Hollyweird will also be on hiatus because… that’s me! I’m Hollyweird! For April and May there will be no new issues, no roundups or back catalogs or guest writers, no previously scheduled posts. Just a couple months off to deal with something, frankly, a little bit more important than a newsletter about working in Hollywood.

I’ll be back in June. Of course with more writing about juggling a career and a life (and someone else’s life) in the entertainment industry. Also a new worksheet for people who, like me, don’t like outlining, and of course more updates on my directorial debut.

If you are new here and found the newsletter recently — Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. Thanks in advance for hanging out. Feel free to dig through the archives.

If you’ve been here for a while — Thank you, even more than the new people. This little weekly dispatch has been such a delight. I’m lucky that I get to connect with some of the strangest, funniest, hardest-working people in the biz. People who care about making genuinely good art within the machinery of a very weird business. Thanks for welcoming me to your inbox.

If we work together — Expect an email with more context about how this leave will actually work.

I’ll see you all very soon.

Colby

When I was still very fresh faced to Hollywood, I got paired up with a Very Important Writer, who had a cool idea for a TV show. The VIW had just been nominated for a Very Important Award and so it really felt like “This Person Can Do No Wrong.” Together, we sold the show. The Very Important Writer’s idea, with me writing it. VIW too busy (and too expensive). Classic.

However, it immediately became clear that the people we had sold this idea to were not in fact that interested in it. Whether they’d never considered what it would actually look like, or had no idea what it would actually look like, or just didn’t like that kind of show (familiar) it very quickly became a vortex in which no version of it that I proposed in an outline / series document was appealing to them. This went on for months, before, ultimately, my dear agents and mangers called me to say “They’re pulling the plug on this. They’re going to try a different direction.” Different direction? We never even picked the first direction! We stalled out before I was even allowed to write a draft of a pilot.

It was all one long, attenuated, unnecessarily confusing “No.” It was particularly brutal.

But I am here to tell you, with more experience under my belt:

It never really gets easier to hear “No.”

And I’m not entirely sure that it should, either.

There’s an underlying tension to this job, which I just keep saying, over and over, but is true — Hollywood is where commerce meets art.

[Feels like I should make a bumper sticker of my “catchphrase” that depicts two cars crashing into one another or something.]

And in order to truly make a good piece of art, you really do have to care. A tremendous amount. It takes hundreds of hours to make something interesting, and it takes an incredible amount of conviction. This is all operating in the “art” portion of the car crash.

Then there’s the “commerce.” Over in the commerce car, it’s best to practice a kind of business-brained zen style of non-attachment. “Whatever happens, who cares? I hear yes, I take more chances. I hear no, I take more chances.”

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So while I do believe that THE MOST IMPORTANT SKILL to make it in Hollywood is the ability to put yourself out there, to say “hello, here I am, please give me a shot!” I think the second most important skill — because you will inevitably need it five seconds after asking for said opportunity — is the ability to handle that rejection.

Over and over and over again.

If you’re going to set yourself up for a lifelong career of rejection, we need to find some coping mechanisms.

Here’s one that has helped me tremendously.

Remember, there isn’t just one type of “No.”

Not all Nos are the same, even though it might feel easy to jump to the same conclusion upon hearing it — “they hate it, they hate me, it sucks, I suck, I should give all of this up and become an Alaskan Crab Fisherman.”

That’s probably not entirely true. And it’s probably not the best career pivot.

There are many reasons to be rejected, and, honestly, most of them having nothing to do with you and whether or not you suck.

Here are some of the most common to keep in mind:

1. The “timing” no. This is the most common and the most invisible. The project passed because the slate was full, the budget changed, someone across town just set up something similar, the executive who championed you got fired, the market shifted. The work had nothing to do with it. You will almost never know this is the reason, which makes it particularly maddening, because you're left trying to diagnose a problem that isn't actually a problem with your work. It’s also the most vast category — one that entails basically all logistical reasons NOT to do a movie, and there are A LOT of reasons not to do any given thing on any given day.

2. The “it's not for me” no. Taste mismatch. Completely valid on both sides. This one stings because it can feel like a verdict, but it's really just a compatibility issue. You sent the right thing to the wrong person. The goal is to find your people, and your people are not everyone. There are some things we simply do not vibe with. This one is a bit insidious because it can be easy to hear that someone doesn’t vibe and have that “harsh your vibe.” Maybe this uptight business person wasn’t feeling particularly whacky when you sent them your gonzo anti-establishment satirical comedy. Doesn’t mean we don’t need gonzo comedies, you just need to find people who are going to get it.

3. The “the work isn't ready” no. The hardest one to receive, and the most valuable one if you can actually hear it. When someone takes the time to tell you why — specifically why — they passed, that's a gift, even if it doesn't feel like one at the time. The notes inside a rejection from someone with no stake in flattering you are sometimes the most honest feedback you'll ever get. And often managers / agents / producers will insulate clients from this feedback. I don’t think that’s wise! Share the feedback. It might help unlock something, or it might start to sink in — “This one just isn’t working.”

Now, I’m not saying you need to sit down and try to suss out with each and every rejection what kind of no you’ve received. More than anything it’s simply about remembering with each and every “No thanks” that they aren’t all in category 3, aka “this kinda sucks right now” — in fact, they mostly aren’t!

Most things are simply… not about you at all.

That series they chose to go in a different direction on? Never happened. Maybe it was bad timing. Maybe it was not for me. Maybe it sucked. We’ll never know.

You know how I ultimately got over that job? I wrote something else that I could send out and hear yes / no about. Much more No than Yes, always.

So I would never say “toughen up.” I would never say “get over it” or “rub some dirt on it” or any other toxic takeaway of Brené Brown’s grit speech. Instead I’d say, be pissed off. Be annoyed. Be hurt. But set a timer on it, start the next thing, and get back out there. There are plenty more No’s waiting for you. I have a million in a google document somewhere, you can have some of mine.

[I actually have written more about tolerating disappointment before, and I do of course in that article say “rub some dirt on it.” Toxic Brené Brown Stan Mode Activated.]

What about you? How do you handle the no? What actually helps, and what do people tell you should help that doesn't? I'd love to hear it in the comments.

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Previously on Hollyweird…

So naturally, I woke up this morning ruminating. Thoughts of “But what does this guy even want???” in a never ending loop as I made my coffee and walked the dog.

“What does this guy even want?”

This is after I’ve pitched the movie, outlined the movie, re-written the outline for the movie, and written the movie, mind you. And after I wrote this piece trying to boost my own spirits heading into the rewrite!

At the same time, I’ve been helping with the edit on the documentary Father Figures I’m producing. As we edit the film, we’re having this same conversations. “How do we show what our protagonist wants? And how do we make that clear to the audience? And how does every moment in the film follow logically from that goal?” It’s different in documentary, you’re writing and rewriting the film in the edit rather than in Final Draft, but… same stuff! Same problems!

What does this guy want?

It’s a SIMPLE QUESTION. And one that you’re supposed to answer from the very beginning of the process. And yet! It seems to be one that I have asked over and over and over again throughout just about every draft of every project I’ve ever worked on.

As you may be able to tell, I am in currently in “The Rewrite Suck.”

What do I mean by “rewrite suck?” It’s the part of the process where you look at the thing you’ve been working on for weeks, months, years, and say… “I can’t figure this out. This sucks. I suck.” And I would just like to say, as a PAID, PROFESSIONAL screenwriter, this has happened on every project I’ve ever worked on.

And I’m pretty confident it has happened for just about everyone else I know too.

[Minus, of course, the psychopaths, they are doing just fine, thank you very much]

So how do we set ourselves up for success knowing that we will, almost inevitably, find ourselves swimming straight into The Rewrite Suck? I have some thoughts.

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Remember, you aren’t going to “break” it.

The first thing that stymies a rewrite, and it’s something I see most often with earlier career writers is a fear of breaking the thing. I get it. You have toiled countless hours to get here, and it’s working… pretty well. Not perfectly, but… you got it this far. The machine runs. It’s clunky at times, but it runs. And so, as writers head into rewrites, it’s common to worry about doing too much and pulling the thing apart.

But remember, if you wanted to run diagnostics on a car’s engine, you would have to pull the engine out of the car to look at all the little pumps and pistons and what have you (I don’t know, I’m not a car guy). Is this technically breaking the car? Momentarily, sure. But, it’s what you have to do to get the thing to peak performance. Every single piece of the thing has to be reexamined and re-tooled.

You will not break it.

You still have the old draft. [Save a new copy of the file every day!] You will soon have a new draft. But you do have to pull the thing apart to get into the guts of the matter. Don’t nibble around the edges. Don’t polish scenes up before you’ve overhauled the structure.

The old draft is the floor, not the ceiling. Trust me. As someone who’s currently re-breaking all of Act Two, trust me.

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Know what draft you’re on

Remember how ONE SECOND ago I said “don’t nibble around the edges?” Don’t get confused about where you are in the process. The first draft is for getting something down. The second draft is for doing a massive, structural overhaul that hopefully makes everything that was interesting about the first draft actually cohere to a sound story structure. It’s about honing in on theme, it’s about removing anything non-essential, and it’s about being a little bit aggressive and mercenary in order to get there.

Do not be afraid to throw things away. The first rewrite isn’t the time to be “polishing” anything. There’s a reason that these two types of work are technically considered different things by the WGA. A rewrite is about tearing down the walls in the house. It’s a reno. The polish is about re-decorating.

Get notes (but not too many)

In my experience, getting notes is invaluable, and also, overwhelming! I’ve written about best practices before (how to give notes, and how to take notes). But something that I think is extremely important to keep in mind when you’re about to tackle rewriting something is trying not to cloud your own judgement with too much feedback.

A film is not crowd-sourced from every smart person you know. A film should ultimately be one coherent vision. And so, rather than ask ten people for feedback, I’d recommend 2-3 people. Any time I’ve gotten feedback from more than three people, I start to lose the plot. It’s just too much to hold onto. You don’t want to be considering eight different points of view on what the character’s want is. You just want to get to the bottom of what YOU think it is.

Let the problems solve themselves

If you can give yourself some space and time from the draft, and then from the notes, you should. The human brain solves problems subconsciously (many believe that’s part of why we dream!) and so allowing your brain to kind of do its thing without forcing it, may in fact solve a lot of the things that today you are banging your head against the wall over.

When you hit the rewrite suck — walk away, if even just for a day.

Start big picture, like very big picture

It’s really good to write out for yourself what this movie is about. Both why you want to make it, and what you think it’s trying to say. If you have that, you have a North Star you can always refer back to in order to gut check feedback. Does this align with what the movie is trying to do? If not, toss it out. From there, it’s also important to try to hone in on more specifics — is the protagonist’s want/need clear? Is the story’s structure supporting that journey? Are the act breaks where they need to be, and are they changing the character appropriately? BIG PICTURE STUFF. Now is the time to do it, before you get to draft seven! Trust me!

Trust that you will have new, better ideas

Ideas are not finite. You will come up with new things that will solve old things that never worked. You will come up with new things that are just better than what’s in there currently. It will happen. Trust the process. Trust that you’re just as smart (and probably smarter) today than you were when you were first writing.

Don’t be afraid to cut cut cut

There’s a lot of interesting stuff that you can find while writing. But the rewrite process is all about CLARITY OF VISION. If something doesn’t support the film as you imagine it, it can go. Don’t worry. Nobody will miss it. Not even you!

Remember: The Rewrite Suck is normal.

Rewriting is hard. I think it’s important that it be hard. That means you’re probably doing it right. An easy rewrite is usually a polish in disguise. You’re nibbling around the edges, fixing up dialogue and making slug lines more interesting, when you should be getting under the hood and pulling the entire machine apart. There should be some emotional friction as you do this. And some frustration. And some rumination.

You can and will hit The Rewrite Suck.

Wondering whether you’re ever going to figure it out, whether it was a good idea in the first place, whether you even know how to tell a story, is all normal stuff.

And you do know. I believe in you.

And now, I have to go figure out how the heck to tell this story. Again.

What about you out there, dear readers and writers? How do you handle Rewrite Suck? Any practical tips for the rest of us? Self-care tips? Share em below!

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Previously on Hollyweird…

So, if you ever have writing questions — whether about the creative part of the process, the business part of the process, or, focused on exactly the spot where those two processes overlap (as this question is) — send them my way! I’d love to answer them. And if it prompts a particularly longwinded response from me, you’ll know that you’ve asked something I myself have been grappled with.

So, here’s a reader question from Jake:

I find myself writing films that aren’t really designed to be pitched or optioned. In other words, the tone or style is so specific that they might not market well on their own and I would probably just need to direct them myself (I need to work on separating my writer brain from my director brain).

Do you ever write personal projects like this? Is it still worth doing? Or is it simply smarter in this industry to always write something that can be understood by the masses and be marketable on its own?

This is a doozy! And I think gets at the heart of what is uniquely challenging both about being a writer, and about working in film as a medium.

There’s a lot going on here, and it’s a bit of a cheat because it’s a few different but interconnected questions stacked together.

Let’s talk the place where art meets commerce

First — the bad news. Film will always sit at the intersection of art and commerce. Even the smallest of films — $200,000, need large audiences in order to support them. A $200,000 movie needs a much smaller audience than a $2 million movie or a $200 million movie, but it’s still a much more costly undertaking than most other artists’ mediums. And with cost comes a need for many customers. You need a very large swath of people across the country and the world to want to go see a movie in order to make the movie make sense as a business endeavor. Which it is! Even the artsiest of artsy films end up needing Quickbooks and accounting and financial reports. There’s no getting around it.

I say this and then must of course dial it back because there are no such things as absolutes. One could make a very avant garde, very experimental, solo project that is technically a film. And in doing that not worry at all about whether anyone would ever want to see it.

But I don’t really suspect that’s the goal of people reading a newsletter called “Hollyweird.” We do, in some capacity, want our work to be seen, and in some capacity bought and sold.

So, yes, to answer the most mercenary portion of the question first, I do think before writing something about whether or not it feels “marketable.” I did not always think this way. And I don’t think anyone should begin this way, honestly. Start from a pure artistic place! Pursue what you want to see in the world!

However… it’s good to also know that in pursuing what you alone want to see, you may end up with a 50/50 ratio of things that you do that remain things that only you want to see. And while 50/50 is a pretty good hit ratio, sitting down to write a script, and then make a movie is a years-long endeavor.

As I have gotten older, as I have gotten busier, as the demands on my time have increased, as the calculus of how much money could I earn during the time I work on a passion project becomes more of a concern, I have tried to make a concerted effort to pursue projects that are not only interesting to me but also feel “saleable.”

“Is this something that I could convince a large audience that they would like to see?” Is an important question, and one that I ask early on when thinking about ideas, because it does determine both the amount of difficulty you’re going to have making something, and the likelihood of success within the marketplace.

There are basically three ways you can convince a large audience to see something.

1. Famous people they already like are involved. This is why everyone in Hollywood is obsessed with trying to get Tom Hanks, Timothee Chalamet, and/or Zendaya in their films. If there is someone that we know and love and want to see on screen, the idea for the movie can be simple. Because what you’re selling isn’t the idea, it’s the people involved.

2. It has a big clear idea. There is a reason B-horror films remain something that people are willing to invest in. It’s because they “sell themselves.” What does that mean though? What it means to investors is — the value isn’t contingent on the value of the talent involved (which is usually very expensive) but instead on the idea of the film itself. Horror films tend to have a big, clear ideas, and those tend to be marketable. I’ve written about it before. If your movie has a “Big Idea,” that’s as valuable as having a familiar piece of talent / underlying source material. When you tell an audience “this is a movie about a shark attacking people at the beach,” they know what they’re going to see.

3. Make something undeniably exceptional. This is the toughest spot to be in with a movie idea. This is what executives and agents and managers like to call “execution dependent.” Execution dependent basically just means… “this is an idea that could be really incredible, if everything works out. Otherwise, it won’t work at all.” Now, couldn’t one argue all movies are execution dependent? Yes… mostly. But that’s why trying for numbers one and two above are considered valuable in the film marketplace, they are an attempt at some kind of insurance policy to keep the project interesting to a wide group of people.

So what if you just want to make interesting stuff and not worry about making something for everyone?

I’m right there with you.

The movies I most like are “execution dependent.” Both as a moviegoer and as a filmmaker. And as much as I may wish I were someone who could simply pitch a super clean, clear, simple idea for a big movie star — I actually tend to prefer things that are a bit more complex.

[I’ve written about the “simple to complex” spectrum before, and how I think it’s one of the key ways to determine your own voice.]

However, the business of Hollywood is one of risk mitigation. And complexity breeds risk. So when the business minds of Hollywood ding you with working on something “execution dependent,” they usually mean “we see too many ways that this could fall apart.”

Almost everything I have written has been something I personally really believe in, something that is thorny and layered and complex, and something that feels like it would take a miracle to make. I haven’t stopped wanting to make those kinds of films, and I absolutely don’t think making those kinds of films is a waste of time.

Execution dependent movies can and should be made.

You just need to make them at a scale that’s realistic. Especially if you’re advocating for something that you intend to write & direct (and I think if you’re dreaming of doing it, you should just go do it), you need to be diligent about crafting something that allows you to be the director. That doesn’t mean changing your voice or tone or temperament to hopefully conform to others’ goals. It simply means making something at a scope and scale (ie a budget) where you can take more risks. The smaller the movie the riskier you can be.

For myself, right now at least, I have bifurcated the types of work I’m pursuing. In one column are the personal, niche, “execution-dependent” projects that I intend to write and direct. In the other column are projects that I think are broader and simpler to translate, meaning I could hopefully convince a big company that it’s a good business decision.

This doesn’t mean I am thinking about how to write the broadest hackiest most people-pleasing thing imaginable, but I am consciously splitting my desires into “I will write this with the intent to try to give it to someone else” and “I will write this with the intent for me to keep it and make it myself.”

I have purposefully created a system in which those two things do not overlap anymore because the overlap is where it starts to get very, very frustrating.

Without knowing the kind of work you want to make, I can’t say whether it’s marketable or for a mass audience. But I do think making films that many people will want to see is an essential ingredient to the art form.

That’s not to say that small, intimate, personal stories cannot break through. Plenty do. Films like “Sorry Baby,” “It Was Only an Accident,” “Sentimental Value” are all films that on paper a studio executive might read and say, “These are too small / execution dependent.”

But if you make a movie like that responsibly, at a low enough price point, with the right collaborators, and with people who understand and can champion the vision of making something that is execution dependent, and understand that making something that is execution dependent is more exciting and more meaningful, ultimately, than making something for a broad audience… It can be done.

And it should be done, because this is an art form.

It exists in a very weird space within the continuum of art and business, but it is an art form. And I think making art within this medium is very, very, very important, and something that our tech and finance “geniuses” running the industry seem to have forgotten is the point of the business.

Yes, we all want to make money, but we also all got into this business because we think movies are powerful pieces of art.

Pursue the personal projects you want to pursue, but know that yes, they are more challenging. And you are setting yourself up to over and over have the conversation of “this is really interesting, but it’s execution dependent.”

And when you hear that, just know, it means you’re going to have to go execute it.

And that big news of course is the fact that In the Blink of an Eye, directed by Andrew Stanton and written by yours truly is out now on Hulu and Disney+.

Here’s the trailer.

Here’s an interview I did with Rahul Menon at Script Magazine.

Here’s a link to watch the movie.

I wrote the script 10 years ago, right as I first moved to LA. It became my “calling card” script that got me in the door a lot of places. It was on The Black List that year. I had approximately 250 meetings about it. It got me my first real paid studio job. It got me the job that became my first produced film, Spaceman on Netflix.

I really knew nothing about working in Hollywood when I started writing this script, and have learned so so much during the process. Enough that I started a dang newsletter about it.

If I had been “smarter” about the business of Hollywood, I don’t know that I would’ve written a screenplay that spans the entire history of the universe. I might have decided that was impractical.

Fortunately, I didn’t know anything, and so I tried anyway.

All of this is to say, I hope all of you readers continue to make your crazy, crazy things.

I do believe the world needs them.

Here’s the first page of the screenplay for those of you interested.

I’m getting clearer with what my goals are. Which means I’ve gotten much better at being able to identify early on whether something will serve those goals or ultimately, be a distraction. And when films are so very challenging to write, and even more challenging to ultimately make, you need to balance two competing things

1. have a lot of projects

2. have laser focus on getting things done

It’s a little bit of a bind because you need grit and determination and to never give up, but also to spread that out over a bunch of different things because… well, it’s hard to make thing happen.

So how do we know when something is worth pursuing, and how do we know when it’s ultimately going to be a distraction from the stuff that really matters? Pray for guidance?

Here are some of the questions I ask (usually of myself, but sometimes of others) as I try to suss out whether an idea is worth pursuing.

Here are some creative questions to ask:

Why? Why are we telling the story? What is the point?

Am I excited about it? And do I think I’ll be excited about it 3, 6, 9, 18 months from now?

Who is this for? As in, who is the audience for this project? Is it for everyone? Is it for a small audience? Is it a targeted, more niche audience? Where will this ultimately live in a best case scenario, and then, in a more realistic scenario?

Do I know and can I describe the genre and tone easily? If I can’t I start to get nervous that it won’t be something for traditional funders/buyers, which means it won’t ever get to an audience, which means it will ultimately not have been the best use of my limited time.

Will I be doing something new? Will this be work that allows me to expand into new kinds of work or show a different side of what I’m interested in?

Does this align with my values? There are a lot of projects that I get sent where I can say to myself “yes I see what kind of movie this is and think I could do it, but I wouldn’t want to tell a story that is saying what I think this is saying.” I personally don’t want to tell any stories that don’t have something to say. I love light entertainment, but I don’t see myself making it. If a project doesn’t align with my values, I don’t sell out.

Is this selling out? We desperately need to bring back into the four front the concept of artists selling out. I am personally tired of excusing people for “getting that bag”. Selling out sucks and you shouldn’t do it.

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Here are some practical questions to ask:

Is it paid? if it isn’t paid now how soon until it is paid?

Do I need the money now? If yes, and it’s paid, say yes.

Do I have time to do this? And this isn’t could I make the time it’s do I actually have the time currently? Or will I need to carve that out somehow?

Do I like and trust these people? And if you only sort of like an only sort of trust them in my experience, that’s probably not enough!

Will I learn? If I won’t be learning, will I be gaining something else that’s valuable? See above about money.

Will I be annoyed to have to talk about this at 6AM / 9PM? This is a great question to ask yourself because… if you’d be annoyed now to have to do that, you’ll almost certainly get even more annoyed as time goes on!

Would I like doing more of this kind of thing? Let’s assume it all goes really well. The moment you’ve done something in Hollywood people are gonna respond to that and ask you to do more of that same thing. So ideally nothing in your career is a one off, it all contributes to a grander project of you as an artist. Would you be comfortable doing another one of these? If not, why set the precedent now?

What do you ask yourself when you’re considering whether to take something on? And do you all have the same problem I do, where you have approximately one million ideas and rather than worrying about coming up with them have to actively work to get better at putting ideas on ice? Would love to hear your thoughts!

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Previously on Hollyweird…

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We’ll be live from 11AM PT - 12PM PT and I’ll be answering any and all of your craft/career/writing/misc. questions.

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For the last few months, for those of you paying attention, I’ve been writing a feature film, then writing an episode of a television series, and now we have come to the moment when I’m finished writing both and have been tasked with starting to rewrite both of them at the same time. Of course it would work out this way. It never doesn’t work out this way. So I am looking this week at a lot of notes.

I’ve written before about notes, both how to give them, and how to best to take them (in my experience), but even more important than the practical “How to,” there is some personal emotional preparation that I think all writers can work on to best be prepared for the moment when you basically have to start over.

In my now decade plus long career as a professional screenwriter (and as I was reminded the other day nearly twenty years of actively “being a writer” yikes) I have gotten all kinds of notes: good notes, bad notes, comprehensive notes, paper thin notes that don’t really stand up to any scrutiny whatsoever, notes that indicate the people giving the notes never actually read what they’re noting, and “just a tiny tweak” notes that actually blow up the entire thing and demand starting over.

There is both an artful science to parsing which notes are good, which notes are bad, and which notes are neutral, which I really do believe is the key to handling all notes on projects. But let’s assume you already have processed all of the notes, and now you find yourself at the point where the most truthful notes all indicate that you’re going to do the thing all writers dread. Start over.

This can feel demoralizing. “Why all this wasted effort? Everything I’ve done so far has been for naught!” Makes sense. Writing is a lot of work and the dreaded “Page One Rewrite” means doing all that work, again. We as human beings hate the idea that work has been pointless. (This is one of the ever-expanding reasons the “AI Bubble” is a social nightmare. When we make work truly meaningless, it will deny a lot of people their main source of meaning. And make them retroactively feel that their entire lives have been meaningless. Not great for society, IMO!)

As a writer, when the feedback means you’re going to need to start over basically from scratch, it is easy to conflate that with “my work so far has been meaningless.” But I really do contend that with writing in particular, this is not the case. No creative work is meaningless.

In fact, I would argue that one of the best things that can happen from a draft of a script, whether it’s for film or television, is that people read it and determine “oh we don’t actually want that, we want this other thing.” Clarity! At last!

The process of writing something new is one of exploring, a dark, seemingly boundless territory, and slowly beginning to map it out. A wall here, a rock formation there, an exciting third act set piece involving jet skis.

In a first draft, we are Lewis and Clark, exploring the vast unknown (to us) geography of North America. [Of course that vast unknown geography was very much known to the people who already lived there, but we simply do not have the time or space in this weekly newsletter about writing to contemplate what “exploration” has meant in human history.]

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Heading across the continent once is not really sufficient for successfully and completely mapping the geography. All we’re seeing is what presents itself to us in our limited field of view as we move from idea to outline to draft. There is a vast, uncharted world of story possibility just over the horizon, and we may need to cross the continent many more times in order to properly scout it all.

So I would reframe the page one rewrite. It is not an indication that “none of that work meant anything,” but instead “we need further exploration.”

You aren’t actually checking the map in the bin, but instead trying to find a more elegant pathway through the mostly still unknown. And with each wild re-calibration, we are hopefully getting closer and closer to the best path available, rather than simply first one we decided to try.

Now, is exploring a vast continent over and over fun? Not always! Is it easy? No. Is it what we intended to do when we set out to go from A to B as quickly and efficiently as possible? Certainly not. But exploration is exactly what we are doing when we set out to create.

Is this ultimately just a kind of mental gymnastics? Absolutely, yes. Does it make it a little bit easier when faced with a note that fundamentally tears the back half of your film apart? Also yes.

This kind of flexibility is on my mind lately, clearly, as I recently made a video about the fact that I think this is one of the most valuable assets collaborators can have.

Film and television, which require tens of thousands of decisions, and allow for thousands of opportunities for things to go wrong and require a pivot, are not mediums that allow for rigidity. In a very high stress environment, rigidity will mean collapse. Flexibility is strength.

So, as I head into rewriting a feature film in a way that is going to require a lot of use of the delete key I thought it might be nice to remind myself to stay flexible, avoid rigidity, and be open to finding an entirely new path to the destination.

Which all is a great segue, to the fact that I am going to need to move our monthly zoom hang Q&A. Yes I know it was supposed to happen today.

I cannot make this happen today, unfortunately, so let’s push it to Sunday.

The Hollyweird Hang will be Sunday at 11 AM PT / 2 PM ET.

These zooms are for paid subscribers of the newsletter to ask any and all writing/craft/career/business questions and for me to do my very best trying to answer. I’ll send the link out to paid subscribers on the day, so if you want to join, you still have time.

I apologize for the late notice but there is A LOT going on over here, and if do happen to log on this Sunday I can tell you all about it.

More soon from the unmapped territory of Writing World.

Subscribe now

Previously on Hollyweird…

Over the weekend I was working to try to turn my episode in on time for the series I’m currently staffed on. So I wrote six pages Saturday, six pages Sunday. Monday I was in the room half a day, and wrote another six pages (it was also Emma and my anniversary, thank you 1hrmarriage.com! Your work has really paid dividends!). Tuesday the trailer for In the Blink of an Eye dropped, I wrote another six pages and started to revise the draft.

Wednesday I went through the entire episode and revised it, before turning it in. Thursday started the day with an 8:30AM meeting, back to normal full days in the writers room since my episode is out the door, notes call on the animated feature I turned in a little while ago in order to get me started on the second draft.

Today I fly to Nashville, TN for one more (hopefully the final?) shoot for Emma’s doc, Father Figures. Saturday and Sunday we’ll be shooting and then Sunday night I fly back to go back to work on the series.

Throughout all of this Emma and our editor Kat are hard at work trying to get us through our next pass of the edit, which means I’ve been getting on the phone over my lunch breaks to check in on how they’re doing. I’m also gearing up for the official premiere of Blink (Feb 27 on Hulu), meaning there are press obligations and promotional work to do, and I’m still making my daily little videos about Hollyweird and writing this newsletter.

Oh and I’m working on my directorial debut.

Since Sundance I’ve been on the verge of losing my voice — literally. It’s been hard to speak much louder than a gentle hushed tone. I’m drinking tea with honey and trying to get a lot of steam, but it’s proving insufficient in combating what I’m guessing is simply a sign of running on fumes.

I was talking recently about this feeling that I’m constantly sprinting from one thing to the next. I’ve somehow created a work/life balance in which it is all work. And I love my work, don’t get me wrong. But running around all day to keep all these spinning plates from falling and then waking up to do it all again tomorrow simply isn’t sustainable.

There’s an expression meditation people use that goes “if you feel like you don’t have time to meditate for five minutes, meditate for ten.” Which is… annoying. Meditation people are annoying. But I also do get it. When you feel like you can’t catch your breath is when you most need to do it.

I keep saying to myself “I just need to make it though to April.” Once it’s April I will be through the show, through the next draft of the feature, through the release, through the edit, and then simply... taking some time with family and... oh right. Prepping to go direct a movie.

It’s interesting that the directing a movie part actually feels like it might be the relaxing respite. Having been on plenty of sets, it’s definitely not that. But after nearly a year of juggling many many things at once, the idea of being focused on one project exclusively... sounds pretty darn meditative.

It’s also, if I’m being honest, where I’ve wanted to be this whole time. When I first met my manager in 2016 I told him the goal was to follow the career paths of some of my favorite writers turned directors, to write some movies (check), maybe work in TV (check), establish myself within the industry (check?), learn on the job from other great directors (check), and then transition into writer/director myself (working on it).

This first conversation of ours was almost exactly ten years ago to the day as I write this.

It’s taken me longer than I would have liked, and yet, it’s been a really remarkable decade. I’ve gotten a lot done in a business where everything takes on average 5-7 years, and I’m aware that I’ve got a career I would have killed for 15-20 years ago, one that only a few thousand people in the world end up getting to have at all. But it’s also just the beginning of the career I said I wanted. And this whole time I’ve been hustling and hustling and hustling to get where I want to be next. It is both everything I’d hoped for and not quite enough. The plight of being ambitious.

Maybe this is annoying to hear. In the same way those meditation people are annoying. “I’ve had a lot of successes and it’s also not enough.” But it’s not! If there’s anything the meditation people are right about, it’s that desire is the root of all suffering. And what are we artists if not creatures of desire? We exist to desire.

I hope this newsletter can be a source of… comfort? To know that this striving for more is simply how we all feel. That all our careers feel like a marathon. And I also hope it’s a source of some practical wisdom. To know how many pages I try to write in a day (5 usually, 6 for the episode because I’ve been sprinting, see above). To know how I outline. To know basically everything I do all year as a professional writer, since 2021. To know what I’m up to next, and how I think about setting goals for myself.

Our media ecosystem is looking quite bleak, and social media seems to be particularly vulnerable to the whims of maniac billionaires. And so it has been nice, to me, to put some time and energy into building this deeper, more genuine connection with all of you out there reading. It’s nice hearing from you, and it’s nice getting to answer your writing and craft questions here in the newsletter every week.

I keep turning down people asking me if I’d be open to mentoring them or consulting for them or reading their scripts because I don’t have time, and it’s not what I want to be doing with my limited bandwidth. I have to save the rest of my energy for the next leg of the marathon — the feature debut.

But if you are interested in mentorship / more, I want to remind you all of something: Paid subscribers to the newsletter are a) very much appreciated and b) invited to the monthly Hollyweird Hang on zoom.

Previously this has been a chance to do just that, hang, but I’m craving a little more structure for these.

Based on the number of DMs I get asking me questions, I’m going to transition these into monthly Q&A’s.

Log on, ask questions and get answers! These can be about craft, the writing process, reading recommendations, the business… Whatever you’re interested in learning about and want to know, if I know it, I’ll answer it.

So... if this is appealing to you and you aren’t a paid Hollyweird subscriber, I’d recommend joining now.

The next Hollyweird Hang will be this coming Friday February 13th at 1:30pm PT / 4:30PM ET. For paid subscribers only.

If you are already a paid subscriber, god bless you, I’ll send out the link the day of.

Gotta go, I’ve got a lot to do.

Previously on Hollyweird…

As I write this I’m back from a Sundance premiere and exhausted! Getting to attend the final Park City festival with a film was a dream come true. I’m sure I’ll have more to say about Sundance and the experience of premiering a film but I’m still processing (and more than anything recovering).

I received a very thoughtful question recently (my DMs everywhere are always open) that I’d love to share here, because I think it sums up just about the entire experience of being a filmmaker. It’s an age-old question, and one that I think a lot of people struggle with in some capacity, so let’s get into it.

I’m writing my first feature film right now, and I wanted to ask you something that’s been sitting in my head for a while. Here’s how I’ve been thinking about “getting into the film industry”:

1. write a script
2. send it to festivals
3. get representation
4. write another one
5. ask my rep to send it to actors who’ve worked with first-time indie writers before
6. hope one of those actor-directors takes the project forward

It sounds neat when I write it out, but I’m not sure how much of that is real and how much is just fantasy. Could you poke holes in it for me? What parts of this plan actually work, and what should I be doing differently? I don’t really see myself directing — what excites me most is writing. Building worlds, creating dilemmas, writing dialogue that feels alive.

-Prem

Long time readers should know that I love a plan. And I love that this plan to break into a career as a screenwriter is so straightforward. Because, in a sense, it is quite straightforward. Write something good enough that people notice, those people then become your advocates, you continue writing, and then hopefully something you’ve written is produced. Then do it all over again.

HOWEVER.

Plans are a funny thing. You can’t really plan for what anyone else is going to do. And so… Prem, because you asked for it, I’m going to poke just one hole in this plan. But it’s a big one.

3. “Get representation.”

Getting a manager and/or agent is of course the number one thing I’m asked about. It’s the number one question on most early career writers’ (and directors’) minds because... well... how else are you supposed to be taken seriously in Hollywood?

I’ve written before about how I got my manager, agent, and first job, and how I think you can do that too. So I’m not going to go into too much detailed backstory here, but… what I suspect might be missing, looking at this plan you’ve shared, is all of the many many repeated steps and frustrations and missed opportunities and failures between steps two and three.

I graduated from NYU in December 2009 (I graduated early, brag) and started submitting screenplays to festivals, competitions, and anything that felt like it might help me get recognized as a screenwriter. That did not work for me. I only met my manager when a mutual friend introduced us and we hit it off, in 2016.

So what was I doing in those 7(?!) years?!

I was stuck between steps two and three. I was writing and producing theater, making dumb sketch comedy with friends (fortunately, most of these efforts have vanished into the ether that is our zombie internet), writing more movies, even producing a tiny microbudget film, and trying to get representation!

The closest I came to the plan proposed above was in 2012(?) I won “first runner up” in a screenwriting competition and… nothing happened. I got sent a pdf of an award. Nice.

Now, this wasn’t one of the 3-4 most reputable, most meaningful competitions, but… I know plenty of people who’ve done well in those and… nothing really happened for them either.

It’s a slog, this career. And especially if your ambitions are to write but not direct. At least if you’re aiming to become a director you can go direct something yourself. If you’re aiming to write, you are at the whims of a lot of other people (as you’ve highlighted in step 6 — there’s a lot of hoping someone takes the project forward).

Your plan isn’t wrong, it’s maybe just glossing over the hardest, most complicated, most soul-crushing part of the process… the waiting. The waiting and waiting for someone to find you and pluck you out of writerly obscurity into something more, a produced screenwriter.

Here’s what I think you should do rather than wait.

1. Write something small, that can be produced for a reasonable budget.

2. Find some directors who’ve made incredible shorts you admire. Use IMDBPro, use the trades, use festivals, and compile a big spreadsheet of who these directors are, why you like them, and most importantly how to contact them. Do the same thing for producers you really like. Up and comers only. We aren’t looking for people with ten features under their belt, we’re looking for people with at most one.

3. Start writing to these directors and producers to introduce yourself. Be genuine. Be real. Be complimentary. And be brief. Tell them you have a feature screenplay you’d love to talk to them about, and include the logline. That’s it. Don’t send the attachment in your intro. Ask for thirty minutes of their time to connect and introduce yourself.

4. Expect to hear back from about 20% of these people (if even). Find a way to zoom or talk with them about the project, and get to meet more generally. Then, explain why you like them for the project. If they’re open to reading it, send it to them.

5. Expect to hear back from about 20% of these people (if even). Most will tell you no. But if you have a high enough number of people you’ve reached out to, a couple might tell you they’re kind of interested.

6. Try to make that small thing together. If it’s a tiny budget thing, you’re going to be wearing a lot of hats, writing/producing/first ADing. I’ve done all those jobs. And as much as you might think “I only want to be a writer” knowing how all of the various jobs from producer to locations PA work will only help you in puzzling together the next project.

7. Once you have made the thing — you now have another excuse — and a more concrete excuse — to get in touch with agents/managers. And they have a more concrete reason to get in touch with you.

Producing and releasing a microbudget film is a beast, and there’s so much more I could say about how I think you should do it, but I’ll save that for another time. I am going to skip over all of the many many many steps involved to simply say… this is a way to make something happen, for yourself, without waiting for someone to notice you.

We must think outside the box of “I will wait until someone notices me.” You do not need to be found in a contest to make a movie. You can reach out to just about anyone in the world with a little bit of concentrated googling and dedication. Find some people who you think are at a similar career stage and start reaching out to them.

Then, make something.

The more things you make, the more likely someone notices, and the more likely you are to get to make another thing.

A career as a screenwriter isn’t something you can plan, but it is something that you can kickstart, and will need to kickstart, yourself, over and over and over again.

So get going. I love your plan. But I’d fold the seven “easy” steps I laid out into your own plan, somewhere between 2 and 5.

Do you have a question about a career in Hollywood? About writing? About the creative process? About pitching? About anything at all film related? Let me know in the comments and I’d love to try to answer.

Previously on Hollyweird…

It’s the end of an era, certainly, and I’m not such a Sundance Pro (this is only the second time I’m at the festival) that I feel qualified to write an “it’s the end of Sundance as we know it” piece. I’m not even qualified to write a “this is what Sundance means to me” piece, because… frankly, this is the first time I’m here with a film I worked on.

All I know is there are not just one, but TWO(!) Chase Sapphire lounges, and for that, I am thankful.

Which, by the way, as though I haven’t pounded this home enough on the newsletter or social media, is exactly why I’m here. I wrote this film, In the Blink of an Eye, which was on the back in 2016, found its way to director / genius / Academy Award Winner Andrew Stanton, and is premiering here Monday evening.

Andrew did a nice little interview for the festival about the movie and what it means to him.

It’s a very strange feeling, having a movie come out, especially one that’s been with you for a long time. I’m excited for a packed crowd at the festival to get to watch it together on the big screen at high altitude, and even more excited for it to eventually be out in the world (on Hulu February 27th) so that everyone can see it.

I’ll be running around the festival starting this morning, so if you see me and are a Hollyweirdo please say hey! And if you happen to be here and happen to be a film financier I’m also taking meetings. :)

My schedule is very full but there’s always time for one more.

Oh also, Apple TV just released a teaser for the upcoming season of For All Mankind, which I was a writer on. Busy spring.

They also released a batch of promotional photos here, but for some reason Apple and Sony REFUSE to include this picture.

It was a really lovely time, and we were lucky to be showing the current cut of the film to some very smart filmmaker friends to hear their thoughts about what’s working, and what isn’t quite working yet. Despite it being nerve wracking to “bare your soul” and share work in progress, I tend to find it energizing! All these smart people engaging with a piece of work! It’s cool. Plus, it’s a little bit easier to hear feedback when you’re the producer rather than the writer/director.

We heard a lot of very good feedback, (good as in positive, but also good as in constructive and useful for us as we continue to edit) but most importantly, we also got this:

If you’re feeling like you missed out, and want to be kept in the know about all things Father Figures, head here to sign up for our mailing list. And if you want to throw us a couple bucks to continue with our edit and finishing, I’d never say no to that, which you can do here.

This week I also got notes back on an episode of TV that I’m currently working on, AND got notes on the animated feature I’ve been writing. AND AND sent something new out to my team. Hi guys!

It really feels like it’s been a sprint to try to get as much done as possible before next week, when I’ll be on the ground in Park City to attend the premiere of In the Blink of an Eye (which I wrote) at Sundance. [If you’re coming to the festival, come say hi!]

So, if you like me, are sprinting… remember to drink some water. Pause and consider whether that fourth cup of coffee is really necessary. And try to find a moment to appreciate, even if it’s absolutely crazy making to have a jam-packed calendar where you’re running from one thing to the next to the next, that a lot of the stuff on that calendar is pretty cool!

I’ll have more to report next week (and the week after) about the festival, but for now, I’m going to keep it brief and just say I’m excited to be RUNNING TOWARDS THE FINISH STARTING LINE.

If you’re craving some more in-depth writing, I have plenty to offer you, and it’s feedback related:

And I loved hearing from so many of you about the 2025 in Review, how seen you felt getting to hear that, yes, literally everyone has projects fall apart for no good reason, and just how demoralizing this career can be (but also fun, I promise).

This week, rather than look back at what went wrong (or right, there was plenty that went right), I want to look ahead. This early January period has that “back to school” kind of energy I love and crave. I mean, I put pens and a personal planner on my gift guide this year, if that tells you anything.

What am I hoping to do this year?

And how do we even set reasonable goals for ourselves as artists, in an industry where almost everything is outside of our actual control?

Well… we have to set goals we can control for ourselves!

Here are some of my 2026 goals for your reference!

Write and send out a couple ideas in short story format.

I keep seeing these packaged for big bucks and I do think there’s a smart business strategy at play here. Spending much less time crafting a short story than it would take to craft a spec screenplay while also avoiding the thing that can happen with specs where you have inadvertently given people a reason to say “no.” Less is more in sales, and if you bog people down in the details then they are much more likely to say no. So I’m going to write some tight, concise, three act stories that have high concepts and see if I can do anything with those. I think writing and sending out TWO is a reasonable amount for the year. What happens with them? I can’t say! We are not focused on outcomes when we set goals, just the part of the process that we ourselves control!

Send out a pilot.

Every few years I try to sell a TV show and I think we’re entering another “Colby tries to sell a show” year. There’s an old pilot I’ve written (I can’t tell you how old, it is too embarrassing), a comedy about an enterprise that is normally run by idealistic dreamers that finds itself taken over by a cutthroat accountant who wants to “maximize efficiency” of everything.

Sounds a lot like the industry (and world) we currently live in!

It never quite clicked when I first started sending it out — but I think it’s very fun and A LOT MORE TIMELY now than it was when I first wrote it. So I am refreshing it slightly, stamping a 2026 date on the cover page, and then hoping to send it out to folks who’ve never seen or heard of it before. This is the nice thing about writing something on spec -- it’s yours forever, and sometimes those things that didn’t quite make sense in one moment suddenly make a heck of a lot more sense.

Direct a short.

This one kind of falls in the “what are you insane?” category, because I already have a feature film I’m prepping for [see below] but I have this crazy idea that really can and should only be a short film. I think we could do it over the course of a few days, and directors don’t get to direct very often, really.

So when you have the will and maybe the way, I think pursue it? I’ll keep you posted.

Direct a feature.

This is one of those “yes sure that’s a cool goal but how much do you as the filmmaker actually control the outcome?” I think a lot, if you are willing to hustle, determined to keep the momentum up, and are able/willing to design a flexible enough production plan that the movie can happen within a wide range of funding options. I’ve written my first feature as a director to be exactly that, and after what felt like a tedious and slow on-ramp last year, we’ve had what feels like an exciting energy shift happen as we enter 2026, that I’m eager to capitalize on.

Write an episode of TV.

This is literally already happening. It’s nice to put some goals on your list that you know without a doubt you’ll be able to cross off, and soon.

Write a new feature.

This is also already happening, and I’m being paid to do it! Another “Will Check This Off Soon” goal, which are the best kind, truly!

Complete the documentary I’ve been producing and start submitting to festivals.

Father Figures has one more pickup shoot scheduled, we’re deep into our edit, we have a feedback screening with folks planned, and we’re excited to get it across the finish line. Then we’ll start worrying about the SECOND HALF of making a movie — getting people to see it.

Reconceive my work space.

This is out of necessity, as our current guest room / home office is in the process of being transformed into a much more permanent guest’s room, ie a baby’s nursery. But I do love a project, and I especially love a project that involves making a space that feels practical and personal and primed for creativity.

I gave up my old office (rip) when I started at the show, and while I love and miss it, it also had bad internet and you could hear the train going by every 10 minutes. So I may be on the hunt for an entirely new location. Not sure.

Hit 30K followers on instagram.

How much is this one in my control? Debatable. But I grew Hollyweird’s instagram account to 15K over the course of five months, so I feel like even if we slow down substantially, trying to grow another 15K isn’t such an unreasonable goal. How will I be doing this? Same thing I’ve been doing in 2025, posting a lot, and trying to get better at it.

Why do this? Well, I would love to use my micro-celebrity to SELL MONTBLANC PENS. But more importantly, I have really enjoyed getting to hear from folks that the same practical / creative advice I’ve been sharing here in the newsletter is reaching an entirely new audience via video, and it seems to be really useful to people! I also know that getting better at social media is the key to selling the movies (and shows) I have up above.

GETTING PEOPLE TO SEE THE MOVIE IS PART OF MAKING THE MOVIE, LET US NEVER FORGET!

I have A LOT of other things I’d like to do, and things I’ll probably pursue throughout the year as well, but as I get older I am trying to be better at FOCUSING and also on setting goals that I do have some modicum of control over.

Whaddaya think? Is this overambitious? Is this perfectly ambitious? We’ll check back in at the end of 2026 and tally up the points on what did/didn’t get done this year.

And what about you? What are your goals for 2026? Writing and otherwise? I’d love to hear them, and would especially love to hear the WHY behind any/all of them.

Leave a comment

Previously on Hollyweird…

Who the heck am I, you ask? I’m a professional screenwriter (I have an IMDB! Hello!) and have been doing this as my career, ie for money, since 2016. It’s been a decade of growth and change for me, and a decade of death spiral for Hollywood. I kid, I kid.

And why am I doing this? Well… I started writing these year in review pieces (this entire newsletter, frankly) because the film business is a strange black box. You only ever hear about people’s successes — that’s what the trades are for! — and you don’t usually hear about the hundreds thousands of hours and emails and calls and meetings and projects that ultimately… don’t become anything at all. Think of this series (you can find them all, from 2021 onward, here) as me doing as honest of an accounting of my year(s) as I can.

I’ve been booked and busy as a writer, but I remain ambitious.

2025 was focused on getting a movie puzzled together with me as the writer/director. Puzzling a movie together is one of the most Sisyphean, Herculean, and just plain confusing, tasks imaginable. And I was doing that alongside continuing to write new films (and series), continuing to build this newsletter and my social media presence, and processing some very big personal news that will impact, oh, my entire future. But enough CONTEXT, let’s get to the good stuff.

What the heck did I, a working film (and television) writer do over the course of 2025?

JANUARY

After a proper break (I penciled in a week off in my calendar) I get back to work on the treatment for the Animated Project I started at the end of 2024. Most screenwriting assignments are broken into various steps (or deliverables) and the first one in this deal is a treatment of the film. I’m hard at work on this when...

FIRES DESTROY MUCH OF LA.

We aren’t technically in the evacuation zones, but because we’re on a hill, smoke is seeping in through our drafty windows (even taped shut), and I can see the charred remains of peoples’ books from Altadena drifting down onto our (very much wood) deck. Emma is of course not here, she’s in NY for a documentary awards ceremony (fancy) and so I pack up our dog and bring him and our most important possessions (camera gear and social security cards) to my parents in Orange County.

We wait for the smoke to clear and are joined by more LA friends trying to protect their newborn child’s lungs. But my work can’t wait, I’m behind on turning in this treatment. So I hide away from the full house, finish outlining the film, and send it off to the team.

Mid January is the first time I’m paid in 2025. Pretty good! [If you look back at previous years this first paycheck of the year as a screenwriter can sometimes be… June? August?]

First “No” of the year comes from an actor we’d submitted the Directorial Debut to last year. Unclear whether this is their team passing or if the actor actually read. Given the state of LA, it doesn’t seem like a great look to send out a script currently, so we table submissions for a second to really think about who we most want for the role. Enough of these long shots, let’s send it to the right person.

I catch up with the producers on the Short Story Adaptation (aka Colby’s Directing Project #2) and once we all determine everyone on our team is safe from the fires, we agree that we should also wait a bit before sending anyone anything. Seems in poor taste! “With that in mind, there are just a couple tiny tweaks that maybe you’d like to make to the script and lookbook in the meantime?” I say sure, of course!

I have lunch with the director on the YA Novella Pitch we were taking out last year. Sounds like the the producers (who have access to some money) want to finance a script rather than take our pitch out any wider. Would I be open to writing the script? Yes! If we’d started with this instead of a year of pitch prep and pitching and waiting, we’d already have a great (and finished script). Let’s do it. Director and I are game.

Director and I now go have coffee with the producer who lays this plan out to us. We agree! Sounds like a cool strategy! Pitching is slow and arduous and takes longer than writing a movie, usually. So the producer tells us to hang tight, they need to get their ducks in a row with the financing and their internal deals etc etc etc, but seems like a good plan to get the movie moving.

End of the month I catch up with the producer on this IP Based TV Series that we spent last year trying to package up with an exciting director. We haven’t made the stars align there, so producer and I decide it’s worth taking the series out as a pitch without any attachments. I get to work on writing a pitch.

FEBRUARY

After receiving No’s from the very long shot actor submissions that had fallen into our lap by coincidence, we send the Directorial Debut to someone we’ve always considered the “real” first choice. This submission includes the script, a lookbook, a personal note to him, our team reaching out to his agent to introduce the project, AND a friend of a friend reaching out more directly to let this actor know “these people are real and normal.” And... the submission gets through. He reads it, and wants to meet!

We meet over zoom! We get along, seems like he gets the movie, and seems like he’s game to give it a shot. We plan to get together in person when he’s next back in LA. Flurry of emails letting the producing team, managers, agents all know it went well. We all agree we can “officially” (this is basically just a handshake) attach said actor.

In the meantime, my producers have been crunching a rough budget and a rough schedule (which always is what determines the budget) because having those exact numbers in mind will be essential for taking our entire package to financiers.

For Directing Project #2 we submit the script to our first big exciting idea for a lead actress. Script, lookbook, and a personal note all go out to her agent. Fingers crossed.

Still waiting on feedback for the treatment for the Animated Project, but sounds like they are working something out over there and will be back to me soon.

MARCH

My manager and I have lunch with my new theater agent, who’s in town from NY. We’d connected at the end of last year, after a very cool actress read a play of mine and expressed interest in working on it together. He wants to touch base on that -- he has ideas for people / places to send it -- but also more generally get to chat and know what if anything I’d like to do in theater. I have an old play of mine that I’d love to convert into a musical, which I send him, and we discuss the possibility of a stage adaptation of a favorite book of mine. He says he’ll look into it.

I have coffee with a producing friend who’s in town for The Oscars. Ooh la la, fancy! We catch up, and I mention The Directorial Debut, which he’s into. Can he read? I think so! I check with the other producers who agree it would be useful to have a Fancy Producer on the team and so we say yes please!

Our new producer reads and is into it. We set a call for him and the rest of the team to touch base, discuss how to work together, and what everyone believes next steps are.

We agree one lead actor probably isn’t sufficient to build an appealing “package.” Ideally we want two? Three? Basically you want as many notable people as you can get — especially for a director’s first feature. We go through our supporting cast and I propose we submit the script to an actress I’ve wanted to work with for ages. It’s someone I had coffee with in April 2024, and I have been trying to come up with an excuse to work together since.

Write her a personal note and submit the materials to her agents. I also text her (we’d shared info when we met, always get a point of personal contact if you can!) letting her know “We officially submitted something to your team, I’d love if you’d look! Would be super fun to work together!”

She reads and we zoom at the very end of the month and she’s into it! Hello! We are assembling a very exciting package!! And pretty fast, too!

Another flurry of emails and calls within Team Colby to discuss what now. We have two actors, is that enough to finance a movie or do we need more? Do we need one more? You think we need one more?

Let’s try for one more. Another discussion about who that should be, another letter to a fame-o, another call/email to another agent.

Meanwhile, for Directing Project #2, we’ve been asked to submit the script and materials to the author of the underlying short story it’s all based on. This is an important writer. We’re all a bit intimidated. But I hear back at the end of the month with a note from the author that is very positive (phew!) and has a couple suggestions that they caveat with a kind of “take em or leave em, it’s your movie.” They are actually very helpful. Smart writer! We all breathe a sigh of relief, and it’s always kind of crazy to realize your name and writing have been on someone’s desk and on their mind. Like... what? This author’s thinking about… me?

The book I’d asked my theater agent about is very much not available (shoot) and he’s been slowly sending out My Play to a few places he thinks would be a good fit. Waiting on any news there.

APRIL

We finally make the official submission for our third actor for the Directorial Debut. Three is better than two, right? The more important names you can put together, the better. This is to someone well known who I have a connection to via friends of friends. Ultimately, this ask kind of fizzles out, we don’t really get an answer either way, and are forced to after several weeks let this actor’s team know that we are politely going to have to move on.

For Directing Project #2 we finally get a response on our first actress submission — it’s a pass. And the person who read the script (not the actor, her reps) candidly “didn’t get it.” This doesn’t bother me (hello, look at all of the rejections this year and every other year I’ve written these) but there is clearly something about this that bothers the producers. “Should we do a rewrite?” I advocate that I don’t think that’s necessary. I think we should submit the film to another actor. I rank the next couple choices I like for them, and say “let me know who you think we should submit to and I’ll write a personal note to them.” They say “let us discuss.”

Call with the showrunners of the TV Series I worked on in 2023-24. They believe the show is coming back (dates TBD) and wanted to let me know that they’d love to have me back if/when the room starts for the next season. I say yes, duh! No clear idea when that will be. August maybe? I say... sure, I’ll pencil it in.

Directorial Debut team all zoom to talk next steps. Our newest, fanciest producer is of the opinion that we should revise the budget and schedule, and connect with my agency’s independent financing team (who he knows and has worked with before) about their opinion for what to do next with the package we currently have assembled, what their opinions are on how to best secure financing now.

We’re told that they can speak to us and dive in… after Tribeca. That’s six weeks of waiting? During which we are told to not do anything that will affect the value of the film? So… what are we supposed to do? Everyone agrees to wait. “We’ll get going after Tribeca.” But I’m annoyed.

Past six weeks I’ve been cracking away at an Action Spec Screenplay (I’ve been toying with this since 2022) and have a new revised draft I like. Feel like it’s ready to start sharing. Send it to my manager for him to look. He has some small, mostly cosmetic ideas to make the script a bit more fun / special, and so we set some time next month to get together in person and talk through the script together.

The Edit for Father Figures begins in earnest. The documentary editing window is an entirely different thing than in fiction. Remember, this is where you are really writing the film. We have 36-40 weeks of edit scheduled, which would put us at finishing the film sometime in early 2026. We are gunning for late 2026 or early 2027 festivals.

We have raised a significant amount of money for the film this year and last, via both grants and equity investment. We have enough money to cover our edit — hence getting started in earnest — but are still looking to close the gap to allow for the rest of the film’s finishing.

MAY

Manager and I get together and talk Action Spec. His ideas are good so I get to work as quickly as I can trying to implement. Takes maybe a week, and once all the new fun polish ideas are folded in I send it to my agents.

We start pitching the IP Based TV series. I’ve built an entire 20 minute pitch for what the series is, why it’s exciting, why now, the first episode, and what the first few seasons might be -- and since these are all being done over zoom -- I also build out a slideshow of images so it’s not just me talking.

Animated Project team has finally come back with notes on the treatment! Why did this take as long as it did? They hired a director (which is good news)! But it meant a delay on creative feedback while their deals all got put together. Now that there is a new creative voice involved, discussing the treatment becomes a much larger conversation. Exciting stuff, but means we need a new draft of a treatment, and one that’s pretty different from the first iteration. Better to figure this stuff out before a screenplay exists! I get to work on revisions.

While we wait to get our big meeting for the Directorial Debut, I pester everyone into agreeing to submit the film to one more actor. If we’re going to be waiting around, we might as well be waiting around with a couple of different irons in the fire, right? So we take a chance on someone Extremely Famous, and submit to that actor’s team.

End of the month I get on a Team Call to discuss the Action Spec. I’m thinking this will be about next steps, but everyone actually has more notes. I’m annoyed. But also I think their notes are probably correct. Ok, shoot. More work for me.

End of the month I send in a new and revised treatment for the Animated Project. It’s a pretty different conception of the film, folding in our new director’s vision. We will see what the feedback is!

JUNE

Father Figures is asked to participate in the Tribeca Creators’ Market. Emma is in NY for a different event anyway, so takes meetings in person, while Florrie (our other producer) and myself take meetings over zoom. Mainly these are with festivals, distributors, and sales agents who are curious about the project and want to hear more. Since we’re just beginning the edit, it feels a bit early to formally share the project with these folks, but it’s nice to start building these relationships and the awareness of the film.

Directorial Debut we finally get this call with the Entire Team to happen. They have some thoughts about slightly tweaking our lookbook / pitch deck for the film in order to make it a little bit more compelling for financiers. I take this on as my homework.

I send the revised materials out to everyone within a week. This then becomes… “let’s get a new call on the books. Maybe July?” The beginning of the month doesn’t stick, so it becomes the end of July. Long time to wait for a call!

We fly to Durham, NC, to film with Emma’s mom for Father Figures. Until now, she hasn’t wanted to be on camera, so we want to make sure this goes well. It does!

We’re also still pitching the IP Based TV Series. Couple more this month.

Lunch with a friend to talk about potentially doing music videos / a music film / TBD for an upcoming album of his. Very cool songs. Show him a bunch of kooky ideas for it that he seems into. We trade ideas for a few weeks but this kind of slowly peters out. I don’t think that there was ever a clear plan for what exactly he and the band wanted to make, and they’re still working on the album, so there’s a chance this comes back around. But if you want music videos I am very much interested in directing them!

I send the Action Spec back out to my team, revised based on their notes, and we start to put together a list of potential producers to send it to. “Maybe we should wait until… after the July 4th Holiday?” I say okay.

JULY

Hollywood is closed for the week of July 4th? This is a new one to me. Afterwards I email everyone about the Action Spec and say “excited to send this out!” We start sending it out.

Two weeks vacation with my family! Much needed.

Emma and I tour studio spaces in LA for Father Figures. We’d always envisioned some stylized, constructed scenes that we would shoot on a stage, so we’re trying to figure out what that space would be. We also aren’t entirely sure what that material will be, as it’s dependent on how the film edits together, and so this is still TBD.

Directorial Debut call gets pushed to August. :(

Directing Project #2, the one where they said “let us discuss” sending it to a second actress… I’ve heard rumblings from my agents that they’re inquiring about whether I’d be open to rewriting the film. Based on what? One person not liking it? I don’t like this plan and communicate as much to my agents. Then I reach out to the producers with a “hey guys maybe we should connect and talk next steps for this movie?” It’s weird that they’re floating this idea to my team and not… me? The writer/director?

Passes on the Action Spec slowly begin rolling in over the course of the month. These convert into general meetings with execs at these production companies. I guess it’s complimentary for people to read something and want to meet, but... always a bit of a bummer when it’s not about the thing you sent.

We’ve gotten our final Pass on the IP Based TV Series. Huh. After years of development and thought… that’s it. Nobody wanted to buy the show. Okay. I guess that’s the end of that.

AUGUST

The Action Spec has continued to collect some “we really liked it, not for us at this moment.” I’m told one actor’s production company is having their VERY IMPORTANT STAR read it as a potential vehicle. They ultimately pass despite everyone saying it’s a good / fun script. Okay. We will keep sending it out.

Emma and our editor have gotten the Father Figures cut to a first assembly, but it's become clear as we all look at it that we need to do a pickup shoot here in LA. I spend a weekend helping to shoot some additional material around the house with Emma, some dummies, and some other targeted shots we know we would like but don’t yet have. To supplement what our DP is getting, I end up shooting a little as well. Indie filmmaking really does mean you do everything!

While I continue to wait for… any updates on my movie(s) or the TV Series that I’d been told is coming back but still haven’t really gotten updates on… I start thinking about what to do next. I want to write a feature film that’s even smaller than the Directorial Debut (and Directing Project #2). I don’t want to wait for anyone’s permission. An idea that’s small enough that I could go get the money from people I know, rather than spend months strategizing about funding and timing and on and on and on. I just want to be able to raise the money myself and go make a movie. So I start outlining. I actually posted about this here. I want to run the experiment of building a feature in the open, via the newsletter.

So I start posting on TikTok and Instagram. This is mainly to continue the mission of the newsletter — how do I best share the behind the scenes of what I’ve learned, and continue to learn, about working in film & TV in a way that will reach the most people? Turns out, video is the way to do it. This grows so much faster than the newsletter. As I sit writing this now, I’ve gained about 15K followers over the past few months.

Of course, as soon as I start doing a new thing, I get a call. The TV Series room will start in a few weeks. Okay! So I may not really have the time to write this new feature and build it in public via the newsletter / social media. I table the outline for that for the future. Still excited about this plan, I just need more time to actually do it!

Directorial Debut call finally happens. They want to put together a list of potential friendly financiers to send the film to… but “maybe we should wait until September?” In the meantime we plan to fine tune our schedule and budget so that we have a very detailed package that we can send out (if/when we do send it out?).

I also reach back out to Directing Project #2, “just following up!” It’s beginning to feel an awful lot like I’m being ghosted by the producers of the movie! I am assured we will get something on the books to touch base. Hm…

The Animated Project team is back! We get on zoom to commence me on a first draft. And… They’ve created concept art for the movie! The delayed feedback was not a lack of interest in the revised treatment so much as... starting to figure out the artistic style of the film! Very cool and inspiring! They want me to get started writing the first draft. There’s just one problem. We have this meeting the day before the TV room starts. Sounds like I’m going to be a busy boy this fall.

The TV Series starts literally the next day. Back to full-time writing mode and workdays, which is... an adjustment! It’s nice to be back to imagining a TV show with friends, to get lunch every day, and to get a consistent paycheck, but... when it rains it pours.

I get a text an hour into the room’s first day telling me that I have an offer that’s just come in to write a feature. The YA Novella that I honestly haven’t thought about in months... [see January???] They’ve figured out all their deals and financing and are ready to offer me a script fee to go write it. I’m concerned because… I am very much not available. And will remain very much not available for... quite a while. I’m currently -- writing a series full time, writing another feature film during my lunch / evenings / weekends, trying to secure the financing for my directorial debut, producing a documentary that’s supposed to be finishing in early 2026, and I have also just discovered that Emma and I are expecting a BABY in the spring!

I’ve even hired an assistant (hi Megan!) to help me with my very limited time because I am way overbooked. So... when exactly am I going to write this new movie?

I talk with my team who suggest we politely ask if they can wait six months? Nine months? I let them know the news that in 8 months if all goes well I will have a newborn baby and may not be able to (or want to) sit down to write a screenplay for a while after that. Plus I’ll still have all the other stuff that I’m still finishing up. I don’t know when this could happen in the next... year, maybe more?

I’m in a privileged position that I haven’t ever found myself in before. I am simply too busy to take on a new job. Booked, Busy, and Blessed.

SEPTEMBER

I call the director on the YA Novella Adaptation and let him know all the news. I don’t really feel like I can ask them to wait another year plus for me after it has taken so long to get to this stage. This is disappointing, but ultimately best for me (for my newly growing family?!) and for the movie. We part ways still friends and I get back to the room. And the feature. And the other features.

The team on the Directorial Debut and I all get on zoom to review the revised budget and schedule and talk strategy. August is over, meaning people are back to work(?), but we are stressed that the year is quickly ending.

We want to get the film to financiers ASAP, but we also think that because the subject matter of the film has been in the news a lot, it might be a good idea to announce the film in the trades. Usually this is reserved for projects that have all of the money secured and are already in production… but we also want to get the news out there since the topicality may help us in our conversations with funders.

We start putting together the plans for a press release, and start coordinating with everyone’s various teams — managers, agents, publicists, my team — it’s a lot of cooks in the kitchen to write a short little blurb about a movie. “Maybe we should wait until this release is out before we go to funders?”

OCTOBER

I get on a Team Zoom for Directing Project #2. We haven’t all spoken in months, not after the producers were spooked by our “No” from Big Actress #1’s agent (in April). They really think the film is a little too ambitious, and, more than that, a little bit too “complex.” They’d like me to rewrite the film to pare it down, simplify, and make it an easier read. As the now director, I disagree. I remind everyone we’ve only submitted the film to one actor over the last ten months. I’m confused by just how rattled everyone is based on one person’s feedback. And frankly, it doesn’t bode well for our ability to collaborate on the film together for the next few years. If we can’t meet resistance without panic… this is going to be a very challenging road.

I tell them I’m not available to rewrite the movie, at least until the room is over in March 2026. And that, frankly, I don’t want to rewrite it. I think, as I said in April, that we should at least submit it to a few other actresses before we do anything at all. Why not collect some responses while I am otherwise occupied? The call ends with them saying “let us discuss.”

We have not spoken since! This is frankly, insane! We’ve worked on this film together since… 2021 (I actually pitched it to them in 2019)! I am convinced this is the best screenplay I’ve written in a very long time. But one person said “No” and that’s… it? This is actually the most devastating update of 2025 for me, and I’m still mad thinking about it. Just crazy making! I’ve stopped following up, because, what’s the point? But… what a waste of time and energy and a very good idea. Even re-reading this I can feel my heart rate rising!

Meanwhile for the Directorial Debut, because we are coordinating everyone’s publicists etc, it takes until the end of October to publish this press release. Now that the release is out, my agency’s independent finance folks advise “Maybe we should wait” until after AFM to submit the film to funders. That means mid November. Which means it’s almost Thanksgiving. Which means the year is almost over. Hm... We agree to wait.

We get Father Figures to our first official Rough Cut, which means we all watch and share notes and reactions. We discuss next steps for the next Rough Cut, and Emma starts working on “writing” the documentary, ie, writing some moments of voice over that will carry through the film.

I am working full time on the TV Series, by the way.

NOVEMBER

In the evenings and over lunches I review voice over with Emma as we continue to barrel ahead towards a 2nd Rough Cut of Father Figures that will incorporate all of this new material.

We get a RC 1.5 finished right before Thanksgiving, which starts to test out the voiceover, and we review. This is working. We’re pushing the film in the right direction. As the year continues to slip away, we start to feel the pressure of needing to get this thing finished! It’s good, we’re entering the final sprint of the last few months of edit, but… scary!

We do still have a gap in the budget, and need to find the finishing funds for the film, but feel confident that we’ll have a strong cut to share in the early new year, which should help us do that.

I have also continued plugging away at the Animated Project mornings, evenings, and weekends and finally have a first draft I’m excited about. I submit the film to the team and wait to hear back. Will I get feedback and start the second draft before the end of the year? Only time will tell! But it’s nice to go back to only one active, full-time, writing job (the TV Series I am writing!)

Once we get through AFM, the debate for the Directorial Debut becomes... you guessed it: “Maybe we should wait.” Is there enough time to send this to financiers before Thanksgiving? Does it make sense to submit the week of Thanksgiving? I say... I don’t want to wait, I’m tired of waiting, we’ve been waiting for one reason or another for most of the year, and there will always be a new excuse to wait, if we wait now, we might as well wait until 2026.

We send out our first batch of submissions to financiers the week before (and the week of) Thanksgiving. Now we wait (for responses).

This forever waiting game inspires this video that goes viral.

I also get news this month that… In the Blink of an Eye will be premiering at Sundance in early 2026! Wow wow wow. Very cool news. It is insane how long movies take. Here we are. The lineup goes public in December, but very cool stuff. Hoping that becoming a Sundance Alum may prove helpful as we work to raise the money for the Debut. If you’ll be at Sundance, come see the movie, and come say hi!

DECEMBER

We get our first “No” from a financier for the Directorial Debut. Not a problem. I’m used to hearing no, about all sorts of things. We still have it out to the rest of the people we’d submitted it to, and have a longer list of more submissions we can/should make... but we… agree to wait, until 2026.

We get Father Figures to our 2nd official Rough Cut. We send the RC to some of our funders right before the holiday break, and promise ourselves we will in fact take a little bit of a holiday break before we watch it.

And that’s the year. Still trying to get the money for the Directorial Debut. Still working on the TV show. Still working on the animated feature. Still producing the documentary. Still expecting!

The Takeaway

As I spend the last few days of the year writing this, I am struck by just how many times I got sucked into... “Maybe you guys should wait a little bit.”

I fell for that a lot this year. But the waiting has never really benefited me. The key cast we needed for my Directorial Debut was all attached by April. We shouldn’t have been waiting around. We should have been barreling ahead towards getting the money ASAP.

The two films I’ve made the most progress on this — the debut and Father Figures — couldn’t be more different in pace. It has felt so much simpler, and more rewarding, to make a nimble, indie film where we can move, and fast! Obviously it’s different with documentary, as you can just start filming, but the ability to raise money iteratively and throughout the process means we haven’t once been waiting around. We’ve been making a movie. And in the nearly-a-year we’ve spent waiting around on the Debut, we’ve nearly finished Father Figures.

So in 2026, there will be no more waiting. This will be the year where I am very annoying to everyone because I am sick and tired of it. I am going to be pushy this year. Prepare yourselves. To my team, sorry in advance.

I am also struck by… just how many projects die long slow unceremonious deaths. TV Series I pitched? Dead. Action Spec? Based on the reads, and responses, I think it’s dead. Directing Project #2? Deflated until the point of death. The play I started the year with enthusiasm about? Fizzled out due to lack of concrete interest from anyone other than me.

These are all things that I have spent years working on. And then, when the stars don’t align, the end. RIP good ideas.

Of course, original ideas don’t ever really die. I’d much rather have original specs and plays on my hard drive than pitches for Open Writing Assignments. You’ll notice if you compare this year to previous years, I didn’t pitch on anything at all.

I was busy, but during the time I did have, I was trying to find ways to make work that I could go make myself, rather than find a “job” via an assignment. In my experience, most of these assignment “jobs” don’t really exist anyway, so I’d much rather put my time into something that I can go make (that benefits me!) rather than trying to convince people to let me write something. And, fortunately, I have a lot of stuff going on as it is. There’s still my directorial debut, there’s still the doc, there’s still the animated feature I’ll be writing a second draft of early in 2026.

2026 is also the year I head to Sundance as a filmmaker for the first time! So if you’re there and want to meet, let me know.

And best / happiest / scariest of all, 2026 is the year I have a child???

It’s going to be a great year, I can’t wait.

A quick little note: If you liked this, and have liked the previous years (2024, 2023, 2022, 2021) and in general enjoy my ongoing project of making transparent a career that’s traditionally extremely hard to get people to be honest about… I have a favor to ask you.

Please consider any/all of the following.

1. Sharing this post. If you’re a social media person, great, share it there. If you’re not, send it to a writer/filmmaker friend.

2. Subscribe! You can subscribe to the newsletter here, I write and share what I think are helpful behind the scenes insights literally ever week.

3. Follow me on instagram and/or TikTok.

4. And if you want to work together, message me. I’m serious!

Looking to see what happened before 2025? Here are ALL the Years in Review

As a result, I too, will be at Sundance (the last one to be held in Park City before the festival decamps for Boulder), so if you happen to be a reader who’s ALSO going to Sundance, let me know! I’d love for you to see my film, and would love if you’d say hi!

The day the lineup was announced, I heard from a lot of you (hi thank you!), talked with the film team, talked with my team, and at the end of the day caught up with my manager. And while we talked about next steps, accommodations, travel, and more importantly… how to capitalize on this moment with whatever the next project is (this one) he said… “The work begins.”

And the expression has been rattling around in my head since. It’s the perfect mantra for a career in Hollywood. A career anywhere really. Maybe even just life.

The work begins.

Getting your film into Sundance, which is a Big Deal, feels like it could/should be the accomplishment. But no! Because after getting in, there is all the work of trying to get people to see the dang thing!

The life cycle of a film doesn’t end at… “it’s out, now go see it.” Traditionally, the life cycle of a film would then begin its next phase — The Release™. And The Release actually used to be quite a long period of time, until very recently.

Once a film is finished, this is what a successful release used to look like:

Film is completed.
Film screens somewhere important, ie, a major festival.
A promotional image for the film is released.
Film screens at many more exclusive, important events, over the course of months.
A trailer is released.
The filmmaking team does a full court press of interviews, talk shows, public appearances, and keeps coming to all these screenings.
The film is released in select theaters to slowly build word of mouth.
The film is released slightly more widely, but still in select markets.
The film is released nationally.

Then a long time would go by before a similar but shorter cycle began as the film was made available for cable. Then for home video.

This is a long, attenuated process. And it should be.

Making an audience aware of a product that they have never heard of, and don’t necessarily need (but might really be convinced that they want) is time-consuming. It requires A LOT OF AWARENESS. There’s an old adage about needing seven points of contact before a sale. [I used to work in sales]

Here’s what a lot of release strategies look like now:

Film is finished.
Film screens at a festival.
A still and a trailer are made available.
Film is online, anyone can see it any time they want.
Some last minute scrambling for attention happens here.

This isn’t to criticize any of the hardworking filmmakers out there! I am one of you! This process is EXPENSIVE. It’s TIME CONSUMING. It’s a full second job on top of making the film. Which is why, traditionally, distributors were responsible for at least some of it. But… that responsibility seems to be dwindling. Do they still do it for some titles? Sure. But fewer and fewer of them.

Why has this happened?

Short answer? I’m looking at you, Netflix.

Long answer? I don’t know that I have enough time or patience for the entire long answer but… convenience will always guide human decisions. It’s more convenient for the consumer to just click a tile.

There’s also systemic pressure. As with everything in our currently collapsing industry, the responsibility to do just about all of this has been shifted from the big companies, to the little people they employ. Why do that? Isn’t that exactly what these big companies are supposed to be for?

Well… as long as they somehow capture consumer attention, big media companies don’t particularly care how they’re doing that, or what they’re doing that with. They just need to do it with something. Even if it’s a new option to create AI slop out of their legacy characters (looking at you Disney). Why endure the marathon of promoting each and every film for months and months when you could just… push your movie out of a plane without a parachute?

“We will place your tile on the homescreen for a few days! Hope an eager fan catches you!”

Some of these movies will survive, surely!

Now, none of this is necessarily about any one movie in particular. It’s a systemic trend. I hear my filmmaker friends complain about it. I hear my film fan friends complain about it. There seems to be a distinct gap in the process that happens right around… THE RELEASE (which is, one could argue, the most important part of making the movie. People seeing it).

I started writing this newsletter for two reasons.

1) I believed I could help demystify what a screenwriter’s / filmmaker’s career actually looks like. I first moved to Hollywood after some years as a playwright in New York, and any time I had to do something new here in Film & TV World, I had no idea how the heck it should actually work. There’s a tremendous lack of clarity to how and why things work the way they do in this business — and that’s partly because… nobody knows, and partly because… keeping it unclear helps keep people in positions of power in power (or so they think) and people not yet in out (or so they think).

So that’s reason one. Educate, inform, provide context for what this career can actually look like.

2) The second reason is more selfish. As I watched both Twitter (never X) and Facebook (never Meta) collapse under the weight of their embarrassing/evil ownership I came to realize I would no longer have any genuine way to get in touch with an audience anymore, and didn’t want to be at the whims of a social media platform when I did want to reach people. I wanted a consistent point of contact with a broad group of people in order to promote my work. I was thinking, in July 2024, about The Release.

Hopefully I have been informative enough to make the occasional self-promotion feel not only not-annoying, but maybe even interesting???

It takes a lot of time and energy and money and creativity to release a film successfully. And in a world of near-infinite distractions, it’s become harder than ever to get your film finished, and released, and then start promoting it.

So, if you are a filmmaker out there, I’d suggest you start promoting now.

Heck, I actually think some of the promotional campaign can and should be starting BEFORE PRODUCTION.

Given how quickly releases move nowadays, the longer you can have as an artist to build awareness and interest of a project, a project like IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE (which premieres at Sundance) for example, the better your likelihood of success. This work does in fact have to happen if you want people to see what you’ve spent years creating. Which I know I want!

With that in mind, in the new year, I will be breaking down exactly what the journey entailed to get this movie made. From the inception of the idea, to the script, to production, to screen. So that I can continue to service both goals of the newsletter. Inform you all about the process AND build awareness about the actual product of the process. This movie, and of course, after it, my directorial debut The Comedy Hour. Which we continue to puzzle together.

The work begins.

Previously on Hollyweird…

None of these are paid promo or affiliate links because HOLLYWEIRD CANNOT BE BOUGHT. These are just 10 cool things I like and wanted to share with you, so that you can either share them with the film lovers in your life, or yourself!

So without further ado… here is…

The Hollyweird Gift Guide for the Writers & Filmmakers in Your Life

The Best Streaming Service Out There (Criterion Channel)

My favorite streaming service. Hands down. Sign up for the deep collection cred, stay for the curated monthly playlists and their “live” Criterion 24/7, which gives you the chance to recreate the old days of channel surfing, dropping in on whatever Criterion’s decided to program at any given time. Plus, I have been consistently surprised by just how many (good) new releases they license.

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The #1 Tool for Building Decks (Shotdeck)

If you really want to help your filmmaker friend or loved one out, you’ll sign them up for a year-long membership to Shotdeck which I have obsessively pored over for what must be hundreds of hours while building decks for film and television pitches. Search by setting, prop, color, aspect ratio, mood, or crew members to find exactly the kind of images you’re trying to use to showcase what you want to make next.

An Extremely Decadent Chocolate Subscription

Okay, nobody needs to spend $50/mo on chocolate. But then again, gifts are not about need. Was this the year you finally sold that script? Or are you calling in some exciting opportunities for the year ahead? Either way, writers love treats. And having a new fancy chocolate bar to nibble on every week of the year is a great way to incentivize getting your work done for the day.

An Even More Decadent Piece of Movie Memorabilia

Okay so let’s say you wanted to spend $4500 on a poster. Thanks to the fine folks at Film Art Gallery you can, on an original one-sheet for Singin’ in the Rain. Which, to be fair, looks incredible. If you’re looking for something not in the $4500 range, Film Art Gallery has some great finds, truly.

Some Good Slippers

One of the perks of being a writer is never needing to get properly dressed or leave the house. One of the cons of such a sedentary lifestyle? Cold toes. Depending on how “traditional” you’re looking for, I’d vote LL Bean of glerups.

A Lot of Good Pens

What more could you want for the holidays than a box of office supplies? Staples will sell you a dozen of my personal favorite pens for under $20. It’s a much better deal than the movie poster.

Any of These 20 Books

I’ve put together a syllabus of 20 books screenwriters should read. Take your pick!

The Famed Hobonichi Daily Planner

This cult daily planner is the perfect, analog, way to keep track of your calendar, goals for the month (and year), and any and all important meetings you have coming up. Hobonichi heads tend to sell these out (it’s a thing) so if you’re in the market for a daily planner for 2026, you should get on it ASAP.

A Hollyweird Hat

Whether you want to rep the newsletter or simply rep this insane place to live and work, here’s your chance. Now comes in faded black, blue, or red. Almost everyone picks red.

And there you have it!

There will be one more edition of the newsletter next week, and then will be on hiatus for the remainder of 2025.

But Hollyweird will return to your inboxes with A SPECIAL EDITION JANUARY 1st — My 2025 in Review as a Working Screenwriter. It’s become an annual tradition.

For the completists out there here are 2024, 2023, 2022, and 2021.

Previously on Hollyweird…

I say this of course not from a place of personal experience, because I, dear reader, have never once been disappointed with the outcome of any endeavor.

[End sarcasm]

Just kidding! I actually think it’s the plight of the ambitious person to not always, but often, find themselves a little bit disappointed with what they’ve done. I am haunted by this interview Fran Liebowitz did with the LA Times, while promoting her documentary with Martin Scorcese, in which she says:

“He said to me numerous times: “You know what ruins ‘Taxi Driver’? The color red. The studio wouldn’t give me enough money to correct the color red, and that’s why it’s horrible.” I say, “You know what’s wrong with ‘Taxi Driver,’ Marty? Nothing.’”

This interview is from 2021, and I have been thinking about it ever since. Marty is disappointed with Taxi Driver?!

If there were ever a category of people I would define as equal parts ambitious and self-critical, it would be artists. Particularly filmmakers!

There’s an entire category of Film & TV Writing available here at Substack, and I would guess that 50% of the writing about the craft of filmmaking is about how to get better at it. I’m guilty of it. How to outline. How to write faster. How to get to know yourself as an artist.

How do we look at our own material, judge it according to its merits, and then… try to get better?

If we’re trying to get better, does that mean we’ve failed? In a sense, yes. It’s like the old Ira Glass quote…

“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”

So there’s another way to frame a “failure.” It’s an improvement in either your taste, or your skill (and sometimes both), and the gap between what it is today, and what it was when you were making the thing.

Which means… you’re getting better!

At first, feeling like you’ve failed sucks. And I don’t mean to say it doesn’t. Because, it does. It sucks.

But…

Slowly but surely, you are improving. Like it or not, the more you consume, the more you make, the more you exercise the muscles required to make the next thing that much closer to your current taste.

So, as disheartening as a failure is, and I have had many — movies I pitched to no buyers, movies I pitched to buyers who then didn’t offer enough money and everyone bailed leaving me alone with the idea, movies I’ve written that haven’t been made, movies I’ve started writing only for them to fizzle out, movies I’ve written that didn’t magically solve all of my problems — there is value in the failure.

Failing means, of course, that you’re trying to do something. That you care. That you’re opening yourself to disappointment.

A lot of people daydream. And a lot of people wish. But not a lot of people try.

As we approach the end of the year, it’s easy to look back and see our own failures. I didn’t get that thing done. I didn’t get that job. Yet another year has gone by in which I am not only not nominated for an Academy Award, but not even invited?! Rude!

However… I would like to politely remind you, that you’re trying. That even the greats fail. And that the failure is the key to improvement.

So whether it’s a short story you’ve failed to crack or a feature film you’ve written that didn’t turn out the way you’d hoped it would, or one you directed that was universally despised, failure means you have made something. Which not everyone can say. And the more you make, and the more you fail, the more chances you will have to get the color red just right. Just ask Marty.

Sorry who the heck am I to be giving you a pep talk about failure?

Well… I’m a professional screenwriter and have been working in Hollywood for the past decade. During that time I have also failed. A lot. But what have I gotten done, you ask?

I wrote the Netflix film SPACEMAN (dir. Johan Renck), starring Adam Sandler, Carey Mulligan, and Paul Dano which premiered at Berlinale 2024. I also wrote the film IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE, which is set to be released by Searchlight Pictures and was directed by Andrew Stanton.

That screenplay was featured on The Black List 2016, and got me a bunch of jobs, some of which I can talk about, some of which I can’t. I’ve written both film and television, directed and produced short films which have screened at dozens of festivals including SXSW, and I’m currently putting together what will hopefully be my directorial debut. I was named one of MovieMaker Magazine’s 25 Screenwriters to Watch, and you can follow me on instagram / Tiktok. Here’s my website if you realllly want a full bio.

Thanks for reading, thanks to for kicking off the FilmStack Daily Inspiration trend, and thanks to for all the help coordinating!

“Well, this week’s the holiday, and then there are just two weeks before the holidays…” As if two weeks isn’t enough time to send someone something, have them read it, have them decide whether they like it, talk to them about it, have a follow up meeting, and heck, maybe even agree to do something together after the holidays…

If we worked in steel manufacturing, I’m confident December would be enough time to make a big steel deal. But we don’t. We work in make believe. And so… there’s a very select window of “good” times to get things done.

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But this week, calendar be damned, I sent out the feature script I’d been working on for the past couple months — so that’s off to the producers (phew!) — and am at the same time sending out another project!

Which means it’s time to sit around and wait. Everyone’s favorite part of the filmmaking process. The minute you hit send you get to start asking yourself questions… “Will they like it? Will they dislike it? Will anyone raise their hand to pay for any of this madness? Does anyone even make movies anymore? Should they? Should I instead move to a big tract of land in the middle of nowhere and focus on sustainable farming practices so that I can feed myself and my family during the upcoming water wars?” Oh am I the only one who goes to that final question? It’s worth considering!

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So much of the business of filmmaking is about waiting to hear back from other people. And if you’re waiting to hear back from people about TWO THINGS AT ONCE? What the heck are you supposed to do with yourself?

Well… the answer is most certainly NOT “wait around.”

This is not to be a “HUSTLE CULTURE GRINDSET WORK EVERYDAY” bro. Breaks are good. Rest is good. Sustainability is good. Important, in fact! Cannot recommend breaks and rest enough, truly.

However, if it were up to me, you would all have the luxury of a sustainable balance of work and rest already, and so, when you send a new draft of something out, you wouldn’t feel exhausted, but instead, well-rested enough to be ready to start working on something new. Because the waiting will drive you mad. There’s no control in the waiting, only doubt. And things really do take SO LONG in Hollywood for whatever reason, that if you sit and wait around for an answer about one thing before getting to work on another thing, you are going to age quite a bit between projects.

I have found that for me, the creative process is really one of fighting inertia. Remember your high school physics? Inertia is the “property of matter by which it continues in its existing state of rest, OR MOTION, unless that state is changed by an external force.” [emphasis mine]

Inertia in this sense isn’t about not doing something, but rather, continuing to do exactly the same thing, unless acted upon. I find writing to be similar. Any time I stop completely, there’s a tremendous amount of inertia keeping me stopped. But, if I can simply move from this thing that I just sent out to the next thing, I can carry that inertia forward with me, giving me an extra momentum boost as I start the new thing.

So… unless you want to lose your mind, I don’t recommend waiting to hear from anyone about just about anything. Instead, I’d recommend WRITING THE NEXT THING.

After all, the business of being a writer in particular is one of sales. You want more quantity. The more quantity the more opportunities that people might read your thing and want it.

More writing = more material to send out = more people saying no = more people eventually, hopefully saying yes

So, I’m sussing out this week what’s next — and, frankly, whether I have time for “what’s next?” I have a feeling I’m going to be getting answers about both these things before the end of the year (despite Hollywood’s insistence on not getting things done rapidly) and so it feels a little bit foolhardy to try to add a new thing for just a few weeks only to put it away again.

What I am going to do though is dig through my spreadsheet of project ideas (I wrote all about my “development slate” methodology, and even shared a template of that here) and pull 3-5 that I like. Then I’m going to mull those over. Then I’ll probably send them to my manager to say “what do you think I should do next?” Then, knowing me, I’ll probably pick a secret, as of yet un-thought-of sixth thing to work on.

And of course, the minute I do, someone will call me with an answer about the not just one but two things I’m waiting to hear back on.

But until then, it’s business as usual.

Meaning, I’d brainstorm, then I’d outline, then I’d write a draft as fast as I could, and then I’d start rewriting. But I’m confident this process will get interrupted.

At least, that’s what I’m hoping.

What a good problem that would be.

Previously on Hollyweird…

With that in mind, I wanted to compile for you a list of all of the writers’ room slang terms I’ve heard.

This way you will have a handy-dandy cheat sheet you can use to look things up so you don’t have to stop everybody in their tracks to ask them to explain what the heck they’re talking about.

[A caveat: Every room has different slang, and I bet NY rooms have different made up phrases that LA rooms don’t have. If you have heard a DIFFERENT meaning for any of these, and/or have other terms you’ve heard that you’d either like to get the definitions of, or define for the rest of us, drop ‘em in the comments. Please!]

Every term you could ever need to know in a writers’ room, so that you don’t have to stop everyone to ask “what did that mean?”

Alt (noun)
Abbreviation for “alternative.” An alternative joke or punchline or story pitch.

Ex: Can we get some alts for this line?

A Room & B Room (noun)

Rooms will sometimes split into two working groups in order to divide and conquer. Sometimes one room will be working on one episode and another room on another. Sometimes a B Room will be focusing on a specific issue, whether that’s character or world building or a future episode. Some shows (I am not naming names) have had such extreme creative differences that they permanently split into an A Room and a B Room and write episodes entirely separately.

Ex: Why don’t you three head to the conference room and as a B Room start to figure out the next episode while we work in here on the current one?

Artifact (noun)

Something that has remained in a draft or outline but was more relevant in a previous version, and may no longer be applicable.

Ex: Do we still need that scene where they go to the ice cream shop, or is that an artifact?

A Story, B Story, C Story (noun)

The first, second, and third plot lines of an episode. The A story describes the main story line of the episode, B would take up the second most real estate, and C would be third.

Ex: I think the A Story would be the detective’s, since we really want to see her finally puzzle it all together this episode.

Audience Privilege (noun)

A piece of information the audience has that the characters do not necessarily have.

Ex: We’ll cut to the bomb under the table to help build the tension, but that information will be audience privilege.

Beat(s) (noun)

The different moment(s) that comprise an episode.

Ex: What is the next beat in her story this episode?

Beat Out (verb)

To figure out the beats of a story or episode.

Ex: Why don’t you spend the afternoon trying to beat out her story for the episode?

Blue Sky (verb / noun)

Brainstorming or pitching ideas and concepts that don’t necessarily fit with or depend on anything else. At the beginning of a room you will often “blue sky” and then over time you will begin to refine the story and narrow the focus of pitches and conversation.

Ex: For this first week of the room we just want to blue sky the story for the season. Anything is fair game. Next week we’ll start to narrow things down.

Break (verb / noun)

To methodically plan out the events that will happen in an episode or season. As a noun, refers to the actual plan/outline for the events of the episode or season.

Ex: Now that the first episode is off to script, do you all feel ready to break the second episode?

Bump (verb)

When something doesn’t feel right or bothers you. When something feels off it “bumps” you. This could be a line, a character choice, or a piece of action.

Ex: Her doing that really bumps me. I don’t believe she’d do that after what happened between them in the previous episode.

Business (noun)

Action or blocking given to a character in a scene so that they have more to do than just talk.

Ex: Can we give those characters some business in the background so they don’t seem like they’re just waiting for him to walk in?

Buy (verb)

To believe.

Ex: Will we buy him being an expert in Ancient Sumerian?

Cards Up / Cards Down (adj.)

Whether something is known to the audience or not. Cards up means the audience has seen what the character’s intentions are. Cards down means the audience has not seen the character’s intentions yet.

Ex: Should we have this beat play out cards up, where we know she’s planning to steal the painting, or is it better if it’s card down and we only learn after she already has stolen the painting?

Chuffa (noun)

Filler dialogue, particularly at the beginning of a scene.

Ex: I don’t know, when they walk into the courtroom there’s probably some lawyer chuffa before she storms in shouting.

Clock (verb)1

To notice something.

Ex: He clocks that she left the note behind.

Direct Pickup

When the events of the current episode take place immediately after the events of the previous episode.

Ex: This episode will be a direct pickup, right after the robbery, how do they then escape?

Gak (noun)

Refers to the nondescript props or set dressing that are placed in the background of a set to make it look more realistic. This can also be digital effects on screens, technical nonsense in a line, or any other thing that functions primarily as something that grounds the world.

Ex: Can we give them a bunch of medical gak to say as they’re operating? And props, we need a bunch of medical gak in the background.

Hang a Lantern (also sometimes “Shine a Light On…”) (verb)

Acknowledging something problematic or nonsensical about a moment with a script. By hanging a lantern, or calling attention to the issue, you can sometimes clue the audience in on the fact that “we the writers know this is unlikely but go with us.”

Ex: Him agreeing to that crazy decision might work if we just hang a lantern on it, he knows it’s crazy.

Hat on a Hat (noun)

Overkill. One too many complications or redundancies, whether a joke that steps on another joke, or a dramatic beat that repeats another.

Ex: Do we need both those moments? Or is it a hat on a hat?

House Number (noun)

A placeholder. Something you’re putting up but will later replace. [I have only ever heard it used this way, BUT, I have heard from other writers that they’ve heard it used more to mean something along the lines of “the thing that a character usually does,” as in a band’s house number that they always play. Which have you heard used?]

Ex: Let’s just say that’s what they’re doing for now, as a house number.

Pipe (noun)

Usually it’s referred to as pipe that needs to be laid. Or a need to lay pipe. ie the dramatic underpinnings of the story that need to be explained.

Ex: We’re going to need to lay a lot of pipe to make that scene make any sense.

Refrigerator Logic (noun)

A moment that seems fine during an episode, but later, while getting a snack from the fridge, the audience realizes it didn’t make any logical sense.

Ex: Does that really work or is it sort of refrigerator logic?

Schmuck Bait (noun)

A fake out or story point that doesn’t really end up meaning anything later on.

Ex: If we end on the character about to die but then discover at the beginning of the next scene that he’s okay, isn’t that sort of schmuck bait?

Shoe Leather (noun)

Blocking, physical action, or exposition that slows down the scene or episode. If something requires a lot of shoe leather, it is either difficult to explain or difficult to dramatize without taking a lot of time.

Ex: I have a feeling that that’s really going to slow things down and require a lot of shoe leather.

Step out (verb)

To expand upon, to build into more of a moment or multiple moments.

Ex: Let’s try to step out the heist into a few more beats.

Sweaty (adj.)

Something that feels either forced, or simply tired and over-done.

Ex: Is that joke funny or is it a little bit sweaty?

Ticking Clock (noun)

A concrete deadline that creates mounting tension.

Ex: We need a ticking clock for the episode. Could the kidnappers demand the ransom by midnight that night?

Tiny Town (adj.)

The feeling that the world of the show is too small, or things are happening that feel too convenient / forced. Usually comes up when a character that wouldn’t ordinarily be involved in something is somehow shoehorned into the story.

Ex: Can we have Darren in the court room for that scene or does it feel a little bit too tiny town?

Vomit Draft (noun)

The messy, unpolished first draft of a script where the writer gets all their ideas out without worrying about quality

Ex: I need to just get a vomit draft done over the weekend so I can spend the next week out fixing it up.

(Long) Walk (noun)

Something that is a little bit complicated to explain or make believable, something that stretches credulity.

Ex: It’s a bit of a long walk, but maybe we can say that the doctor character loved history and that’s why he now wants to run for Congress?

Weave (verb & noun)

The act of taking the various beats and scenes that will take place in the different story lines of the episode, and stitching them together into the correct order.

Ex: Let’s take his story line, which is the A story, and weave that and the B and C stories together to see how the episode plays. Oh, we already did the weave, it’s on the board.

Wait a minute. What exactly do I mean when I say “third first draft?” What is this, Alice in Wonderland math?

Well… usually, when I’m writing, I will end up with at least a few different passes of a first draft. There’s the very first sort of “speed draft” that I’ll write as fast as I can, from an outline. Then I’ll sit down, read that one, notice all the holes and things that don’t make sense and will force myself to re-break the outline. Then, I’ll write another draft. Then I’ll do this again. I save all of these drafts in my “FIRST DRAFT” folder even though that first draft will end up with anywhere from 1-5-7(?, sometimes I lose count) drafts.

Then, I’ll get notes from friends (or producers, or my friends who are the producers). The next draft that responds to all the notes will be the SECOND DRAFT.

Why am I telling you this? Well, this is my newsletter, I’ll tell you whatever I like. Personally, I always appreciate hearing from other writers how much of a grind it can be — and it can be! — just to get to something good enough. AND, I recently got a writing process question that I think really nicely pairs with my current headspace as I ponder: “I have a decent draft but is it decent enough?”

Here’s the (abridged) question:

“I REALLY STRUGGLE WITH OUTLINING. Nothing makes me feel less like a writer than my inability to outline effectively. I know every writer’s process is different, and some even choose not to outline at all, but I just cannot find something that works for me. My current process goes a little like this: Concept/logline --> blue sky brainstorm –> very rough shorthand bullet point outline (indecipherable to anyone but me) --> spend weeks trying to force myself to write a more detailed outline or treatment --> get nowhere --> give up --> go to script with those meager bullet points as my guide.

…I’ve had moderate success with this process… But the day has finally come where the gaps in my process are catching up with me… My issue with the freewheeling method is that it becomes really easy to convince myself that good enough = good. I’ll paint myself into a corner and end up settling for whatever I’m able to convince myself is the best combination of convenient and plausible to get me out. For a cold reader (including myself after some distance from the project), the scale tips PAINFULLY in favor of convenience. I can even occasionally detect this hacky problem-solving method while I’m writing. But I’ve mastered the art of muting that critical part of my brain… a skill that, I’m sure, is much more useful when writing from a real outline. I also know that, paradoxically, true freedom in writing often comes once the outline is solid.

… Any tips or tricks for outlining and writing treatments?”

Huge shoutout to for this VERY GOOD question! And as a reminder to you all, my DM's here (and on instagram and TikTok) are always open for good questions.

This is a doozy to answer, but before I start writing a LONGWINDED technical answer, I want to be sure I get to the reassuring part… I too find outlining to be very hard. And very tedious. And I often find myself with an outline that’s insufficient, so I’m flying by the seat of my pants a little bit as I draft something.

All of that to say… A normal and very relatable problem. Now let’s try to solve it.

How do you write an outline and/or treatment that actually works and, better yet, is good?

If I knew the answer I wouldn’t also struggle with this! But here’s my experience of the problem so far, and some of what has helped me.

The process you’ve detailed above for coming up with a movie idea isn’t all that dissimilar from my own workflow, which I’ve written about before.

Idea > Brainstorm > big bag of material > force that into an outline > write a draft.

But how exactly does one go from “create a big document of a bunch of different ideas” to “outline that is decent?”

Here’s how I try to do it.

First thing I do (once I have my big bag of brainstorm material) is create a brand new document, separate from my “BIG BRAINSTORM DOCUMENT.”

This will be called “PROJECT OUTLINE.” Then in PROJECT OUTLINE I will start to put down the things I absolutely know I want and need, the superstructure of the movie.

I usually do this in a kind of “skeleton first” method, putting in the headings whether I know what actually happens there or not:

The Bare Minimum Outline Template

STATUS QUO
INCITING INCIDENT
END ACT ONE

ACT TWO
FUN AND GAMES / PROMISE OF PREMISE
MIDPOINT
ALL IS LOST

BREAK INTO ACT THREE
CLIMAX
CONCLUSION / SYNTHESIS

This isn’t exactly three act structure, the hero’s journey, nor “save the cat” structure, but a weird remix of the terms used in all three (plus a little bit of the story circle) that sort of gives me (and this is just me) the bare minimum signposts that I feel like I need to know to be able to start to fill in the rest of the project. Basically I’m just trying to get the major turns of the script down on paper.

Then I start to do what you’ve described above, get some more fleshed out beats to happen between each of these big things, to help drive us from one turn to the next. I’ll pluck stuff from the big bag of ideas, start tossing it in here, and seeing where (if anywhere) it fits. If it doesn’t fit, I need new connective tissue to get from a to b to c.

That will usually get me, if I’m doing a decent job of outlining, somewhere between 4-6 pages of bullet points. And I’m with you, a bullet pointed outline isn’t that useful, nor is it that interesting to share. I never share a bullet pointed outline with anyone anymore. Under any circumstances. Because they usually look like this…

• Charlie confronts Claire about what she did last night.

• I think this is a scene in which she’s trying to solve the problem, but it’s not yet a crisis?

• Now it’s a crisis. Calls Charlie.

• They hit the road.

• ACT TWO

Yawn!

How do we write something more detailed, and more useful?

What I have begun to do, in recent years, and after writing for television, is then take that outline and begin to do a “Scriptment.” This is just a portmanteau of the words “Script” and “Treatment,” and it has been (in my TV writing experience) the document that comes between breaking the episode on the board in the room, (the bullet pointed outline, just on note cards) and then writing the first draft. And this step is usually where you start to see all the structure and story issues really stand out.

How does a scriptment work? Basically you write the outline into your screenwriting software, with a little bit more detail, so that every single scene actually gets spelled out. It’s a bit more fun than a prose treatment (IMO) and it gives you a leg up when you then do send yourself to write the script because… it’s already in your document, waiting to be expanded upon!

So instead of the bullet point “Charlie confronts Claire” it becomes…

INT. CHARLIE’S APARTMENT - MORNING

Charlie confronts Claire about what she did last night. She’s upset that he didn’t just bring it up last night when it was happening. “You always do this, get mad when it’s too late.” He storms out of there, says not to expect him home. She says, “Good, I’ll do it again tonight, this time by myself!”

It’s going to be a great scene. Clearly.

Here’s why I like and advocate for a scriptment, especially for people (like me) who hate outlining.

Writing the scenes without actually writing the scenes is a good way to a) scratch the itch of “I just want to start figuring this out” while also, and more importantly b) starting to identify for yourself where things might be going off the rails structurally.

If you force yourself to write out all the major scenes in this format, you’re going to start to see which scenes do or don’t feel interesting, which scenes do or don’t feel propulsive, and which scenes start to feel like you’re simply settling into “What Would Happen Next Syndrome.”

Identifying where you’ve gone wrong is really one of the key skills we can hope to develop as writers. But it’s hard to do sometimes, because you are looking at a lot of material. Giving yourself less information to sift through in order to see where you’re going wrong can be very useful. In the scriptment phase, you won’t be able to fool yourself with a clever line or clever scene work. You’ll be staring at the fundamentals of each and every scene. What does each character want from the other in the scene? What do they do to get it? What stands in their way? What changes by the end of the scene?

This should make it a bit more glaringly obvious when nothing interesting actually is happening in the scene as proposed.

Not to mention, this has the added benefit of making it A LOT easier to start to cut and re-work and re-order stuff that doesn’t work. You won’t have written a 90 page screenplay that loses steam around the midpoint, you’ll have a 15-20 page scriptment that starts to lose steam.

As for how to motivate the sitting down and outlining / writing the treatment?

Well… I actually find writing the scriptment part to be fun, in a way that writing a prose treatment, or heaven forbid, a bullet pointed outline, isn’t.

So if you really feel like you’re pulling teeth on the outlining stage and want to skip ahead, this might be a comfortable middle ground to skip to.

You can still “discover” without needing to “just write the whole thing to see.”

How do you avoid the boring / rote connective tissue stuff?

Skip it! Just skip it! Only write the interesting scenes! I’m serious.

If you’re getting bored with a sequence of the movie, skip it. Go to the next part that’s interesting to you! You don’t have to write any of it in order.

And if you do start to skip around, rather than write it all in sequence, you’ll tend to be able to better weigh for yourself what exactly you will need to connect the two interesting scenes you’ve figured out. Sometimes you will find you don’t need any connective tissue at all. The connective tissue or the “what next” can be inferred.

Another way to think about this same challenge:

Don’t think about “what would happen,” think about “what do I want to see?”

“What would happen” tends to get us in trouble, because that’s where we’re pulling from the obvious. “What do I want to see” gives us somewhere a little more interesting to aim.

If you have something you really want to see, you can reverse engineer a way to get there, and make it happen, rather than settle for what would probably happen given certain circumstances. The crazier the thing you want to see, the harder it is to get to, the more interesting it will probably be getting us there as an audience.

Supposedly (according to , great podcast, great newsletter, highly recommend) The Coen Brothers made Inside Llewyn Davis because they thought it would be interesting to see a folk singer getting beaten up behind the club. They just had to write an entire movie to make that scene they wanted to see make sense. And it turned out to be pretty good.

[I’ve been rewatching all their movies, as I listen to Blank Check’s series about their filmography, and I actually think they are the Kings of skipping past “what would be next” and instead shaping their movies however the heck they want]

And… after I’ve done all that, and I’ve taken the treatment and gotten it to a place where it feels good, I’ll write the movie. Then I’ll end up needing to rewrite the entire outline based on what doesn’t works, and start the whole process all over. On to the second first draft and then the third first draft, and so on.

Hopefully, at the very least, this long winded breakdown of process has been reassuring that it is simply, quite hard! You’re not alone!

I recognize that this was a scattershot and long post about a very important and very complicated part of the screenwriting process! So I’m curious…

How do you all outline? How do you all keep it interesting for yourself? Let me know in the comments! Maybe we can collectively solve this problem once and for all!

And let me know if you want more about outlining, or any of the other equally challenging parts of getting a first, second, third, or even third first draft completed.

Previously on Hollyweird…