The Industry

Today, I attended a gathering at screenwriter John Brancato’s home of "Writers United," a slate of candidates running for the Board of the  Writers Guild of America. Their most eloquent and impassioned speaker was vp candidate David Weiss, who outlined the "platform" that sets them apart from the other slate (I’m sure they have a nifty name, too, but I’ve forgotten it ). Basically, Writers United wants the Guild to focus more of its resources on organizing (bringing new writers into the fold), corporate/industry analysis (research on the companies to give us a better negotiating strategy), and stronger alliances with other industry unions and guilds.

Before the formal presentations began, I talked casually with some of the other attendees, all of whom shared my feeling that the WGA has, basically, been embarrassing itself and its members with its actions the last few years (President Victora Riskin resigning in scandal, her successor Charles Holland resigning in scandal, very public infighting between the WGAw and the WGAe, etc.).

Unlike previous WGA elections, I have no idea who to vote for, so I am going to these events with my eyes and ears wide open.  Next, I’ll attend an event hosted by the opposing slate to see what they have to say and how they differ from the Writers United slate. That said, I tend not to follow slates. I prefer to vote for individuals I believe in with bold ideas and views/priorities/concerns similar to my own.

Dennis Palumbo, a screenwriter-turned-shrink, sent me an article he wrote for Psychotherapy Networker.  For the most part, Palumbo makes fun of his clients —  cartoonish caricatures of stereotypical Hollywood nutcases ("I love Gary, I really, really do…it’s just…he’s a set decorator and, well, I just don’t think I shuld marry below the line.")  I was about to toss the article aside, when I came upon this bit of wisdom that should be required reading for anyone contemplating a career as a screenwriter:

In most professions, career success follows a more or less predictable trajectory. If you’re a lawyer, banker, computer programmer, doctor or the like, you spend a number of years learning your profession, then you generally ascend–if your job isn’t outsourced or your CEO indicted for fraud — to a reasonable level of security, seniority, and maybe even pretty decent pay.

For the creative professional navigating a show business career, there is no such path. Triumph and failure follow one another — in fact, feed one another — in a maddenly erratic way. Hollywood is a notoriously fickle industry, where you can earn vast sums for a few years, then face a sudden and inexplicable loss of marketability, followed immediately by a severe cash drought. Not surprisingly, creative professionals spend an inordinate amount of time in therapy discussing whether to ditch the whole thing and start over.

Of course, many people in their forties and fifties go through midlife crises during which they wonder if they, too, shouldn’t leave their boring law partnerships or real estate businesses  and try their hand at running a B&B in Vermont…

..the whole process is a one-time thing, with a more or less definable resolution at the end.

For Hollywood entertainment professionals, however, this "midlife" crisis afflicts them throughout their careers.

That is so very true.  It is, perhaps, the most frustrating thing about this business… at least for most TV writers.

I got some good advice early in my career from an enormously successful showrunner saddled with enormous debts and going through a vicious divorce (his second…or third..it was hard to keep track).  He had a huge mansion, half-a-dozen fancy cars, vacation homes, yachts, the whole fantasy.

He warned me that it’s easy to get seduced by the money and glamour of television. That you think when you’re on a series, that you will always make that kind of money.  But television can be cruel. Your show could be canceled after a handful of episodes. Or it can run for five years…but when it’s over, instead of Hollywood embracing you, you’ll struggle for script assignments for two or three years before, if you’re lucky, landing on another series. Which could get canceled after three episodes.

His advice was simple: live below your means. Never assume you will always make the money you are making now. In fact, assume that you won’t, that disaster is only a year away (because it usually is).  And, whatever you do, don’t get divorced.  Work as hard on your marraige as you do on your career. He didn’t follow his own advice and ended up losing  everything.

Like any TV writer who isn’t John Wells, Steven Bochco or David E. Kelly, I’ve had my career ups-and-downs. Exhilirating highs and terrifying lows.  But I followed the showrunner’s sage advice.  I’ve always lived below my means, saved my money for a rainy day (and there are many of them) and have been happily married for 15 years. I’ve managed to stay afloat…and I credit a lot of that to his advice very early on in my career.

Do I wish I’d picked a career with more financial stability? Sure. But is there anything I’d rather be doing? Hell no.

It’s Emmy time… that’s the glorious time of year when members of the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences get inundated with DVDs  of all the best TV shows (sitcoms and dramas), MOWs and miniseries that have aired on network, cable, and pay cable in the last year. (Fellow scribe Paul Guyot lists on his blog today  some of the goodies we’ve already received).

The great thing about Emmy time is that you get to see all the stuff you missed during the season… the very best episodes of every show on the air…in beautiful DVD transfers with no commericals.

The bad news is… there are a LOT of shows on each season. HUNDREDS.  Every year.  Which raises the question: What the hell are you supposed to do with all those DVDs when you’re done?

Used to be you could donate them to your local library (for their collection, NOT for re-selling), give them to friends,  tape over them (back in the days of VHS), or simply throw them out.

But you can’t do that any more. Things have become  so Orwellian in the fight against piracy that all the DVDs (and the occasional VHS) are encoded with some digital marker that can be traced right back to you. Which means if you toss your DVDs, and your  friendly trash man digs’em up and rips 1500o bootleg copies to sell on the streets, you could be fined hundreds of thousands of dollars, drummed out of the ATAS, perhaps even go to prison, just for emptying your garbage.

This is a serious problem for us big-shot Hollywood  Emmy voters. Those DVDs and tapes really stack up. So what’s the answer? An AMPTP exec recently joked that you should smash your DVDs with a sledgehammer and run your car over your tapes. Come to think of it…maybe he wasn’t joking.