TV Writers: Velociraptors of the Literary World
Two weeks have passed since the Writer’s Guild of America (WGA) and the Troika of Movie and Television Overlords (TOMATO) resolved their differences and returned to their important work of enriching Western culture. I know I speak for all of us when I express relief that “Hannah Montana” will go on.
The strike is over, yet creative fallout will linger for some time in the form of compressed deadlines. This period must be especially hellish for television script writers. I don’t know how they handle the stress. Even in normal circumstances, writing for television requires uncommon speed and endurance. TV writers are the velociraptors of the literary world - bipedal deadline killers who work in packs and reach writing speeds in excess of twenty emotive moments a day, most involving cleavage.
Even more impressively, TV writers thrive in the harshest imaginable environments – fluorescent lit buildings in New York City and Los Angeles, infested by people who use the word “babe.” Most writers, an infamously neurotic and sensitive lot, couldn’t survive such conditions for a day. That is why most writers dwell in more sheltered environments like rural hermit huts and parents’ basements that they could move out of any time they wanted and are only inhabiting because Mom really needs help taking care of her plants.
Another tic of most writers is that they’re megalomaniacs. I’m talking about my um, friend, of course. Seriously though, my hypothetical friend’s ego would never handle the anonymity of TV writing. Imagine spending all that time crafting dialogue and getting zero recognition except from people who call you “babe.” On the rare occasion that someone in the viewing public admires your writing, you still don’t get any credit. Instead, the public attributes all wordplay feats to some nitwit actor who plays smart on TV but in reality can’t tie his shoes without humming a song about twisty bunny ears.
On top of all these hardships, TV writers have to put up with culture haters. These are the people who refused to recognize the writers’ strike for the humanitarian crisis that it most certainly was and instead said rude things like, “if you want entertainment, visit your local library.”
How dare they. Sure, television scripts may appear to be products of computer savvy monkeys, but that’s only because TV writers are professionals who make hard work look easy. The truth is, the average TV script would require years and years of intense monkey training. That’s because monkeys have never understood humans’ interest in cleavage and also because the American viewing public requires an ongoing supply of new scenarios and intellectual stimulation.
Imagine that you have been hired to write a new episode for a gory hospital show. You come up with a story line involving a crazed night of blood and death following a gang shoot out. Would the producer who calls you “babe” use your script? Of course not. Your episode is passé. No, it’s worse than passé. It’s Reagan era quaint.
A professional TV writer would freshen the scenario with unexpected details; for example, just as one of the shooting victims flatlines on the gurney, a thoughtful dialogue breaks out between a cynical seen-it-all gang moll and the voluptuous eighteen year old Chief of Surgery, who complains that no one respects her because of her low cut doctor coats. Yes, they agree, all men are pigs.
But then, in an ironic backflip, the scene switches to a handsome EMT guy who is wading neck deep in a shark tank to save…get this…the gang moll’s baby brother! Who is also the Chief of Surgery’s internet dating interest, because the kid used his sister’s credit card and faked his age! As they fend off sharks, the kid gives the EMT guy advice on how to win the Chief of Surgery’s love.
“Just be yourself,” he says. How sweet. How true. Wait, was that another ironic backflip?
I realize that looked easy, but remember that I’m a professional writer who may even get paid someday if this newspaper ever processes my W-9 form. In reality, coming up with such ideas is emotionally draining and not something amateurs should try at home. Just from writing that scene, I feel like I’ve broken off a tiny chunk of my soul.
Despite the extreme post-strike pressures, I have faith that the tough tribe of TV writers will persevere. Perhaps the strike and subsequent suffering will inspire new creative heights. For example, how about a show pairing the public’s current fetish with the supernatural and its interest in home makeovers? Call it, “Exorcise This Old House.”
Here’s the concept: curvy red haired protagonist Daphne Hautee criss-crosses the country in a high-tech RV, checking different home renovation sites for supernatural activity. In every episode, Daphne is endangered by something creepy, say, demonically possessed linoleum or the angry spirits of whiskey bootleggers hiding under a porch.
In the event of a ratings slump, Daphne will adopt a cute mutt and name him Scooby. In the event of a second ratings slump - as a last-ditch defense against cancellation - a swarm of ectoplasmic sharks will burst into the RV and devour several cast members. Daphne and Scooby will survive, barely, after the intervention of a handsome EMT guy.
Whoops. There goes another chunk of my soul.