Really great session today — the kind where we got into the stuff that actually matters.
Before we got into pages, debuted a web tool she built for the group that will let everyone RSVP, claim character roles, and upload scripts before each session. No downloads, no accounts — one link. This is exactly the kind of initiative that makes a community more than just a class. Grateful she brought it. Then we went deep on something I've been wanting to address for a while: how to work with producers, rights holders, and IP — before you've written a single page they've asked for.
Ian raised a question about a prequel he's developing based on an existing film, and it opened up a conversation that I think applies to every writer in this group. The instinct is to go away, write the perfect script, and come back with something polished and finished. I get it. I've felt that pull too. But that approach almost always backfires.
The people who own the rights — or the executives sitting across from you — need to feel like creative partners. They need to feel like they helped shape what's on the page, even if you did all the actual writing. That's not a compromise of your vision. That's understanding the game.
I shared a story about a pitch I took solo a few years back, based on a video game IP. I went in and told the producer flat out: "I'm not here to hand you a movie. I'm here to engage you in a process that a movie results from." That shift in framing changed everything. By the fourth meeting, they'd already let the other writer go — and I was still talking through ideas.
The lesson: come prepared, come passionate, come with 200 pages of private notes if you need them. But walk into that room ready to listen and collaborate, not just to impress.
We also talked about the difference between a "Story By" credit and a "Written By" credit — and why writers shouldn't fear giving producers a sense of ownership. They want the producing credit. You protect the screenplay credit.
The second half of the session was Anna Fermin's treatment for her pilot, MADE — a comedy-drama about a Filipino-American CEO of a bespoke matchmaking agency in Chicago who excels at finding love for everyone except herself. Great bones, rich character world, real comedic potential.
The main notes from the room:
Find your engine. A TV pilot has to show how the show sustains itself episode after episode. "New client each week" is a format, not an engine. The engine in Anna's show is the tension between who Jaylene is trying to be professionally and the chaotic, loving, overbearing family she can't escape. That push-pull is what keeps people watching.
Start with conflict. Right now the opening is atmosphere. Chad correctly pointed out that the inciting problem — currently buried in Act 2 — needs to hit in Act 1. I had a nearly identical note on Disenchanted: our producer pushed the inciting incident from page 30 to page 10, and he was exactly right.
Write scenes, not resumes. Character descriptions that list traits are LinkedIn profiles. The voice only emerges when you put characters in conflict with each other. Write the scenes — even if they never make it into the final draft — and let them show you what the comedy actually is.
Ian threw out a wildcard: kill the mother halfway through the pilot so she haunts every decision going forward as a ghost of obligation and guilt. Anna loved it. I'd soften it to "put her in the hospital" — but the core idea is strong. Jaylene having to become the woman she's been quietly resisting is the emotional heart of the show.
We'll pick up Anna's treatment again Friday and dig into Eleonora's pages as well.
This is what the work looks like — not just the writing, but the thinking before and after the writing. Keep going.
We didn't have time to get to Eleonora's pages, but will hit those on Friday.