Before getting to this week’s question, I want to take a quick moment for some shameless self-promotion…
A spinoff of Chelsea Handler‘s talk show, Chelsea Lately, it’s a half-hour comedy following the behind-the-scenes antics of Chelsea and her staff, starring all the regulars of Chelsea Lately: Brad Wollack, Chris Franjolla, Heather McDonald, Sarah Colonna, Chuy Bravo. It was a blast to work on… unlike any other show I’ve done… and while I’m clearly biased, I have to say: it’s funny as hell.
After Lately premieres this Sunday, March 6, at 11/10c on E!… so please take a look—and lemme know what you think!
Now, moving on…
Today’s question comes from Greg, who responded to my January 7th post (“Rebuttals & Smackdowns… Cool Websites… and a Question for YOU“) about the uselessness of most screenwriting contests.
In that post, I talk about how agents, execs, and producers organize script submissions into piles. Top priority scripts—those from high-level colleagues (agents, producers, etc.)—go into one pile. Scripts from important friends and family go in another. Contest-winners often go in the lowest-priority pile… a pile which, unfortunately, usually collects dust until, finally, it gets chucked in the trash.
In the “priority piles” section, you say material recommended by professional colleagues goes into pile #1 and contest winners end up in the “stuff-I-will-never-have-time-to-read” bottom pile, #4.
Now, the contests are not judged by just anybody, but by trusted professionals, no? You, for example, judged the Writers Digest contest. Aren’t you, by doing this, endorsing the winners of that contest and automatically elevating them to pile #1?
I love this particular question… not only because it’s a fair, astute question, but because it’s an interesting reveal of the mindset of writers entering contests. It made me think about contestants’ perspectives and expectations in ways I previously hadn’t.
First of all… “Aren’t you… endorsing the winners of that contest?”
Absolutely NOT. NO NO NO.
My job, as the judge of Writers Digest‘s or any other contests, is NOT (repeat: NOT) to find scripts worthy of production or development and give them my endorsement.
My job, as the judge of a writing contest, is to read, rank, and find the best scripts of those submitted.
This does not mean I believe the number-one script is worthy of being bought, developed, produced, or even recommended to agents and executives.
It simply means that of the scripts submitted—whether that’s ten, one hundred, or five thousand—it was the best.
If a winning script is absolutely brilliant, I could endorse it… but I don’t endorse something just because it’s the best of a select group of submissions.
After all, I read scripts regularly as part of my job; if I read eight scripts this afternoon, one of them will be the best of those eight; that doesn’t mean it’s necessarily good enough to “endorse” or recommend.
I “endorse” something only if I believe it’s good enough to get made or make me want to meet the writer: if it moves me, tells a great story, has a unique voice, etc. A contest’s winning script might do all those things… or, more likely, it’s simply the best of that particular group.
Which brings me to an unpleasant truth about writing contests…
Most of the scripts are terrible.
I don’t simply mean “not good,” I mean downright, painfully unreadable. And—quite frankly—you can often tell within seconds—usually a page or two—if something is readable or not.
Here’s a breakdown by numbers:
If I’m judging a contest with 500 entrants, usually only about ten or fifteen of them are good enough to warrant reading past the first few pages.
(Having said this, I try to remind myself that even the most horrible script is somebody’s baby. No matter how bad it may be, someone spent weeks, months, or years trying to tell their story. And while that may not change how I read or evaluate it, I have to respect people just for trying. I have much more admiration and respect for someone who puts pen to paper and tries to tell a story—even the world’s worst story—than for someone who never bothers to try at all.)
Of the top ten, only five or six have some semblance of real voice, character, or storytelling. That doesn’t mean they’re good, it just means the writer has some idea what she’s doing.
(The others in the top ten, the bottom four or five, usually make it there because something in the script is strong enough to catch my eye. Maybe the story’s weak, but the writer has a unique voice. Maybe the opening scene has a great action sequence, then falls apart. Maybe there’s no story, but some wonderfully witty jokes and lines.)
Of the top five or six, the winner is—obviously—the best. But this doesn’t mean it’s ready—or even close to ready—for production or development. It’s simply the best script submitted to that particular competition.
In fact, as much as I hate to say it, most contest-winners are far, far below the quality of the scripts that get bought, sold, developed, or produced in Hollywood.
They pale when compared to the professionally written scripts being traded amongst the industry’s top agents, writers, producers, and execs.
People hate hearing that, but most screenplays that sell are REALLY FUCKING GOOD. Like, outstandingly good. This doesn’t mean they make great movies—a lot can happen between development and distribution—but they tend to be mind-blowing reads.
This shouldn’t be shocking: most purchased scripts come from professional writers… men and women who spend eighty hours a week writing, reading, pitching, storytelling, working in writers rooms, punching up jokes. They’re experts… just like first-year lawyers aren’t usually as strong as thirty-year veterans, residents aren’t usually as skilled as long-time surgeons, and cashiers aren’t usually as capable as regional managers.
(Also remember—most movies that get greenlighted don’t come from purchased scripts; they’re sequels, adaptations, or generated internally at studios. In other words, most films at the multiplex don’t exist because a writer wrote and sold something; script sales are few and far between—even for pros.)
This is why, in answer to your other question, Greg, even winning a contest doesn’t “elevate a script to Pile #1.” Professionals who read for a living—and that’s basically what producers and agents do: read for a living—know the odds of a contest-winner being as good as something submitted by Richard Weitz at WME… or Andy Richley at Lionsgate… or a writer on staff at The Good Wife or How I Met Your Mother… are pretty slim. They also know there’s not a clock ticking on a contest-winner; even if it’s brilliant, you’re not racing to read it and call back the agent before thirty other executives.
I don’t say all this to be discouraging. I say all this to be encouraging. So you know what you’re up against. So you can evaluate your work and strategize accordingly. So you can face the realities of your own writing and WORK HARDER. So you can adjust your expectations when submitting—or winning—contests. So you can be a BETTER WRITER.
And most importantly, so you can understand the industry and approach screenwriting like a professional career… not as a contest to be won.
I hope that answers your question, Greg! If you… or anyone else… has questions or thoughts, please feel free to post them below… or email me at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Now quit reading this blog… get out some paper… and write something better than the last thing you wrote.
(But first watch After Lately… or at least set your Tivo…)