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PITCHING IDEAS FOR EXISTING SERIES AND TV MOVIES
If you’re going to pitch ideas for existing shows or made-for-TV movies, you should keep in mind all of the things we talked about in Chapter 21. Each one of those tips applies. However, there are a few more things to consider when pitching ideas for a drama or comedy series that’s already on the air. The same goes for TV movies.
HOW MANY IDEAS SHOULD YOU PITCH?
Pitch meetings should last no more than 45 minutes, tops. Finish in 30 and you’ll get Brownie points. So the question becomes, how many story ideas can you comfortably tell in that relatively short amount of time, leaving room for discussion on each? The answer is that it depends what kind of show you are pitching. Obviously, you can pitch more sitcom ideas in 45 minutes than you can TV movie ideas because a TV movie is so much longer and more involved.
“The biggest mistake some writers make is they don’t have the pitch boiled down enough. We need to see the dramatic progression and the dramatic escalation building to the one-hour block, which is of course key for us. But don’t go on too long. Just give us an idea of who the characters are and the main story beats so we can visualize your story. If a pitch goes on too long, you will lose people.” — Libby Beers, former vice president of original movies, Lifetime Television, executive producer, The Christmas Ornament and Bringing Ashley Home
In addition to pitching stories, you may also want to have a couple of “areas” in your back pocket. An area is the general idea for a story, but the details are not worked out. Consider it a safety net. If you pitch all of your stories without a sale, you can quickly toss out a couple of areas to see if they bite. If the producer indicates that an area is worth exploring, this means that the door is still open. You can go home and develop the areas into full-blown story ideas, and come back again and pitch.
Here is a rough example of about how many stories you can comfortably pitch in one meeting:
| Genre | Stories |
| Sitcom | 5–6 plus 1–2 areas |
| Drama | 4 plus 2 areas |
| TV Movie | 2 plus 2 areas |
“It’s great to have secondary characters that really score, but in a pitch, you need to show the producers that you can take their primary characters to a place they haven’t been before. It’s fine if long-lost Uncle Larry returns as Aunt Lauren, but the incident should only serve as a catalyst to conflict and comedy for the primary characters.” — Emmy nominee Marc Warren, executive producer, Full House, That’s So Raven, Jonas, and Kickin’
THE ORDER OF YOUR STORIES
Over the years I have been asked by many a new writer what order stories should be pitched in. The answer is that you should pitch the best ones first. When you start to tell your first story, you will have the undivided attention of everyone in the room. Each person will make a silent but immediate decision about you as a writer, and whether or not you are right for their show. If your first story is good, even if they don’t intend to buy it, they are much more likely to stay with you throughout the entire pitch. Placing your best stories toward the end can be a crucial mistake, because by the time you get to them executives and producers may have already made up their minds that your stories are mediocre. By that time, they may have already tuned you out.
HOW MUCH DETAIL SHOULD YOU GIVE?
Deciding how much detail to reveal in a pitch is tricky. I subscribe to the “less is more” theory. You definitely want executives and producers to be able to visualize your episode, so it is important to have a clear-cut beginning, middle, and end. You should also include Act Breaks so that they can see the jeopardy and to what extent the stakes will be raised. If it’s a sitcom and there are sight gags or physical comedy, you will also want to bring those details out. Still, you don’t want to give away everything. The more details you provide, the greater the chance that you say something that someone in the room doesn’t like. Once someone says something negative, it is difficult to turn them around. You’d be surprised, but sometimes it’s the littlest detail that turns them off from wanting to buy your story.
In pitching sitcoms, I usually focus on the “A” stories. But for each “A” story I pitch, I throw in a “B” story at the end. Usually it is only one sentence and not worked out. I do this because it really doubles the chances of making a sale. Once, at a Full House pitch, I was striking out with all of my “A” stories. Luckily, they liked a “B” story enough that they wanted to use it. So, they handed me an “A” story to go with it.
Pitching the plot-driven drama is fairly straightforward — you simply tell the important story points as concisely as you can from beginning to end. With character driven-drama, you have a choice of separating out primary and secondary stories and pitching each one on its own, beginning to end. Or you can pitch the entire episode from start to finish. This really comes down to personal choice. Having listened to many dramas being pitched, I have to say that I lean more toward telling each story individually, as it seems easier to follow. More than once, I have witnessed writers tripping themselves up because they forget an important detail that affects the story later on. Then, they have to stop and go back, which can ruin the flow of the pitch.
EXAMPLE OF A PITCH
As I told you earlier, one of the first episodes I pitched to Full House was called “Easy Rider” and centered on Michelle learning to ride a twowheeler. The pitch went something like this: kids are making fun of Michelle because she still has training wheels on her bike. So Michelle has decided it’s time to learn to ride a two-wheeler. One (or all) of the guys agrees to teach her. At the Act Break, Michelle falls off her bike, gets a bruise, and doesn’t want to ride ever again. In the second act, the family must band together in order to get Michelle back on her bike.
See how simple that pitch was? You can easily visualize the story as it unfolds…at least in the first act. The second act, however, was less clear. The producers wanted to know how the family would band together. What specific actions would they take to get Michelle back on her bike? Their fear was that the second act would be stalled by a lack of definitive action. How did I intend to get Michelle back on her bike without the family just talking to her, which would create a series of “talking heads” (i.e. boring scenes)? The room was silent, everyone looking at me, waiting for an answer. One that I didn’t have. “Maybe they could bribe her with her candy?” I said, suggesting the first idea that popped into my head. In the script, Joey tries to bribe Michelle with her favorite Disney movie. While I didn’t offer them the exact solution, at least it was a place to start.
WHAT TO DO IF THEY DON’T BUY ANYTHING
Sometimes, no matter how much work you do, you will go to a pitch meeting and walk out without making a sale. This has happened to me and it has happened to every writer I know. There can be numerous reasons for not selling: your ideas weren’t what they were looking for, other writers have pitched similar stories, etc., etc. It really doesn’t matter. The point is you didn’t sell a story. When this happens, the best thing you can do is to try to keep the door open. Rather than just saying “thank you and goodbye,” reiterate to producers how much you love their show and want to work with them. Ask if it’s possible to come back with more ideas. Very often, they will agree. After all, they already like your writing and want to do business with you or you wouldn’t be there in the first place. If producers agree to let you come back, see if you can get a sense of what it was about your stories that didn’t exactly work so you don’t repeat your mistakes. And don’t be alarmed if they tell you to call them and pitch over the phone — or maybe even e-mail them a few areas. That’s okay; I have pitched by phone before and sold. It’s not ideal, but it’s still a great opportunity.
RESPECTING THE BIG FOOT
It should go without saying, but I feel compelled to remind you to have respect for both the show you hope to become a part of, as well as for the people running it. I have seen several writers who, because of their amazing talent, were all but guaranteed scripts or staff jobs. Upon meeting with the writing staff, these jobs instantly slipped away due to a definite lack of people skills, common courtesy, and everyday manners. Even if deep down you think that you’re too good for a certain show or network (which at this point you definitely shouldn’t), telling producers things like, “gosh, you really need someone like me on your staff because your show is so bad” or “I really belong at HBO, not at this cheesy network” is just plain insulting and isn’t going to get you hired. It may be difficult for you to comprehend now, but once you get into the business you will understand that producers and executives who work on less-than-fabulous programs don’t always realize that their shows or movies are sub-par. They work hard every day, pumping all of their creative energy into the scripts, and in the end, most of them are, if not proud of the work, at least protective of it.
I repeatedly hear new writers say that they want to work on a certain show…and that’s it. Their one and only goal. Of course the show they’ve chosen is always the hippest one on the air. While it’s important to have a clear vision of where you see yourself in the industry and what kind of television you’d ideally like to write, you must also be realistic. The truth is that most of what is on the air is mediocre at best. There are only a few so-called “hot” shows out there, and statistically your chances of starting on one are miniscule. There is no room for snobbery here. You have to take whatever you can get and be grateful for the work. Otherwise, you will fall on your face.
I remember rolling my eyes when my agent called to say he had set up a meeting for me on Harry and the Hendersons. I quickly threw together a few lackluster stories and went in to pitch. For every idea I had, the producer cut in with lines like, “Harry wouldn’t think that,” or “Harry wouldn’t feel that.” I remember looking at the producer like he was nuts, as the words “it’s just a stupid big foot,” danced on the tip of my tongue. And therein lay the problem. Harry may have been a stupid big foot to me, but to his writers and producers, he was a vibrant being with heart and soul, and definite likes and dislikes. He was real.
The meeting ended with the producer suggesting that I go home, delve a little deeper into Harry’s character, and think up some additional stories more in line with Harry’s innermost thoughts and feelings. The door was wide open for me to come back. I never did.
Years later, I clearly understand that the loss of not writing for Harry and the Hendersons was mine. The irony is that over the course of my career, I went on to work on shows that made Harry and the Hendersons look like darned good television. I have learned to always respect the big foot. I would encourage you to do the same.