Everybody (ok not everybody) will say nah, don’t.

It’s no longer the done thing. But it used to be.

Back in the late 1990’s, I started to begin to think about possibly becoming  a writer. I was already performing regularly as a comedian, so I signed up for a sitcom writing class. The teacher told us the way to get a job as a sitcom writer was to write a really good script for a show that was already on TV (you had to write this without getting paid, while “speculating” that it would lead to getting paid, so it was called a “spec script”), show it to “people who could hire you,” (good luck finding them and getting them to look at it btw, but that will be in another post) then when they liked it they would give you a job. Boom! Just like that you work in TV.

The teacher was great. He’s still one of my favorite people- he took me to lunch at an amazing Chinese restaurant on St. Mark’s Place when I was in New York City for Christmas last year, and got us, among other things, soup dumplings, which were not what I thought they would be but were… well, they were amazing. But I was not (great, or even amazing). I wrote several scripts for shows that were on at that time- a Frasier (a lot of people wrote Frasiers), a Friends (everybody wrote Friends back then), a Drew Carey Show (nobody but me ever wrote a Drew Carey- oh, that Mimi! ANd Mr. Wick!)...  A couple of others. None of them felt to me like they were good enough to get me a job.  Eventually, I wrote a Curb Your Enthusiasm (nobody writes those, not even Larry David- it’s all improvised, right?). I liked it. Turns out, so did some other people(Yeah, I found them and got them to look at it). I got my first sitcom writing job! Which, of course, was when I actually learned how to write sitcoms.

Now, this next thing might be encouraging, or discouraging, depending on how you look at it, but doing all that took me about five years. To be fair to me, I did lots of other stuff during that time (started stand-up, did Conan, did a one-man show that went to the HBO Comedy Festival in Aspen, failed at a number of relationships, had major health problems, recovered, spent some time in the joint, invented a mattress designed specifically for pregnant women so they could sleep on their stomachs, trained extensively with Cirque d’Soleil, ran 74 marathons, learned to fib, and eventually moved to LA).  Becoming a TV writer is not easy, and if it’s what you want, you could probably focus a lot harder than I did.  But that’s me, always has been.

I blame my 3rd grade teacher for my lack of focus.

Anyway, by the time I got my job with a Curb script,  conventional wisdom had started to shift.  Instead of writing scripts for existing shows, aspiring writers were supposed to write original pilots. I don’t know enough about Hollywood to know exactly why,  and anybody you talk to will tell you something different, but I suspect that one problem was, people got sick of reading Friends and Seinfelds, and probably Frasiers too ( I bet nobody ever got sick of reading Drew Careys).  Another problem was, agents (those goddam smart motherfuckers) realized that if their clients wrote specs for existing shows, they would be hired for existing shows, at writing-for-existing-show salaries. BUT if their clients wrote original pilots, they could still maybe get hired for existing shows, but ALSO they could possibly sell THAT pilot, and run it!  Not always, or often, or even sometimes, but occasionally (Google Marc Cherry Desperate Housewives – that was a big one that happened right around that time).  And that would be a LOT more money to the writer, hence a much bigger commission to the agent.  So, why not roll the dice?

I’ve been through a number of hiring periods where I was one of the people responsible for reading people’s scripts, and deciding whether or not to have them in for interviews. So I’ve read a lot of original pilots.  Trust-  they’re fucking hard to write. You have to do so much work to get the world view and the characters and the places and the themes and the future potential into your reader’s head: what the show is, can be, and is going to be.  You also have to tell a clear, fun, funny (if it’s a sitcom), compelling story... 

I’ve read a lot of really bad original pilot writing samples.  Like, so many.  That doesn’t mean the people who wrote them (let’s call them the writers) were bad people, or even bad at writing.  Writing is hard (I mean, not for me of course, but Hemingway killed himself).  But I’ve also read some great ones, and hired those people.  And I know a few brand new writers who’ve sold their originals.

I still think writing a spec script for an existing show is a great idea. Here are some reasons:

1)   There are so many variables to deal with in writing an original pilot- what’s the world? Who are the characters?  What’s interesting about them? How do they talk? Who makes what jokes? What do each of the characters want? How do they relate to each other? What kind of stories does the show tell? And THEN, on top of all that, you have to tell a good story. If you write for an existing show, a lot of those variables are already taken care of. As far as degree of difficulty, it’s like solving  a problem in algebra versus solving a problem in calculus- I can probably eventually determine the derivative of the given function, but it’s gonna take way more work than just solving for x. Let me practice a little first. 

I think it’s 6.

2)   If you are hired to write for a show, you will be required to write for characters you haven’t created, who each have their own voice. Writing a spec for an existing show is a great way to learn how to write for other people’s characters. You can also show that you understand what kind of stories the show is trying to tell, which is a great way to demonstrate to me (or whoever’s hiring you) that you have an understanding of how stories work.

3)    There are lots of writing fellowships available to aspiring writers.  Some want spec pilots. Others have a list of approved existing shows they want you to spec. 

4)   It’s fun! There’s a definite puppetmaster aspect to writing for an existing show you love- you get to put characters you already know (and love- you’re obviously gonna write a show you love, right?) in a situation you dreamed up, and see and hear them saying and doing stuff you’ve always wanted to see them say and do, that you wrote. I mean, not actually see them, but in your mind’s eye. I can still remember moments, years and years ago, when I was writing these things, then reading it back to myself, and realizing “Holy shit! That really does sound exactly like something the one broke girl would say to the other broke girl! “ 

5)   Mindy Kaling says you should.

Needless to say, I don’t even know if Mindy still feels this way (I don’t really know Mindy), and I wouldn’t hold it against her if she’s changed her mind, but I thought she made some good poinst, and if you’re interested, check out the respones she got. Twitter dialogues are always productive!

So there you go. Now get out there and write, write, write your spec script for an existing show. And if you’re thinking of writing a Drew Carey, I have some ideas...

I did an open mic a couple weeks ago, after the COVID-19 stuff started but before it became a full-on pandemic.  Saw a bunch of folks I hadn’t seen in a while, and was happy to see them. Lots of handshakes and hugs all around, and the whole time I was thinking, should we be doing this? But I did it. 

Next day I had a meeting and we all pointedly DIDN’T shake hands, and were totally self-conscious about it. Heh heh, wouldn’t want to kill you, wouldn’t want you to kill me, heh heh.

Then, the day after that, I had lunch with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while (by the way one thing I notice in all this is I have no friends I actually see enough of – do you?), and we shook and hugged, despite my misgivings, and then when we were parting he saw my hesitance and said “if you really don’t want to—“ so I felt compelled. We shook. Hugged.

I’ve been alone in my apartment for four days. I’ve been thinking about handshakes. Supposedly they started a long time ago, as a way of demonstrating that neither person had a weapon (at least not in one hand, I guess?). And then it just became custom. Like primogeniture, or shoes.

My father’s father taught me to throw punches, and my mother’s mother taught me to shake hands. The second skill has proven far more valuable to me than the first over the last half-century. Had I chosen a life of vicious pugilism I might feel differently, and there have definitely been moments where I wished I had paid closer attention to my grandfather and done a better job of honing the skills he tried to give me, but I have, for better or for worse lived a primarily friendly life.

 However, I can’t help but hear my grandmother when I meet people and shake their hands for the first time, She let me know there was a great deal you could tell about somebody by the way they shook hands. A man of good character shakes firmly, but not too firmly (the implication being that should I wish people to perceive me this way, that’s what I should do). To drive the point home, she demonstrated, her charm bracelet jangling as we firmly, formally squeezed each other’s hand. Then she showed me what not to do.  I was  7 or 8 years old, and my grandmother Wilson ( we always called our grandparents by their last names)  loosely cocked her wrist and dangled her cool, leathery hand into my palm. Fucking weird. She described it (as everyone does, though I didn’t know that at the time) as a “limp fish.” That type of shake was a clear indication that this was a person with whom you should not consort. If a man, he was most likely rude, petty, mean, impious, lacking in integrity, and and quite possible a drunkard or a degenerate gambler (or both!); if a woman, she possessed loose moral character, was probably a floozy, possibly even a harlot. It was a very uncomfortable moment for me. I’ve never forgotten it, so I guess it was effective. But I wonder if, at the time, I was struck by the strangeness of the term- “limp fish.” Should a fish not be limp? What, then? Firm?  The fish itself is still firm. It’s just behaving limply. What has made the fish behave limply? Fish don’t limp. They can’t.

 I try not to let her lessons affect the way I feel about people when I meet them. But I can’t swear I’m always successful.  Maybe I’m not trying hard enough.

 Then there are the people who overdo it. To them, a handshake is a demonstration of machismo (these people can be women too, by the way). They’re making a point of showing that they are not just people of good character, but could probably take you in a fight, and certainly will never back down from you. You know the feeling- you start to shake hands with somebody and suddenly they are a beat cop and your hand is Radio Raheem. 

There’s a guy I knew, who had figured out a way to reach out for your hand in just such a way that he would grab your four fingers firmly and thumb-lock you in, so he had the front of your hand pinned and you couldn’t reach with your thumb to grip, preventing you from engaging in a normal handshake. He’d have engulfed your whole hand, but you would only be gripping his with those few fingers. It  felt like a mistake, like he had grabbed wrong. I only saw him a few times a year, but eventually I realized he did it every time. A handshake was a battle to him, and he was fucking winning every time. Even though it made me realize there must be something wrong with him that made him act that way, it also, when he did it, felt vaguely emasculating, and I realized I would not be satisfied unless I started winning. So the next time he did it I watched very carefully, and realized that if I just swooped my hand in a little lower at the last second I could—yes! Got him! Normal handshake. The look of shock and disappointment  on his face at being defeated in a game he thought he was the only one playing was so—well, let’s just say my entire rabid horde sang as they feasted that night. No utensils. 

Once, drunk, I saw, across the bar, a friend on the verge of fisticuffs with the leader of a crew of hooligans with whom we’d been verbally sparring.  My friend and he were nose to nose, the point of no return was imminent, but I thought I could save things, so I waded in heroically and offered the boss hooligan my hand. Pax tecum. He accepted the proffered hand, and I tried to talk things out. Nobody wanted any trouble, of course, I explained confidently, lucidly, leaning in close, not my friend not them, not me, none of us. And it wasn’t too late to avoid it, if we all just- as I talked, I could feel that he wasn’t letting go, and not only was the guy shaking my hand, he was slowly tightening his grip, as if his hand were a starving anaconda and mine were a succulent capybara.

Fisticuffs were not avoided.

 ALl that said, I like handshakes. Especially when I see people I haven’t seen in a while, which is everyone, I guess. And it seems like they may be going away foe the foreseeable future. If that’s the case, I don’t know that I’ll miss them. Or at least, I won’t miss thinking about them.

Namaste.