too much:
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*If you came here for a discussion of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, may I instead direct you to this charming big-haired scientist who will talk about quantum mechanics using the world’s fattest piece of chalk and a LASER BEAM.
Some interesting (and slightly scary) statistics from Ben Stephenson and Kate Harwood about BBC TV drama from the WGGB/BBC podcasts:
At Cheltenham Screenwriters Festival last year, Ben Stephenson said the BBC Drama Department receive about 120-150 proposals from independent production companies, each month.
That’s 1,400-1,800 proposals a year, just through the indies.
Assuming in-house drama receives a similar number direct from writers and agents, you’re talking about 4,000 proposals into 48 broadcast titles.
Food for thought.
An interesting debate took place at the BFI last night called: Second Coming or Looming Apocalypse – The Writer in Modern TV. The panel discussed the state of British television and how the future looks for a new generation of writers.
Here are some highlights:
“I think what’s interesting is that the quietest people on the panel so far have been the writers. It used to be that people were interested in what writers had to say, but that seems to have shifted now so we’re more interested in what commissioners and producers have to say. Writers feel that shift and they are self-censoring with regards to what they think the market wants or the commissioners want. The exception to that is Jimmy’s, The Street. That should have shown how writer-led programmes that are low concept and high character can be a critical success and be a hit with audiences. But it hasn’t had that effect. It’s seen as an exception. Broadcasters and executives talk to each other, not to writers. Writers don’t ask what am I passionate about? They ask, what can I sell? They do at least need to be asking, how can I sell what I’m passionate about.” ~Donna Franceschild
“You’re not going to get a good idea from invoking a golden age, but we can learn from TV history and take lessons from that. The truth is, what makes a hit is risk. People’s careers are made by TV that no-one thinks they want. Risk can define great TV drama. And tomorrow matters more than yesterday.” ~Ben Stephenson
“Writers coming up through television now are being asked to go through the sausage machine of continuing drama and writing for Casualty and Holby City means they lose their voices … I would argue for a return to TV plays but “play” in relation to telly has almost become a dirty word.” ~Tony Marchant
“I get lots of approaches from theatre writers who want to write for The Street or whatever and I’m telling you, a lot of theatre writers are crap. It’s boring. You don’t learn story structure writing in the theatre. Stay away from the theatre, it’s the worst thing you can do if you want to write for TV. Fight to get on a soap, get on Corrie, get on Emmerdale. That’s where you’ll learn.” ~Jimmy McGovern
Well, here we are again. Fast approaching the end of another year.
A time for reflection.
A time for taking stock of past achievements and setting goals for the future.
A time for stuffing yourself up to the eyeballs with satsumas and chocolate pennies and waging war with loved ones over whether abbreviations are allowed in Scrabble (they’re not).
2009 gets a great big thumbs up from me. It’s been fast, furious and full of changes – all of them impossibly good. I’ve learnt so much in the last twelve months I’m sure my brain has gone up at least two sizes.
So here, in no particular order, and written down as much for my own benefit as anyone else’s because sometimes they really need drilling in:
An interesting and passionate debate has developed over at the BBC Writersroom blog following the recent announcement of a change to their terms and conditions regarding unsolicited scripts from overseas.
Several writers living overseas have expressed their frustrations articulately and with great spirit, feeling that the door is being closed to them. Paul Ashton has answered their comments making an equally persuasive argument as to why the policy change is necessary.
I know several people who will be effected by this change to the terms and conditions, both British citizens living abroad and European writers keen to work in the British radio and television industry, so I do sympathise with their frustrations. However, it’s also true to say that the vast majority of writers I know who’ve successfully launched their writing careers, have done so by making contact with producers and script editors directly – and not from being passed along on the basis of an unsolicited script.
For this reason, my opinion has come to be that whilst the service offered by the Writersroom is a valuable and important one, it is an extra, additional avenue for writers to explore, and not the only route in for new writers.
For those writers who’ve commented on the Writersroom blog expressing their concerns about finding a way into BBC Radio Drama, the breakdown of the Radio 4 commissioning process I wrote up earlier this year contains details of independent production companies who produce radio drama including which slots they are eligible to tender bids for as well as a link to the contact details of various in-house BBC radio drama producers – all of which is publicly available via the Radio 4 website itself.
Since writing that post I know of at least one writer who has used this information to diligently research and approach producers directly and now has several radio drama proposals being considered. And bloody good on him, I say.
In terms of television and film, there are still many independent production companies who will accept unsolicited scripts, and the same goes for theatre companies if you’re interested in writing for the stage. Hayley McKenzie has compiled helpful lists in each of these areas providing links to companies who may be willing to read your work, as well as a list of writing competitions which is another great way for writers to get their work read by producers looking for new talent.
Alternatively, as would be required for any British writer attempting to seek work in America, an agent would open doors directly to producers and production companies and if you’re confident that your work is of saleable quality perhaps it’s time to consider making an approach to an agency for representation in the UK. At the start of the year I posted a Q&A with agents on how writers should go about making contact with agents, and you can also search the Writers and Artists Yearbook for details of agencies and the sorts of writers they represent.
In short, whilst it may be frustrating to feel that a potential route into the BBC has been closed off by this policy change, the Writersroom is just one avenue to explore. And whether you’re inside the UK or living overseas, pinning all your hopes on squeezing through one small doorway may not be the best approach.
Why not try the side entrance?
To write for a living.
That’s the dream for most writers, isn’t it?
To sit around at home in your pyjamas all day, making stuff up for money.
Just enough money to pay the mortgage and put food in the fridge, you understand. No-one’s asking to retire to the Bahamas and live out their days polishing their BAFTAs and being fanned with palm fronds whilst drinking cocktails through curly straws.
Well, you might be. Personally, I quite like it here in my little house.
We all know that launching a career as a freelance writer is extremely difficult.
But putting aside the issue of being good enough, of learning the craft and developing the required skills to a professional standard, there are practical challenges to be faced that can sometimes be taken for granted.
In the beginning, you need the energy, motivation and discipline to be able to come home from work and sit back down to start work again. Writing scripts, or novels, that no-one’s asked for or even knows about.
Not only that, you need to invest time and energy in learning about the industry, networking, making contacts and persuading people to read the results of your hard work – whilst all the time, working on new ideas, developing new projects and writing new material.
And of course, rather than being paid to do any of these things, you have to be prepared to actually pay money – to travel to networking events and meetings, to subscribe to trade papers or online writer’s sites and, well, the volume of tea and biscuits invariably required per writing session doesn’t come cheap these days.
Christ, you have to really really want to do this job to put in the supreme effort it requires to get anywhere.
I guess that’s why so many writers hate the question “why do you want to be a writer?” Because there is no rhyme or reason to it. I can’t imagine anyone going to the lengths it takes or making the sacrifices required without that weird internal and inexpressible drive to do it.
But you do. You stay up late, sacrifice weekends and time with your friends and family, and sit at your computer until your eyes turn red.
Until, at some point, you’re rewarded. Things start taking off a bit. The ground shifts.
Maybe you get a few low paid commissions. Maybe you get a couple of bits and pieces into development.
Maybe you start having more meetings, pitching more ideas, working them up to go into commissioning rounds.
Then it gets really tough.
Suddenly, there’s so much to do – you could easily fill a 40 hour week with just your writing career – but you still can’t give up your day job because pitches and meetings are rarely paid, and even your commissioned work isn’t going to cover the mortgage.
Bearing in mind payment for writers is generally delivered half on signature of a contract and half on delivery, you might have been working on something for months by the time the contract is negotiated and finalised – and you might work on it for another six months before the final draft is delivered.
Then there are the agent’s fees, VAT on agent’s fees, income tax, national insurance contributions, pension contributions, student loan repayments, all those little things that chip away at what you get to actually keep.
John August said, in his excellent and highly recommended article Money 101 for Screenwriters, “you’re never so broke as when you first start making money”.
Never a truer word was spoken.
Because the fact of the matter is, in that awkward transition period from spec writer to commissioned writer, you may simply not have the time to spend 40 precious hours per week working for someone else.
The pressure is really on now. You’ve been paid to do something and you know you better damn well deliver the goods, on time, and to a high standard, or you might not get paid for anything else.
So what do you do?
Only you can decide. You might be the sole provider for your family. You might have large debts to consider. Your own personal circumstances will inevitably impact on the decision you make.
Maybe you reduce the hours you work at your day job. Maybe you switch jobs to something with more opportunity for shift work or flexi-time. Maybe you go the temping route so that if you need time off for a meeting or a last minute rewrite you can simply call in and say you’re not available. Either way, you’re likely to be earning less than you were in your stable full-time employment.
I’ve personally found freelance script reading work to be an enormous help. Not just because of the obvious opportunity it gives you to read lots of scripts, think about what makes them work, or not, and write endless one page synopses – but because it’s work that you can do outside of office hours as and when you can fit it in (usually late at night). Freelance script reading work meant that I could reduce my day job to three days a week, giving me four days in which to manage the rest of my workload – the reading, the writing and the meetings.
But the amount of time and effort required for a reading job is, in the beginning, fairly extreme in relation to the amount you can earn from it so you might not feel it’s the path for you.
There are other freelancing opportunities out there of course, I know several writers who have paved their way with teaching, journalism, copywriting or web design, for example. But to imagine you can step into this sort of work, which are careers in themselves, is insulting to the people who’ve worked as hard to get a foothold in those industries as you have to get a foothold into the screenwriting industry.
There’s no quick fix to ease the transition during this difficult and crucial time period. A period which might last several years.
Until one day, eventually, finally, your writing income overtakes your income from other sources and becomes the primary way you earn your living. What a feeling! What a happy, glorious day that is!
But even as the champagne cork pops, there’s no resting on any laurels to be had, because what about next year? And the year after that? There are no guarantees. Ever.
Before writing can become the only way you earn your living, you need to make sure you’ll have enough work coming in to keep you afloat for at least a year. And the only way to do that is to keep generating more work for the future.
It means that just when you think you’re working at maximum capacity, you have to find the next gear and make time and space for more. You have to chase every last opportunity like it’s the only one you’ve got, and do everything you can to deliver the best work you can in the time you have available. Because the more boomerangs you chuck out into the wilderness, the more likely it becomes that one will come back to you. And it might be the one you need to take you to that next level.
In the meantime, I guess the only answer, really, is good old fashioned graft. Screwing your courage, and your backside, to the sticking place – and bloody well getting on with it.
This is not a moan or a grumble. It’s a reality check.
As far as I’m concerned, writing is the best job in the world. Even at four in the morning when I’ve been working for eighteen hours straight, I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do. I thank my lucky stars for every single boomerang I catch on its way back.
And of course, the truth is, the more the work starts coming in, the better it gets. The more you enjoy what you’re doing and the less like graft it really feels.
But it’s not the life for everyone. If you’re not prepared to keep pushing yourself, keep moving things up a gear, you’re wasting your time.
This is the path of the freelancer. It’s the path you chose.
Roll up your sleeves.
