When compared with writers of film, who are notoriously separated from their projects when studios tear the script to shreds, television writers have serious power. Whether writing for a comedy or for a drama, the writers’ room is an essential part of the process of developing any television series. The writers’ room is where ideas are flung, plots are outlined, and character arcs are built. While procedurals and sitcoms tend to push the reset button at the end of each episode, every modern television series has aspects of serialization. Without a writers’ room, a season of television would have no connectivity. An event of one episode would be erased by the next episode. Characters would not develop, relationships would not be altered, and the status quo would fizzle as a boring norm for the audience.

At Baby Daddy, we witnessed the power of writers in a live multi-cam sitcom. A script arrives early in the workweek to be rehearsed.   Each day during rehearsal, suggestions from the cast, crew, and directors are passed back to the writers. Typically, writers will respond to some (but not all) of the suggestions by tweaking the scripts. Later in the week, when the show is being filmed in front of a live studio audience, cast members may ad lib jokes. The director may provide a last-minute direction. The writers, however, are the final judges of these choices by providing feedback as to what carries in the edit room (writers are often also producers of a given episode).

The frequent back-and-forth between writers and other above-the-line crew is unusual on other types of television. Single camera shows tend toward a much more rigid production structure. On Chicago PD, a procedural drama, the writers meet at the beginning of the season and rarely afterwards. The scripts are divided among primary writers. From the moment a script is assigned to a specific writer, the script is their baby. Writers have to respond to the executives—with the idea, the draft, the final draft—but are given freedom to work within constrains of network standards. During production, a script is nearly solidified but the writer is on-set to respond to changes. Procedural dramas have less collaboration between writers and fewer script changes during production, but the writers still maintain a high degree of creative input.

You’ve heard it before but I’ll repeat it again: Film is a director’s medium. Television is a writer’s medium. Where would you rather be?  Elle and I certainly know.

It’s called “the industry” for a reason.  Hollywood film is, first and foremost, a business.  When creative people move to Los Angeles to be in the film business, they should recognize that the art is secondary to the business.  In Hollywood, there would be no art if that art does not make money.  What matters to the people in charge is filling the seats, no matter how unoriginal and unnecessarily serialized the superhero movie of the month (ahem Batman v. Superman).  That said, art does come out of the film business.  The art of film can be thought provoking, emotionally evocative, thematically nuanced, and downright beautiful.  Our first weeks in Hollywood have been defined by a mixture of advice among those in the industry, providing the opportunity to objectively see both the business AND the art of Hollywood film.

First, the business.  We have been advised to read about the business.  The implication is that if you can teach yourself the business, you can make it in Hollywood.  Furthermore, you need connections.  Network, network, network, and maybe, just maybe,  you can get a job.  Work hard, climb the ladder from the lowest rung and make connections all the way up.  Do good work, have an endless supply of optimism, and you might keep your job.  Perhaps you will even get another.  Hearing this type of advice, while practical, useful, and certainly full of truth, becomes disheartening.  Does anyone get a job in this town who actually merits it? Is it even possible to distinguish yourself by your art, or is it just who you know?

Now, the art.  Frank Spotnitz, in particular, discussed the creative skill-set required to be a writer in Hollywood.  While not denying the power of the business, Spotnitz’s advice is the sort that makes an aspiring filmmaker breathe a sigh of relief with the knowledge that the Hollywood business is more than money.  Spotnitz advises aspiring writers to remember that the audience is always smarter than you are.  He tells writers not to aim for good (if you aim for good you will attain mediocrity) but to aim for the best episode of television ever (and if you are fortunate you will attain good).  He says that the harder you work, the more energy you gain to work harder.  The more people we meet in the industry, the more evidence we have that this advice is valid.  Work really hard, really love what you’re doing, and you may just squeeze some art out of this business.