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Forgive me for letting off steam, but I’m pissed. I’m working on developing a TV series with a company, and it is a grand, fun, fulfilling, and educational experience. I’m really having a great time. Yes, you hear the “but” coming a mile away, don’t you?
But--the mindset that rules how TV series operate is crazy making. First, let me make clear, my middle name is not Pollyanna. I have been trying to produce film and TV content for a long time and have been around the block, swum with the sharks, danced with the devil, and shoveled my own share of s@#it to get projects down the road to development. TV exists to sell soap; it is not an instrument of entertainment, it is a sales tool. TV shows are aired by networks to create a reason for people to watch commercials, not because they are pursuing high-art. This is not true for the Internet (yet), but it is the nature of TV. In short, I have no illusions. I really do get it.
But--with that said, why can’t we just let a TV show have it’s natural life span? Why do we have to drag out a series for nine seasons because economically it makes “sense”? My beef with this comes up now because I’m currently beating my head against this wall with my colleagues. I’m telling them that the show we're trying to put up is a one season killer-diller, any more than that and it will be diluted. They insist it has to “have legs” past one season, otherwise there will be no incentive for the suits and executives to do the show. They simply won’t spend the money if they can’t get it back eight billion fold; meaning the show has to have a multi-season potential.
But--what if it doesn’t? What if it’s just a perfect one-season show? Why can’t it just live its lifespan naturally and die with dignity? Why does it have to go on life support with cranked up subplots, dumb-ass new characters, and forced plot lines? Whatever happened to a dignified death? Well, the answer, of course, is what I’ve just been describing. The damn show is making money! And, actors, directors, writers, etc., are making residuals! The gripe here isn't about making money, residuals, or sheckles. We all want to make more money. The problem is not in what is being made, the problem is in what is not being made! The present industry mindset to "push" a show into extinction vs. limiting a show's life, consciously, to allow room for putting up new and even better shows is the problem. I may be a bonehead for suggesting this, but aren’t we all just drinking the network/advertiser Kool Aid? Isn’t there an alternative? Like a good lawyer, I never ask a question for which I don't know the answer--YES, there is!
But--It will take guts, courage (the two aren’t the same), business savvy, and creative moxie. The solution is to let a show end naturally. Don’t push it, don’t extend it, and don’t put it on life support. If you limit shows to 13 or 26 weeks max, then two things can occur: first, viewers have a truly satisfying experience with the show, because it doesn’t fizzle out and “die” from being forced past it’s natural lifespan. Rather, the show follows its natural course and, like a good book, ends right on time. Viewer is happy, happy, happy. But, advertiser is pissed, pissed, pissed. They’ve just lost a cash cow. Right? Not necessarily.
With shorter series, networks have more space for more shows. With shorter series, more producers get their shows up, more writers are working, more revenue flows, more dollars are out there to buy more soap, and there are more and varied shows on the air to show advertising. Shorter shows don’t have to mean lost revenue. More shows means more creative work is available to be shown. How many great shows never see the light of day simply because networks won’t pull their cash cows from the airwaves to make room for new blood, simply because they are afraid of losing ad dollars? If they are smart (and they are) new product can be put up each season, with more in the pipeline. It can be win-win! If, if, if the creative will is there and the business savvy is in place to make it work. And I believe both those things are out there … somewhere.
But--I hear the wail of despair, “How can we pull performing shows from the air, when they are performing! Are you nuts?” Yes, I am. But that’s beside the point. What I’m suggesting is that even though these shows are performing economically, they probably stopped performing creatively a long time ago. I think that artificially sustaining shows that have died creatively by grasping for new story lines to keep viewer interest only shows that a show has stopped being its intended form and is not being “forced” to keep going despite the fact that it has really ended. Viewers watch anyway, because they’re hooked. That’s a good thing, but why not just hook them on something new, maybe something even better? And in the hooking, more work is generated, more revenue spent, etc., etc., and the great wheel of life in Hollywood continues profitably.
But--I’m not totally pig-headed about this. Seinfeld was the kind of show that could have gone on forever. It’s just the nature of the beast. It wasn’t about anything anyway, so there was not storyline to blow up or mutilate. But, how about Lost, which has been lost for seasons. It was done after its first season. What a perfect example of a show that had nowhere to go after thirteen shows. And then there is Battlestar Galactica, one of the best reborn series in TV history. Three seasons and the producers had the sense to end it. BRAVO! But, it’s spinoff , Caprica, is in the works, so we’ll see. We’ll see.
Be clear that I am not lumping all shows together here. Some shows naturally extend, most don't. What I'm railing against is something like the following:
Cheers, popular 1980s sitcom. Great show, great audience, but as with all great things it started to come to its natural end. But, not wanting to lose the demographic and the time-slot that was generating lots of cash, the producers and network decided to "give the show legs." The decision was made to make a change so they could come up with new story lines to keep their audience. So--what did they do? They had Sam, the womanizing bar-keep fall in love with Diane, the snobbish intellectual waitress. That their mutual antagonism and oil-water banter was the heart of the show, and its success, was of no consequence. Some brilliant exec probably thought, "Hey, if they get on each other's nerves as co-workers, how much more fun will it be if they're boyfriend and girlfriend?" Nice idea, lousy reality. The change altered the show's dynamic and it died faster than the first round Bush bailout bill in Congress today. They killed the show to save it, rather than letting it go out with dignity. This is what I'm talking about ... stupid changes in a show to try to keep it alive. This is the norm, not the exception. This is the problem.
So--To summarize: Shows are like life forms. Some are meant to be Galapagos tortoises (daytime soaps) and live forever, while others are more like a Gastrotrich (multi-cellular bug that lives 3 days). Most shows are more like the Gastrotrich. We can still have profitable shows if we are smart enough to know when a show REALLY needs to die. Viewers can have a better experience, more work will be generated with more slots to fill, more work means more advertising and soap selling, and residuals continue to flow. And creatively things can grow exponentially. It’s a Win Win Win.
But--all the pragmatists and my grounded-in-the-real-world contemporaries out there will, without doubt, come back on all this with, “You’re dreaming! Good luck selling that argument. If they buy this, I’ve got a bridge in Alaska!”
A boy can only dream.
As you may, or may not know, adaptation of fiction to film is one of my dark loves; hell, I’m researching a book about it! How to adapt, whether to adapt, is it possible to adapt: all these, and other questions related to the topic of adaptation keep me up a night (literally!), along with my cat, Petie, who randomly bites me when I’m not looking and then scuttles under something low to the ground so I can't throw his hairy ass out the window. But, I digress.
In my nocturnal stumblings, I fell upon Adaptations: From Short Story to Big Screen, by Stephanie Harrison. This is a gem of a book. Okay, it came out three years ago, but it’s still a must read book for anyone who writes short stories interested in adaptation, and certainly for screenwriters interested in honing their skills. The only “bad” part of the book is that Stephanie doesn’t include a long enough introduction, but The Directors chapter kind of makes up for it. I just wanted to hear more about what she had to say about the stories, their authors, the process of moving great fiction from page to screen, etc. Her writing is unpretentious and enlivening. The stories are the most wonderful and eclectic mix of prose imaginable, and thoroughly delightful:
- Blow-Up by Julio Cotazar, directed by Michelangelo Antonioni in 1966.
- It Had to Be Murder by Cornell Woolrich, Rear Window directed by Alfred Hitchcock in 1954.
- The Sentinel by Arthur C. Clarke, 2001: A Space Odyssey, directed by Stanley Kubrick in 1968.
- Stage to Lordsburg by Ernest Haycox, Stagecoach, directed by John Ford in 1939.
- A Reputation by Richard Edward Connell, Meet John Doe, directed by Frank Capra in 1949.
- In the Grove by Ryunosuke Akutagawa, Roshomon, directed by Akira Kurosawa in 1951.
- Shoeless Joe Jackson Comes to Iowa by W.P. Kinsella, Field of Dreams, directed by Phil Robinson in 1989.
Just to name a few!
In just one of many wonderful examples, Harrison describes the amazing collaboration between Arthur C. Clark and Stanley Kubrick over the adaptation of Clark’s The Sentinel into 2001: A Space Odyssey. Rather than immediately writing a screenplay from the short story, they both decided to write a novel of it first. Kubrick felt a screenplay was, “ … about the least ideal way of communicating information, especially if it’s visual or emotional … ” They ended up with what Kubrick later called a “fifty-thousand word prose ‘thing.’” They ended up writing the novel and screenplay in tandem, in a kind of race.
What a treat to read the original sources of some of our favorite movies. And, as Stephanie points out in her introduction, “Reading the story that inspired a beloved movie is a little like meeting your mother-in-law for the first time: It’s never less than a revelation.” And how, sister.
I’m trying to track Stephanie down to do an interview with her about this book. I’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, buy this book and have fun. I sure did/am.
I recently worked with a writer who was beside himself with despair. He has been writing for years. He has been writing in every genre. He has been writing in every form: poetry, novels, short stories, narrative nonfiction, screenplay, play, automatic writing, everything. He has tried writing partners, writing alone, following a schedule, writing at random, dictating, stream of consciousness, writing software, you name it. With back against wall and painted into his own little corner of literary Hell, he decides he needs consulting help and that this will, at long last, reveal to him the secrets of why his writing is going nowhere fast.
He knows he’s talented (and he is). He knows he’s a storyteller (and he is). And he knows this is the work he must do (and it is). So—why can’t he sell anything? And then the plaintive cry, “Isn’t it enough to be talented? What the hell to they want from me?” “They,” of course, meaning agents, studios, producers, etc.
And so, here lies the problem. And herein lies the lesson. In all his fussing, ruckus, commotion, and tumult no one ever told him the greatest truth every writer (or artist) needs to hear on day one of their writing career: No! The beaches of Malibu are littered with the bodies of talented writers. Talent isn’t enough. “WHAT?!” Comes the shocked reply, “Then what the #@!% is?”
The response to this greatest truth is a single word: craft. Craft is what makes talent enough. Here was a guy who had a magical way with phrases, wording, subtext, and verbal imagery. But he didn’t know a semi-colon from a steak sandwich and was clueless about the basics of English usage. Beyond the idea of using three acts and having a main character, he had as much use for story structure principles as a concussion.
This poor soul was never told that craft informs talent; not the other way around. There are lots of talented people out there. In fact, everyone has a talent of some kind. Talent is given (by God, Goddess, The Great Pumpkin, whoever). Craft is learned taught by a master, teacher, mentor, or drill sergeant. Talent is part of who you are. Craft is part of what you do. Without craft, talent will always remain in potential; it will never be more than a pale reflection of what it could become.
Craft takes discipline, confidence, perseverance, and practice. Talent takes passion, intuition, trust, and spontaneity. Marry all these together and you find the artist. Lose or deny any one of them and you have the artisan. This is not to say that an artisan is less than an artist! No, no, no. In fact, artisans who master whatever craft ALWAYS find their talent and cannot help but become artists of that craft. But, there is a relationship that exists between craft and talent that must be understood. Even if you come at it through your talent first, you must always come back through craft to truly find the full expression of talent.
To be the artist, as writer, you must learn your craft. This means: grammar, spelling, punctuation, story structure principles, formats and styles, vocabulary, and the tools of the trade. Then with discipline, confidence, perseverance, and practice, practice, practice master the trade; become a master artisan. This takes time. This takes effort. This takes work. This takes patience.
Then something magical happens. Craft skills lift. Talent, always present, begins to stir. Craft gets honed. Talent finds its avenue and begins to flow. Craft becomes second nature, elegant, graceful. Talent finds its voice and soars. Okay, kind of corny and romance novelish, but this is what happens. It's a beautiful thing. Craft is the door and talent is what passes through it from potential to actuality. In time, the two are indistinguishable. You are the craftsperson and the artist and there is no telling them apart. This is the master of their craft and the self-realized creator. This is what we all strive for and what takes a lifetime to achieve—AND WE NEVER GET THERE. As good as we get, there is always more. As frustrating as this may sound, that we never get there, the good news is we become more for the striving.
Craft and talent; learn one to release the other. Learn your craft. And practice, practice, practice.
It is my honor to be involved with this mighty effort! These are courageous, inspiring, and talented women whose voices need to be heard, and with help from Afghan Women’s Writing Project they will be! SUPPORT AFGHAN WOMEN WRITERS!
Below is some basic info from the project's blog site:
The Women
The Afghan Women’s Writing Project began as an idea during novelist Masha Hamilton’s last trip to Afghanistan in November 2008. Her interest in Afghanistan was sparked in the late 1990s during the Taliban period, when she understood it was one of the worst places in the world to be a woman. Masha first visited the country in 2004, and was awed and inspired by the resolute courage of the women she met. When she returned, she saw doors were closing and life was again becoming more difficult, especially for women. She began to fear we could lose access to the voices of Afghan women if we didn’t act soon. The Afghan Women’s Writing Project is aimed at allowing Afghan women to have a direct voice in the world, not filtered through male relatives or members of the media. Many of these Afghan women have to make extreme efforts to gain computer access in order to submit their writings, in English, to the project.
The TeachersThe project reaches out to talented and generous women author/teachers here in the United States and engages them, on a volunteer, rotating basis, to teach Afghan women online from Afghanistan. (We are using women teachers solely due to cultural sensitivities in Afghanistan.) Through this ongoing interaction, we hope to encourage the women to develop their voices and share their stories. Portions of the work will be put on a blog on a regular basis. Due to security concerns, we will use the Afghan women writers’ first names only, editing out all names of family and friends and removing locators. Nevertheless, the existence of the blog in the world is a key part of the project for several reasons. First, it is intended to instill a sense of pride for these women. Secondly, it is also intended to educate us, the teachers and readers of the blog, about what the Afghan women’s childhoods and young adulthoods were like under the Taliban, and what they feel about current conditions in their country. The blog is also meant to be a record of the project itself. Finally, it is intended to provide a positive link between Afghans and Americans at a time when those relationships have to some degree soured.
The Project
Everyone involved in the project has donated their time and energy, from Jeff Lyons, the California-based blog master, to Rose Daniels in Brooklyn, NY, who contributed blog design, to Terry Dougherty, the Indiana-based technical specialist who worked tirelessly to set up the online classrooms. The author/teachers themselves are teaching pro bono, making time in already very busy schedules. In finding the writers in Afghanistan, Masha sought the guidance and advice primarily of American Ted Achilles, founder of SOLA (School of Leadership, Afghanistan), who has been living for more than five years in Kabul and Kandahar. She also sought advice from other American friends living there who have connections with young writers at Kabul University. Sally Goodrich, of the Peter M. Goodrich Memorial Foundation, provided the link to Ted Achilles and others. Mrs. Goodrich, along with her husband Don, supports Afghan students here in the U.S., and has spearheaded the building of a girls’ school in Afghanistan.
Every year the Washington Post publishes its Mensa Invitational Winners. They ask readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are this years winners:
1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.
2. Ignoranus: A person who is both stupid and an asshole.
3. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.
4. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.
5. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
6. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
7. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high
8. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
9. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)
11. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.
12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
13. Glibido: All talk and no action.
14. Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
15. Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidental ly walked through a spider web.
16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets in your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.
The Washington Post has also published the winning submissions to its yearly contest in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words. And the winners are:
1. Coffee, n. The person upon whom one coughs.
2. Flabbergasted, adj. Appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained.
3. Abdicate, v. To give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.
4. Esplanade, v. To attempt an explanation while drunk.
5. Willy-nilly, adj. Impotent.
6. Negligent, adj.. Absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.
7. Lymph, v. To walk with a lisp.
8. Gargoyle, n. Olive-flavored mouthwash.
9. Flatulence, n.. Emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.
10. Balderdash, n. A rapidly receding hairline.
11. Testicle n. A humorous question on an exam.
12. Rectitude, n. The formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.
13. Pokemon, n. A Rastafarian proctologist.
14. Oyster, n. A person who sprinkles his conversation with yiddishisms.
15. Frisbeetarianism, n. The belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.
So, when that right word just escapes you... who needs Roget when you have Mesna?
Forgive me for letting off steam, but I’m pissed. I’m working on developing a TV series with a company, and it is a grand, fun, fulfilling, and educational experience. I’m really having a great time. Yes, you hear the “but” coming a mile away, don’t you?
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