Yes kiddies, and STS Brethren: P.J. McNeill is BACK. 

(We know you’ve been in mourning, and rightly so…)  🙂 

Without further ado or yammering, please tuck into his next article – a rather vital piece entitled….

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Know Your Worth

The first script I ever optioned was for one dollar.

The story behind that option is an entire blog post itself, but in a short summary: the company held onto the script (a feature) for three years, and didn’t do a single thing with it. When the three years was up, I had next to nothing to show for it; just a lot of fake promises and a single dollar. I remember taking the check for the dollar to my bank, and actually feeling like a big shot in front of the teller as I plopped it down on the counter. “Yeah, you see that production company logo in the upper right corner of the check? That means I’ve made it. No, don’t look at how much it’s for, that’s not important.”

But, you see, it is important. Several years after moving out to LA, I was sitting in a coffee shop with a professional writer, feeling pretty down. Fed up, I told him “I’m not going to work for free anymore.” He smiled and congratulated me, as if I had achieved some kind of goal/milestone. But, looking back, I think I had. A lot of writers are so eager to get their work produced that they’ll take anything that’s offered and sell themselves short. “Wait a minute, you’ll give me 85% on the backend?!? I’d be stupid not to sign this contract giving away all my rights!” (Ok, now take out a piece of paper and a pen and multiple 85 times zero. That’s what you’ll end up with in the end.)

You have to remember: they want your script. They see value in your writing. And because of this, you should see value in your writing. You need to know your worth as a writer. Know what your time and talent is worth. It’s a question that comes up ALL THE TIME: “A production company/filmmaker/student has contacted me asking to make my script. How much do I ask?” There is no one answer. You personally need to sit down and figure that out for yourself. How much are my shorts worth? How much are my features worth?

The main problem is that people are scared to talk figures. People hate talking about money. So, I’m going to share my figures. Whenever I sell a short, I always ask for a couple hundred dollars. My last short sold for $200. I’m comfortable with that. It was a 10 page short, and $200 (give or take) is reasonable to me for giving up the rights to the script. My last feature that I optioned was for $1500 every year. In the end, the script was given back to me, but I had nearly $5000 to show for it. Not only was it nice to get a check every once in a while, but it constantly re-assured me that they felt serious about the project.

Now, here’s where it gets a little tricky. Remember, many blog posts ago, when I said I hate people who speak in absolutes? That’s why I’m not going to say “NEVER accept a dollar option.” or “NEVER take less than you think you deserve.” You know why? Every situation you approach is going to be different. For example: the last script I optioned was for a dollar up-front. But, I did my research. I looked into the company and saw they were a company with a proven track record of multi-million dollar films (with theatrical releases) dating back over a decade. They were serious about their projects, but because they were in another country, could not offer me money on the initial option (as most of their money came from government grants/funding). However, when you’re taking the dollar option, you can use this as your leverage to negotiate certain terms. For example, I got them to agree to some money if the option was renewed (it was).

Be wary of the people with “credits”. I put that in quotation marks, because they’re credits that can’t really be verified. The first company I took the dollar option from? Their website (which had NO completed films on it) boasted their involvement on Harry Potter, as well as many other multi-million dollar films. The problem was, I couldn’t verify this involvement on IMDB (or anywhere else, for that matter). I’ve seen this a lot since then: producers who talk up all the films they’ve been on/helped on, but have no concrete proof as to their involvement. If you’re going to take the plunge and take the dollar option, really do your research, confirm that it’s someone you want to be working with, and feel good about yourself when you sign that dotted line.

But whatever you do, don’t work for free. At the very least, get the dollar. Then cash it, take it all out in pennies, go home, and roll in it on your bed. Because you’ve made it.

About the writer: A talented writer and 10 year veteran of the industry, “P.J. McNeill” has seen it all (and he’s ready to kiss and tell.) Got a question, a comment or just general bile /praise you want to spew?  Email PJ at pjscriptblog@gmail.com. New to P.J. readership?  Click here for more articles!

…they end up working on scripts – not to mention juggling a complicated home move.

Due to a looming deadline, P.J. regrets to inform STS’s faithful that he’ll be on vacation for a month – coming up for air on August 15th.  Until then, we promise to keep you fed with a bonus script review on Fridays  So make sure to tune in, anyway!

The Reclusive Writer

I’ve always romanticized the idea of the reclusive writer.

One of my idols, John Swartzwelder, is a recluse to the extreme. He’s credited with writing 59 episodes of The Simpsons; the bulk of those being works of sheer brilliance: Homer at the Bat, Krusty Gets Kancelled, Rosebud, Homer the Vigilante…the list goes on. Not only do hardly any pictures exist of the man, but I’ll be damned if I can find an interview. In fact, when the writers call up John Swartzwelder during The Simpsons commentary track, the man on the phone does about 4 minutes of commentary before stating “It’s too bad this isn’t really John Swartzwelder”, before hanging up.

Some people have speculated that he doesn’t actually exist. How cool is that? To be shrouded in such mystery that people question your very existence, and stories begin to be passed around, as if reciting tales of ancient lore. Pretty soon it becomes almost as much fun to talk about the writer as it does to read or view his work. For example, did you know that John Swartzwelder is the only writer on The Simpsons who didn’t have to show up to the writer’s room? He would send his scripts in, after writing them from the comfort of his own home, sitting in a booth he bought from a diner he used to frequent, before the diner instituted a “NO SMOKING” policy. Classic Swartzwelder…or so I’m told.

The thing is, John Swartzwelder is the exception, not the rule. I’m not going to be John Swartzwelder, and odds are, you won’t either. (Note: It’s really hard to write the name Swartzwelder over and over again. Microsoft Word doesn’t seem to like it either.)

Before I moved to LA, I read The Comedy Writer by Peter Farrelly. It’s a semi-autobiographical tale that chronicles when Peter moved to LA to make it as a writer. There’s a part of the book where Peter goes to a party, and he’s really nervous about people expecting him to be charming and funny because he’s a comedy writer. (A common fear of mine.) In the book, his agent instructs him that he’s a writer, and nobody really expects a comedy writer to be funny or talk much. I remember breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank God. I don’t need to be funny…or talk to people.” I’d be re-assured whenever I’d see the stereotype of the reclusive writer show up in movies and TV. You know the stereotype: socially awkward, hunched over, and most likely wearing grubby clothes. I took solace in the fact that I had chosen a career that rewarded merit, not how I acted or what I looked like. I could be John Swartzwelder.

Flash forward to an interview at Nickelodeon Studios for the position of writer. I had wowed them with my sample pieces, but now it was time to seal the deal with my personality. The interviewer stopped me 5 minutes into the interview and basically told me I needed to lighten up. I wasn’t “on” enough for her. I thought I had been doing a good job, but I wasn’t playing the part of the fun-loving writer that she wanted. “Tell me a joke”, she said. “Uhhh…”, I stammered back. I hadn’t ever been asked that in an interview. “Tell me a funny story”, she said after I stuttered my way through a joke. A funny story? My mind went blank. Needless to say, I didn’t get the job. I went in expecting one thing and it was something totally different. My boss at the time told me my mistake was thinking that there was ever a time I should be “off”. As a writer, people want a show. They want you to be as entertaining as your stories. If you’ve ever pitched your idea to a friend or family member, you know the difference between enthusiastically telling your idea and muttering out a few plot points. Obviously the former will pique people’s interest more.

So, practice your conversational skills. Take an improv class (it’ll help you turn off “the filter”). Think of a few amusing anecdotes. And most importantly, if you’re a comedy writer: learn a joke. Here’s the one I used:

Why did the cow go to the moon? Because it was one small step for man, but one giant leap for bovine.

…yeah, I wouldn’t have hired me either.

About the writer: A talented writer and 10 year veteran of the industry, “P.J. McNeill” has seen it all (and he’s ready to kiss and tell.) Got a question, a comment or just general bile /praise you want to spew?  Email PJ at pjscriptblog@gmail.com. New to P.J. readership?  Click here for more articles!

Due to the 4th of July celebrations, P.J. McNeill will be taking a break from his regularly scheduled column.  But worry not; he’ll be back with fresh material next week.

In the meantime, he’s asked STS to encourage readers to email him with questions, comments and observations at pjscriptblog@gmail.com.  Who knows?  The insights that you bring up just might inspire the next article (or series of articles) he writes!!

A Million Ways to Lose Money as a Writer –

Part Six (and Final!)

When I moved to LA I bought 200 business cards that said “Writer/Director” on them. I was told I needed them. In the end, I handed them out to a total of 2 people. A few years later I bought 200 more business cards, this time proudly proclaiming that I was just a “Writer”. I handed those cards out to about 7 people. I once handed my business card to a working, professional writer. He looked at it, paused for a second, and said “Huh. Don’t think I’ve ever given someone a business card.” The lesson: a piece of scrap paper will do just as well and not cost you 20 bucks + shipping and handling. Or just get their contact information. It’ll give you a reason to follow-up with them, and doesn’t place the burden on them to reach out. (Ex: “Hey, shooting you a quick e-mail to say it was great to meet you the other day and blah, blah, blah.”)

My point: it’s not all weasels and sheisters out there trying to get your money. Sometimes it’s bad advice or just plain bad judgment that can chip away at your wallet. And while 20 bucks might not seem like a lot at the time, as the years pile up, so do the dollars. As with most attempts to make it in the industry, the compulsion to pull out my cash was rooted in fear: What if I go to a networking event and I don’t have a business card? And because I don’t, I lose out on a potential connection? Well, I better shell out the $20, just in case. There’s a lot of “just in case” type scenarios in screenwriting, mostly rooted in the fear that you’re going to pass up an opportunity; be it a producer/consultant dangling their “connections” over your head or a screenplay competition that promises to pass your script along to “all the right people”.

Side note: There’s a lot of screenplay competitions out there and only a handful of good ones. Most of them will either offer you cash or connections as a grand prize. While the cash is nice, be wary of the connections. A couple of years ago, I won the grand prize in a screenwriting competition that’s pretty well known and promised to get my script into all the right hands. The script was a universal crowd-pleaser and, given that it had just won a competition, I was pretty confident that someone would get back to me. Weeks passed, and then a month. Nothing. I decided to reach out to past winners, and ask their experience with the competition (something I should have done before). The consensus: no one ever heard anything from the vast list of producers, managers, companies, and agents the competition flaunted. I don’t know why, but my guess is that the ever-growing list contained a lot of people who, at one time or another were game to read material, but eventually lost interest as the years passed. I know it seems obvious, but do your research. Look up past winners and see what’s happening with them. Seriously. Entry fees add up.

Odds are, you work a day job and write on the side. You might even have a family. (And if you don’t have a family, the thought of getting one and still not having made it as a writer probably terrifies you. I know it did for me.) Either way, writing is not your job yet, and you’re most likely putting more money into writing than you’re getting out of it. (Even those script registration fees start to add up.) So approach every expenditure with caution. Do you really NEED that business card? Is paying for coverage really worth it? Will this film festival/competition actually give you anything in return? Should I give this person money to get my script made? (Note: if you give someone money to make your script after reading this series, there is no hope for you.)

I’ve stopped spending money trying to “make it”. I don’t buy coverage, I don’t enter contests, and I certainly will never pay someone to query my work again. I have a daughter now, and I think of her every time I’m dealing with money. When you’re choosing between feeding your kid and printing a business card, the choice is pretty easy.

So, to sum up: Have a baby. That fixes everything.

About the writer: A talented writer and 10 year veteran of the industry, “P.J. McNeill” has seen it all (and he’s ready to kiss and tell.) Got a question, a comment or just general bile /praise you want to spew?  Email PJ at pjscriptblog@gmail.com. New to P.J. readership?  Click here for more articles!

A Million Ways to Lose Money as a Writer – Part Five

A few years ago I tried to make a feature film, and as a result, I lost about $10,000 in the process. The $10,000 was a mixture of money I had raised, money I had borrowed and money that was just plain mine. It went towards website design, business plans, financial analysis, visual guides for investors, lawyer fees, the overall costs of running what ended up being a small business (LLC), and finally, consultant fees.

Now, while it might seem as though I’ve been going on a tangent with this feature film business, I assure you, this is all still related to screenwriting. Here’s how:

1) Many of you will fall into the same trap I did. Someone will tell you (or you’ll tell yourself) that it’ll be a piece of cake to make your (feature) script yourself. I was convinced I could make the film for a “cheap” $100,000. Problem is, investors usually want to jump onto a project where they can put in a lot, and as a result, get back a lot. A $100,000 indie film doesn’t really entice many of your typical investors. So people will tell you to push the budget up, and next thing you know you’ll be walking around, pitching a 5 million dollar indie film, wondering what you need that extra 4.9 million for anyway. You’ll try to bring on talent, but real talent won’t want to sign on unless there’s money involved. And the money won’t come without the talent. So…you’re stuck.

Note: When I tried doing this, the whole Kickstarter feature film movement hadn’t become a thing yet, so the idea of raising my initial “low” budget seemed foolish. It probably still is, honestly. (I raised money for development, but not for the film budget itself.) Joe Dante, a man with name recognition and a proven track record, had problems raising a similar amount for his last film, and he’s Joe Dante. No one knows who I am. And odds are, they don’t know who you are either. This is not me trying to be a cynical pessimistic ass, out to crush your dreams. This is me being someone who’s been there, trying to get you to think things through before you start going to friends and family, telling of your grand plans to make a feature film. Friends and family remember. I still get the question “Hey, what happened with (insert film here)?” five years later. And it still hurts every – single – time.

2) Consultants. I’ve run into many consultants both while trying to become a writer and while trying to make my film. Sometimes they’ll call themselves “producers” to jazz it up a bit, but it’s always the same deal. It’s someone with “connections” or a filmography that looks impressive, but upon closer inspection has some suspicious holes in it. For example, they’ll have produced (or had some vague part in) some films in the 80’s or 90’s, but then have absolutely nothing up to present day. Eddie Kritzer, the agent (who doubled as a consultant) that I talked about in Part I, talked up his involvement on Kids Say the Darndest Things, and proudly displayed a picture he had taken with Bill Cosby on his front page. They’ll also boast about all the films they have “in development”. One producer/consultant who contacted me had 6 films in development all by her lonesome. Eventually you start to wonder: why aren’t any of these getting made?

Most importantly, they’ll want to be paid for their “services”. They’ll talk about what they “bring to the table”, and how their time is important and they’ll name drop like crazy. One producer had a small credit on a Danny DeVito film from over two decades ago. It was her only credit, and she boldly told me “I think we could get Danny DeVito for this. I’ve worked with him before.” She then, of course, went on to tell me her fee was $2,000 up front. I like Danny DeVito and all, but not enough to drop $2,000 for the off-chance he’d look at my script.

I’d like to say that I’ve never given a consultant my money, but unfortunately that simply isn’t the case. For this project, as a last resort, I was duped into giving a fast-talking consultant a couple thousand dollars. Now, I didn’t just blindly hand it over to him either. I’m a very skeptical person, and I vetted this person like crazy: references, Better Business Bureau, and personal assurances from people I trusted. In the end, my money literally got me nothing, save for renewed skepticism towards trusting anyone.

My co-producer on the film later talked with a top executive at Alcon Entertainment about our dealings with the consultant. After hearing the story he laughed, saying “Never pay someone to make your movie.”He paused and raised a finger. “Unless they know Bill Cosby. That guy’s hilarious.”

(Ok, only half of that is true.)

**One more part to go, then all this money business will be over!**

About the writer: A talented writer and 10 year veteran of the industry, “P.J. McNeill” has seen it all (and he’s ready to kiss and tell.) Got a question, a comment or just general bile /praise you want to spew?  Email PJ at pjscriptblog@gmail.com. New to P.J. readership?  Click here for more articles!

A Million Ways to Lose Money as a Writer – Part Four

It wasn’t long before I decided that I should drop the idea of trying to become a writer/director. I was going to focus my efforts on strictly becoming a writer. But I still didn’t know what to do. I figured the best thing was to seek guidance from a professional. But there was one problem: I didn’t know any professionals.

I did, however, know a cartoon fish.

Let me back up.

During my time at the post-production house, I came to find out that one of my co-workers used to be a child actor, and made it big when he landed the role of a certain cartoon fish in a certain blockbuster kid’s film that, for legal reasons, we shall call The Small Fish Girl. When I found out that he was in The Small Fish Girl, I immediately geeked out and asked a million questions: “Was the small fish girl nice?”, “What was it like being in the lime light?” and “Why weren’t you in the sequel?” It was only a couple of months later that I realized that he might be able to help me beyond satisfying my need for pop culture minutia. Turns out, he had a friend who had made it big as a screenwriter. Like, really big. Like, movie opening nationwide TODAY big. (Don’t you hate it when people write articles and DON’T specifically name drop but vaguely allude to the person instead? I have this friend – a big A-list producer that you’d recognize in an instant – who does it all the time. So tasteless.)

So I asked my co-worker if I could interview his friend. Nothing beyond that. I wasn’t planning to use him as my “in” or toss my script at the guy; I just wanted his advice.

Side note: Don’t use people as “opportunities”. They can tell when you’re trying to. Look, I understand: this is a business made on connections. But that doesn’t mean you have to be sleazy or overly forward about it. Over the years I’ve had lots of coffees and dinners with people way better off than me. And while, in the back of my mind, I always hoped it would lead to something, I never went in expecting it. You have to realize: you’re not the first person to come to them, expecting them to hand over the keys to Hollywood. Odds are, they’re desperately trying to hold onto those keys for themselves, worried about the day they might slip away. If they can help you, and they like you, odds are they’ll offer themselves. I’m serious: I’ve never once had to ask; help has always been offered.

Anyway, I called the professional writer (herein referred to as The Pro) when he was taking a break from being on set of his latest film. He had been prepped that I was calling to talk about “how I could make it as a screenwriter”, so I imagined he had thought of several answers to toss my way. I introduced myself and said something to the effect of “Now that I’m in LA, I was hoping you could shed some light on the steps I could take to make it as a screenwriter. I’ve got a script and I’m just trying to figure out what I can do with it.” I knew the question was broad, but I honestly didn’t know how else to ask it. I guess I thought that he could give me a few broad answers and then we could work from there, narrowing it down with more specific questions.

Silence. Dead silence. I worried I had said something stupid. Then The Pro expelled a long, deep breath and said, “I don’t know, man….make it yourself?” Make. It. Myself. I immediately deflated. I had come to this guy asking how I could make it as a professional writer, and his advice was to become a professional writer/director. It was like asking someone “What’s the best way to get a Masters degree?” and their response is “I don’t know, man… get a PhD?”

But here’s the crazy thing: I took his advice. He had done it, so how hard could it be? (Note: the reason he had done it is because he was a child actor who made friends with a casting director who took his script and personally handed it to an A-list star. I was not a child actor; although at age 11 I did shoot a remake of Mission Impossible with my sister – who subsequently stormed off because I was too demanding a director, leaving me to finish the whole thing by myself. So same thing, really.)

So, how hard could it be? Really hard. And it would take me 2 years of my life, numerous favors and severed connections, and almost ten thousand dollars to figure it out…

To be continued next week….

About the writer: A talented writer and 10 year veteran of the industry, “P.J. McNeill” has seen it all (and he’s ready to kiss and tell.) Got a question, a comment or just general bile /praise you want to spew?  Email PJ at pjscriptblog@gmail.com. New to P.J. readership?  Click here for more articles!

** I think Seth MacFarlane’s flick is out of the theaters now.  So I guess we can stop this tangent, right…?

A Million Ways to Lose Money as a Writer – Part Three

When I first got to LA, I wanted to be a writer/director. I would later talk to a true-blue professional writer who would find that idea laughable. This guy, who was a staff writer on a popular TV show, was having a hard time convincing his agent that HE could be a writer/director. His agent had told him to “Pick a lane”; and this was a guy who had already made it. Well, I came to LA ready to drive on the median: I was going to do it all.

At the time, I had a short film I was sending around that I had written, produced, edited, and directed. It was doing well, but when I got to LA, I launched a BIG (and costly) effort to put it in some glitzy LA festivals. If you’ve ever entered film festivals (for screenwriting or otherwise), you know that it doesn’t take long for the entry fees to start piling up. Even if you do it smart and get all the early bird deadlines, it’s still usually 30 bucks a pop.

So, a couple hundred dollars later (not counting that in my loss), the film was entered in a handful of festivals in the LA area. THE. NEXT. DAY. I got a call from the head of one of the film festivals. The HEAD. This was the big time. I’d made it. I was talking to the HEAD of a film festival in LA. And LA = success, right? RIGHT!

She was downright hyperbolic in her praise of my short. She said it was “one of the best short films she’d ever seen”, and went on to tell me that I had made it into the festival. I was beaming. She went on to tell me about how the films would be shown at the AMC at City Walk, that there’d be a red carpet (with interviews!), and an awards ceremony. She told me I had to go to the awards ceremony, heavily implying that I was going to win an award. (Her assistant would later tell me “(The head) REALLY wants YOU in particular to go.”) And I could go: all for the low, low price of $200. Wait, what? I had to PAY to go to the awards ceremony? Is that how things worked in LA?

I asked if I could get a ticket on the house. “We can knock it down to $100…for you. (The head) really wants YOU to be there.”, they explained again. Something just didn’t feel right about all of this, so I declined the ticket, really bummed out and unbelievably still thinking I was missing out on accepting my award. (Spoiler alert: I didn’t win the award.)

But this was going to be a fancy movie premiere at AMC, so I did spend money on a new outfit, a graphic designer to design a poster for the film, the poster itself (printed full size), and postcards of the poster to hand out (a total value of roughly $400). Not to mention, I lost a job offer because I told them I had to attend the premiere. (They just didn’t get it. This was an LA film festival! At a movie theater! You can’t just RENT those!)

After attending the film festival, I learned a new term:

Vanity film festival (n.): 1. a festival concerned more with glitz and glamour than the film itself   2. An absolute waste time 3. The Cinema City International Film Festival

The only people who attended the film festival were the other filmmakers. Everyone was there for themselves. And so when it came time for my film (which played dead last and started with no sound for the first 30 seconds), the theater was maybe ¼ full (originally packed). Everyone left early to get down to the red carpet to be interviewed (by YouTube’s “elite”). Everyone was just grasping for that feeling of what it must feel like to have “made it.” You see these kinds of festivals in screenwriting too, and you should avoid them like the plague. If a film festival’s justification for you entering is “But we’ve got a shiny award and a red carpet!”: Run.

I later found out that I was one of the only filmmakers who didn’t purchase a ticket to the awards ceremony. I had been smart and didn’t give them my money. I gave it to The Gap instead. And when I was on the red carpet, my interviewer – who didn’t know a single thing about my film- did say I was sharply dressed. So in the end, I…won?

About the writer: A talented writer and 10 year veteran of the industry, “P.J. McNeill” has seen it all (and he’s ready to kiss and tell.) Got a question, a comment or just general bile /praise you want to spew?  Email PJ at pjscriptblog@gmail.com. New to P.J. readership?  Click here for more articles!

** STILL not related to Seth MacFarlane in any way, shape or form.  Pinkie swear!!

A Million Ways to Lose Money as a Writer – Part Two

(Note: This entry was originally supposed to be a direct continuation of the last entry and explain the time I lost 400 or so dollars trying to make it in film. By the time I got to that portion of the story, I realized I had already written quite a bit. In an effort to keep these posts reasonably-sized, that story will have to wait until next time. Just imagine this as a bridge to the next story, because it will pick up right when I got to LA.)

I moved out to Los Angeles in 2008, unemployed and ready to start working. Problem was, I didn’t really know whereto find a job, let alone a writingjob. I realized I had absolutely no clue how to find work as a writer, as I came to LA with no connections and no leads on work. So I made the first mistake (of many) right out the gate: I turned to Craigslist and looked for any work in film. In my mind (and in the minds of a lot of wide-eyed, wishful thinkers venturing out to the Golden state), it was important to simply find a job in film and the rest would follow. Pre-production, production, post-production: it was all the same in my mind. It was one big world of film, and I just needed to get inside. The rest would follow.

What followed was 6 years working at a post-production house, gaining absolutely no access whatsoever into my field. (Any access I achieved would be done on my own time.) Don’t get me wrong: the job was great. I excelled quickly, was promoted numerous times, earned a good salary, and most importantly: I got to work with big studio films. It was hands-down the most glamorous, exciting, and bizarre job I’ve ever held. (I could write an entire book on that job alone.) When I was sitting in the lobby for my interview (pinball machines to my right, cappuccino machines to my left), a guy skateboarded around me multiple times, while talking on his cell phone. Having come from a background in government work, I couldn’t comprehend what kind of boss would let their employees skateboard around the office. Turns out he was the boss. So, that’s the kind of environment I was entering.

Over the years I made a lot of connections. I can’t even count the number of times someone would say to me “If you ever need a job or a recommendation, let me know.” But here’s the problem: they were all in post-production. No one could help me make the leap to where I really wanted to go. Sure, I was climbing the ladder, but I was climbing the wrong ladder. I was doing all the work I should have been doing as a PA or a writer’s assistant, but I was doing it in post. And I’m not going to lie: at a point I felt trapped. I had invested so much time in the post-production job, that it seemed horrifying to me to start back over in another sector of film. Was I really willing to quit my current job and go work for $10/hour, doing menial tasks at outrageous hours with a family to support? No. I wasn’t.

It’s hard for me to tell you to do otherwise, because I would probably do the same thing again. When you have a family, it’s really hard to weigh anything else against that. So, I can’t say “Take a risk! Quit your job.” But I can say to exercise caution before you leap into a particular field that’s unrelated to what you want to do. Examine what that position can do for you now, and what it can do for your future.

And most importantly: don’t think of film as one big, all-encompassing field. Think of it more like a bunch of little islands, with really bad communication between one-another. But I guess I can’t really complain. My island had a pinball machine.

About the writer: A talented writer and 10 year veteran of the industry, “P.J. McNeill” has seen it all (and he’s ready to kiss and tell.) Got a question, a comment or just general bile /praise you want to spew? Email PJ at pjscriptblog@gmail.com. New to P.J. readership?  Click here for more articles!

** STILL not related to Seth MacFarlane in any way, shape or form