And in the End...

YOU HAVE a read-through, it goes well, people give their tiny little line changes, you change a couple of character names because they didn't come back "clear for use," and...

...full YELLOW draft.

Sigh.

Anyway, they started shooting yesterday. It looked great. Good energy, lots of extras for our media mob.

I remember why I do this.

As Prep Continues...

IT WAS PROBABLY a little ambitious to try and run down prep day by day. Those days easily get away from you. Then it's 10:00 pm and you've been here 13 hours and you're suddenly thinking that life would be better if we didn't have to use the word "and" so much. Really, look at it there on the page. "And." It mocks you. What kind of stupid motherfucking word is "And?"

And don't even get me started on prepositions.

Anyway, I think I left you on Day Four with the Pink Draft out to people, and getting ready for the Blue Draft.

The problem is I kind of forget now what changed from Pink to Blue.

On Friday, there were a couple of more meetings. The first was very long -- and difficult. It's the Playback meeting.

The Border is kind of a tech-y show -- and there's moments that involve seeing information come up on a video screen...news stories, maps, computer searches -- anything that you see on a computer or TV screen has to be edited together, and played back on the day.

One of the signature elements of our set is a very cool looking technical station where one of the characters monitors incoming data. This is where we get a lot of the exposition and story out, and also where the character, who's irreverent and fun, plays a lot of his scenes. There are seventeen monitors there. Each one has to have something up on it. It has to be fed from the other room. If things need to change during the scene, those changes either have to be edited together and played back in sync so it looks like our guy is driving those changes -- OR, it has to be in such a way that the guy behind the scenes really is driving the changes live, in essence doing for real what the character on screen seems to be doing.

So our Graphics & Motion Designer, Jae, has to put together, design and make ready for the day it plays every single element that appears on a computer screen or a TV screen. There's another way you can do this, if you lock off, you do what's called "a burn in." That's where people basically watch a blank (or green) screen and you put it in in post. Canadian TV does this a lot because it's cheaper and it's way faster than trying to coordinate playback on the day -- but it also doesn't look nearly as good. And -- our visual esthetic is handheld -- so it wouldn't really work for our show anyhow.

So you find yourself sitting through a meeting and going...through... every...single ...image. It's great training. Seriously, you will never lazily write "so and so looks up on the monitor and sees a giant condor streaking across the screen then exploding into a frog's anus" again.

Not that you would. Just saying.

Anyway -- it's a loooong meeting. Once again, I'm impressed by the dedication of all the people who work to actualize something that I just cavalierly throw down on a page.

Later in the day, there's a spirited discussion surrounding costumes for our guest lead. The action in my script is compressed so it all takes place in one day. But my guest lead is supposed to be a huge movie star, so we're trying to motivate costume changes. There is, believe it or not, a long and involved discussion on the mechanics of how and when she would change, and why. I have her in a bathrobe for a scene. Really? Ruth, the costume designer wants to know, why would she be in a bathrobe then? She's under great stress at that moment for a reason I can't go into because of spoiling the fun.

And you know what? It's a legit question. All these things that never occur to you -- and they're good questions. It takes a village, man. And once again I remember one of those things about film that really gets to me:

"A film by." Wow. That credit really is bullshit. If only the DGA had an ounce of shame.

It's finally decided that she can get in the bathrobe, but it needs to happen earlier. Also, our timeline through the day is a little off, and we need to adjust time somewhere in the second act so that there's enough time elapsed for the actions we have to play out. I decide to add a running timeline in the scene heading slugs so it's clear how much time has passed from scene to scene.

The Blue Draft came out on Monday. I started work on it over the weekend and came in and did some more stuff, sending it out about midday. I seem to recall that it was tweaky stuff -- lines of dialogue here, a bit of different staging there. One scene changed significantly -- a psychiatrist scene that I wasn't really getting the flavour of, so one of the showrunners took a pass and I integrated that with my changes.

Because I've added that slugline timeline, though, what is a minor set of revisions still pushes the draft from pages to a full draft. Once you go to production, you lock the script, and then every change you make generates the next coloured page. If you change more than half the pages, you issue a full new draft. Less than half, you issue pages, and people collate the revisions into their last full coloured draft.

People in the other departments kind of hate it when you issue too many drafts. Production has to run the drafts, and that's way more work for them -- and every member of the team : art, costumes, construction, set dec, props -- have all made notes. Every time you make a new draft, they have to go through and transfer those notes across. It's a drag. You learn to dread having to put out a full draft.

The story coordinator looks at you with those damaged soulful, "don't make me do this" eyes, and you just say, "full draft, bitch..." because you're cold like that.

The rest of Monday is easy enough for me, I guess. They're still scouting locations, and finalizing casting of some of the smaller parts.

Tuesday -- Day 7 of Prep

Everything's going Green.

Green Draft, that is. The day starts with a "tone meeting," which is exactly what it sounds like. The story department sits down with the Director to talk through the tone of all the scenes. We've been sneaking a little more emotional heft into the story in the last few drafts. Once you get the story working structurally, suddenly you have room to deepen this note, or that note. The exact turn of phrase you were struggling with suddenly seems to present itself.

There's one more thing we're there to do: cut scenes. The board still looks fearsome on a couple of days. So with fresh eyes, we figure out a way to lop off a scene in Act One and get the essential info out in a later scene. And there's another series of three scenes that we figure can play as one long scene with a walk through.

The problem is that every time you break out a scene, that's a setup. The unit needs to block, light, go in for coverage. If you have too many scenes -- even if they're short, you start to add up the time you spend in that setup and pretty soon you've burned an hour you don't have. The funny thing is, now you know the story so well that you can be ruthless: cut a scene here, combine two, all to make it fit the board.

But it leads to...another full draft. That's right, story coordinator, Jimmy the Bat, Take it! Take it!

There's also a bit of back and forth with the art department. I've called for passports, a newspaper headline, a visa letter -- all of these need to be created. I wind up writing a fake letter for the visa application. I'll save you the freeze frame time next year -- there are no dirty words, just a fun bunch of strung together legalese and officialspeak. It's actually way more satisfying to write that stuff than to open up your mailbox and have to read it. Is it possible that real lawyers get secret fuzzy jollies coming up with this shit for real?

Prep Day 8

The major event today is the production meeting. Once through the shooting schedule, day by day. By now, the story is pretty set. The locations are chosen. We're cast. And so through the meeting, the script pretty firmly passes out of my comfort zone -- as a collection of story beats and scenes, to the realm of the first A.D., Michael -- now it's just a bunch of pieces -- numbers of extras, props needed, cars, playback, art. Here it is, story deconstructed into its component parts. It's in that in between phase -- for the moment, not a story to be told -- but a product to be manufactured.

Then, after, one more playback meeting. I want to kill myself.

There are a few change pages for the Yellow, but we're going to hold them off until the read through. Hopefully the read through will only mean dialogue tweaks. You hear how the actor reads a line, sometimes a substitution they make that works...you answer their questions.

Which brings us to today.

There's a bunch of prop photos that play in my ep, too. (Playback and Prop photos -- I can't make it simple, can I?) They were shot this morning, Cherry Beach standing in for the Sudan. Magic of TV. The Director comes in to tell us they look great.

Actors are trickling in for their costume fittings with Ruth. Our guest lead is flying in from Los Angeles later this afternoon. The Producers will meet her later.

Then, at the crew lunch, the read through, some quick and dirty changes and hopefully we'll issue Yellow pages tonight. And hopefully it won't be a full draft.

Tomorrow we shoot. And another episode starts prep.

So it goes.

Prep: Days Two and Three And Four

WELL THAT got away from me. See, that's the problem with Prep. You get busy.

Day Two of the prep of my episode had two major components for me.

The first was the Concept Meeting. This is the first big meeting where the producers, the writer of the ep, the A.D.'s and Art Dept and Locations sits down and gets their first look at the Production White Draft. The 1st A.D. walks through the script, scene by scene, basically giving a precie of what goes on in the scene. If there's things like props that will take a while to form, or stunts, that's noted. Sometimes it's unsure whether the people in the scene need to be actors or not -- they may not have a line, but are they really an extra -- or do they have to do something specific again and again (in which case, they're probably going to be upgraded to actor.) An extra really is someone just in the BG. If they do something like, oh, I don't know, dance or juggle or something, then they're a special skills extra. If the director's going to give them a specific action (ie: if they're not cued as background by the A.D.'s) then they're an actor. If they get more than five lines, then suddenly they're a principal. It all adds up.

The capable assistant to our producer Brian Dennis, Alex House, produced these notes from the meeting. This gives you a flavour for the kinds of things talked about.While, or soon after the concept meeting, the A.D.'s release their first Board of the show. The board is the idea based on the Initial Location Scout of how you're going to shoot the bastard. The trick is to get a certain percentage of the show onto your standing sets, and then to find the locations in such a way that you make up whatever your shooting days are and get it done in time.

It's math. But it's also voodoo. And here's the problem: You need to shoot a certain number of pages a day, yes. You have a certain number of days to shoot a script. And you have to fit it all in.

On a show like The Border, that can be even more challenging, because we've established a shooting style that is very fast, with a lot of cuts. A lot of cuts means more angles which means more setups which means you can shoot less in a day. But your episode has to be 43 minutes. And you only have X days. See the headache? Something's always gotta give.

We've found after a few episodes that because of our pacing, scripts need to be about 60 pages, give or take. You go too much under that and you can't make it to 43 minutes. Too much above -- too many scenes, and the board doesn't work.

On The Border, we generally shoot eight days per episode. Now, in the beginning we shot a couple of eps that shot for nine days. My first ep -- also the first show they shot post-pilot, was nine days. Then you also have to add in days for Second Unit shooting. Our show is set in various places across Canada. So we did a day of shooting in Vancouver last week. And we've been to Ottawa to shoot exteriors around the Parliament Buildings and recognizable landmarks.

That means that some of our episodes have to be seven days. My ep that's prepping now is our first one of those.

But when they did the first board -- the seven day version just looked...silly. There was no way that they were going to make those days. They worked up an eight day schedule, but the truth is that I deliberately broke, crafted the story and wrote it in such a way where there's high stakes drama but not a lot of stunts, and fewer locations.

The "production value" in the script comes from acting, and meaty scenes, and some stuff like populated scenes with extras, and Playback elements like TV and stuff.

If we couldn't get this puppy down to seven we were in trouble.

So that becomes a challenge for the Pink Draft -- cut scenes, combine others. Simplify and pare down so it becomes more manageable.

After the Concept meeting, I went with the Director to a Casting Session for our guest leads. Saw a bunch of great actors who gave great reads.

I kind of always feel bad for actors when they come in, but the more I go to casting, the more I really do appreciate the professionalism of those who really readily prepare, and the more ashamed I am of those long ago days when I went on auditions for, like, five minutes. What was I thinking?

The great thing about casting for the writer, especially when there's a time crunch, is generally they're reading off an earlier draft. Which is good and bad. Bad because it doesn't necessarily reflect where the script is now. Good, because no matter how good the actors are, when you hear a scene or two twelve or thirteen times, you start to really fucking hate it.

Anyway. Saw some good people. That was fun.

Day Three of Prep

Was my white whale.

The script is out to actors now, and the Director has given me his first thoughts, and some of those thoughts are really sharp for story. There's some stuff missing in the arcs of some of the characters through the piece. There's a few beats that were left over from the 1st draft that don't seem necessary now. And there are others that just don't work.

This is despite the fact that the feedback from the network on this script has been GREAT. Good suggestions, not too hard to implement, all in the service of making it clearer and more dramatic.

But today the story department sits down to try and come up with a direction for the pink draft.

And it's a brutal meeting.

Six hours.

There are lots of interruptions, lots of discussion about beats that may be missing, and beats that might be tried, things that might be made clearer or better. And there are also all those ideas that came out of the concept meeting the reality of trying to get that board down to seven days.

It's an interesting position to be in when you're the episode writer, when you're on staff. It requires you to be nimble. On the one hand, you know the story better than anybody else -- so some of the suggestions are going to be things you already tried and didn't work, or things that maybe screw up other parts of the story.

On the other hand, remember that "knowing the story really well" isn't necessarily an advantage. The people you're writing it for, after all, are only ever going to see it once. You can talk yourself into things -- Oh this is clear, oh no one will care about that -- and some of it is wishful thinking. You have to respect bumps -- when people don't buy something and think something is illogical, often they're right. I'd say especially when it's coming from your colleagues in the story department, they're probably more right than wrong.

Then there are other notes, the ones we call, 'different and not better.' That's the reality of the business -- no one will write things exactly the same, and there can be a great spectrum of difference on what constitutes improvement and what is just...different.

Somebody I worked for once described working for one of the legendary guys in the Canadian business (an L.A. dude, natch) and said that the secret to surviving notes sessions with him was that you had to defend your idea, or try to get it across three times -- so you didn't feel like a hack. But at the end of the day, the buck stops with the showrunner. They're going to do what they're going to do. You have to have the personality that can accept that.

I am a fierce advocate for my stuff, but at the end of the day, I know that what I write isn't exactly handed down on stone tablets. If three people are telling you something, you better do it, schmuck. Even if two have got a bee in their bonnet about something -- I suggest you take the note.

Being tired, irritable, under the gun -- all of this can increase the stress of a story meeting. And when the producers are being pulled in every direction at the same time, well...you're gonna go slow.

So it was that I sat down to pump out the pink at five pm.

I finished about six hours later, and sent the script to the story coordinator to be checked out and published in the morning.

I left on day three of prep, having worked a 14 and a half hour day. It. Happens.

I'm single. There are people -- on this show -- who do this and have wives and children. Seriously, if you're lazy or don't want to play that way -- best not to suit up.

Day Four of Prep

There's all sorts of stuff going on around me, but I take the morning to dog it a bit. When the draft's ready to go out, I get called by Sarah, my fellow writer, who's helping to get the draft out with the story coordinator. She runs a couple of mistakes by me that, in my fatigue I missed -- including one that blew a runner where a character kept getting a name wrong. The point of the last scene was that he got the name right...showing he learned.

I wrote the wrong name in. Heh heh. Fun.

I go into the office and do the best possible thing you can do when you're in this state -- think about someone else's story! In this case, Sarah and I sit down and start spitting a bit to come up with beats for her next script. It's just what I need.

The draft is out. I see the Director later in the day - he gives me thumbs up on the changes. Two of the actors call me to say they loved the script -- and they're talking about the last draft -- which in the way of the writer -- I now hate hate hate because all it does is reveal my hackery and imperfection.

Tomorrow, we see how that board's doing, and I start thinking about the Blue Draft.

So it goes, man. So it goes.

Prep: Day One

IT STARTS with a friendly meeting. The Director of the episode, Phil Earnshaw, sits down with me in my office and we go through the script and talk about his notes.

This is a first-blush discussion, based upon the Production White Draft. This draft represents probably the 3rd or 4th full draft of the script. Of those, there was a pre-first draft of about 65 pages that was only for my eyes. The pre-first that I sent to the Story Department was about 61 pages. There were changes made on that draft which then went to the network, on a 60 page script. The Production White is about 58 pages, which is what we're finding is a good length to get us to 42 minutes and change -- we're a fast paced show. I would have liked to have maybe one more draft to tinker with it, but we were a little late on getting this one out, so there will probably be some more story rewriting at the Pink and Blue draft stages.

You can learn a lot about what your work experience is going to be from this first meeting. Some directors come in with very clear ideas off the bat of things they'd like to change, and some don't. Those who want to change a lot don't necessarily make for a bad first impression and those who don't don't necessarily make for a good impression. Because TV writing is so much a temporal art, there comes a point where you just want someone who's got a handle on your story other than you to tell you what they respond to, and what they don't.

As we talk through the script, the Director's notes are very logical and straight forward. What does so and so think of here? When he's doing this, what's the intent? Why wouldn't this happen instead of that?

There are a few questions that have to do with changes that happened to the script from the First Draft to the White Draft. Many of those changes have to do with streamlining, some have to do with network notes and a few have to do with notes from other people in the story department. There's discussion back and forth of a few moments that are missing from the current draft that might be worth going back to re-explore. And there are a couple of questions that arise from "widows." Widows are lines of action description or dialogue that are left over from an earlier draft and either duplicate something or don't make sense in the current iteration of a story. If you change the setting from, say, the ocean to an outdoor swimming pool, but still talk about a seagull landing in the surf, or someone shaking the sand out of their shoe -- that's a widow. The Director hasn't heard that term before -- but gets it immediately. Much little bits of bonding ensue.

Widows can be really, really bad if you don't catch them early enough. Because the last thing you need is the props person bringing you five pink lifelike dildos when, in story terms, that didn't make it past the first draft.

Note: there are no pink dildos in the border. Unless you count yours truly, and I'm actually probably more of a dil-weed.

But back to "Family Values." There's a mystery at the core of the story, and several characters acting in ways that conceal their true agendas, so we discuss and track these characters through the draft, pointing out what the audience is supposed to think what's going on at this moment, and what's really going on in the character's mind.

Directors are usually pretty good at this, because they're used to having actors come up and say, "what am I thinking in this scene?" And when they ask that, you better have an answer, bub. Them actors, they'll eat you alive if you don't.

There's a famous Canadian Director who was told on his last movie by the Star you've heard of, after ten minutes of cerebral reasoning about a scene, "Okay, I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about. You've given me nothing I can act. Just say 'Action' and I'll do something."

Directors and writers can talk subtext and stuff till we're blue in the face. But actors have to make it tangible...We writers can fudge that stuff. Directors can't.

In a couple of cases, there will be playback of video surveillance that's meant to repeat an earlier scene, so that you see something different this time. That requires a lot of talk of staging, how to approach the scene, and precisely what everyone's doing so it's clear. You don't want to telegraph it to the audience, but you also don't want to make it so obscure so people need a decoder ring to figure out what the hell is going on.

Canadian TV usually suffers from two scourges: either over explaining the obvious, or not explaining enough. (I realize this is perverse. But it's true.) I'm hoping we can avoid both extremes.

We get to the end of the script, and the Action takedown, and I offer that I'm really flexible on how this goes down. I'm not married to the way I've written it. I mention the three story points that need to happen. We're basically in agreement.

The Director will go away and come back with more thoughts, and that will probably generate another draft or so, before we get into changes sparked by locations and other production considerations. I'm open to good ideas -- a good idea is a good idea, and it's part of my job, as I see it, to make the Director excited about the script. At this point, my story is structurally pretty there. But there are different colours to the palate to be explored. The next 48 hours will be all about that.


Tomorrow: The Concept Meeting and Casting. My next rewrite will probably happen tomorrow night and Wednesday morning.

Prep, Two, Three, Four...

ALL YOU scribes out there pounding it out try to get somewhere, nursing your little grudges and getting upset whenever anyone pees all over your beautiful flower...(I'm talking about your scripts there, freako, let it go. And yes Bill, this means you.) Here's something to remember, recall, and reframe:

In TV production, it is everyone's job to fuck with you.

I'm serious.

If you're smart, and you're really cut out for this, you will welcome and embrace this -- and you will learn after awhile when to defend, when to capitulate, and when to utterly enjoy the experience.

One of the things that always struck me about the baby writers I taught when I was teaching at the University was the way there are some people who just don't understand about picking your battles, and defending your territory. When you're the writer in production, it's your job to defend what you see is the core of the story, against anyone who tries to fuck with it.

Now, does that sound adversarial? It's not supposed to be. And if you're tuned right, it isn't.

But if you're very precious about your writing, you're going to find this process a nightmare. If you are that kind of person, TV writing probably isn't your thing. Write plays or novels.

In TV, the first person who fucks with your script will be the other writers you're working with. They'll probably change around your beats and want to change a line here, a joke there. Sometimes, the showrunner might actually want you to change quite a bit. Or worse, they'll want to change it.

Then there's a network executive. Oh boy, will they want to fuck with you. They'll want to emphasize this not that. They'll ask you to start the story faster. They'll disagree about some turns and when they'll come. They'll give notes that you look at and they make you fulminate and swear and hate humanity and kick the garbage can and take that little stress ball on your desk and make it explode all over your fist.

Then there's the man or woman who wants to direct your show. Oh boy. All that visual crap they demand. And they don't want it this way, can it be that way? And they don't get this, and think that will be better there. And you roll your eyes and stomp and punch a wall.

And then there's various department heads. The wardrobe people think the costume you called for might be better if it was more like this. The locations department wants to know if the art gallery that you specifically called for might be able to be a loft-space with a gallery room downstairs...

The art director, well, of course, they read your script and see something totally different than half the stuff you wanted, and they want you to change all your descriptions to fit the way they're thinking. I mean, come on. That's when you crush the Coke can and fire it across the room, and it splits the story coordinator's head in half and as he bleeds out on the floor you say, "if there's just one more change...ONE MORE..."

And then the actors do a read through...

***

Now. The wonderful thing when you're not too precious about your material, the really precious thing about production that sets it apart from writing endless spec scripts and things that only exist in development, is this:

If you're on the right show -- everyone is as passionate about their part in the drama as you are. They protect and suggest and love their contribution the same way that you want to protect the script.

So those other writers? They have some funny shit to say. And you know what? They're right about that scene in act two. And the showrunner knows the voice of the character (because, of course, like you he or she is a writer) and can change your thinking just enough that you go, "OH, I see how to make that BETTER!"

And then the Art Director comes in with designs or thoughts that are just OFF THE HOOK, because while it's your job as a writer to try and tell stories visually, he or she is wired that way completely in a way you could never hope to be. Same with the Director, who suddenly figures out a way to dramatize that subtext in Scene 12. He/She can actually tell the actors something that will get them moving in a more interesting direction! Or now there's a kineticism to the scene in Act Four that you never saw coming.

And the wardrobe people? How is it possible that they just took that coat, added some green fabric, and made it look like...that? What IS that? You have no idea. The only thing you do know is just how cool it is.

And it goes on and on. Casually the vehicles or the stunt guy might tell you one day at the craft table, "You know, it's not that hard, really, to blow up a bus."

Really? Okay. Good to know.

And what about those wily network executives?

Well, of course, all their notes are always brilliant.

.

.

.

Okay, okay. Even I'm not going to try to sell that. But how about this: even when they're not brilliant, they're always valid. You can read them the first time and react as you react. But the fact is that if they bump on something, you've got to at least consider why. They might not always have the solution or even be right about why they bumped. And yes, they might not have read your script closely. But they're also the airbrake against you barrelling forward with something that the audience won't get, either.

In short, the whole tortured artist expressing themselves, thing? That is not television. If you're one of those kinds of people, and you're in any one of those roles above, there's gonna be tears.

The GREAT thing about series TV is that you're part of a team, and you have to come dressed to play. I've been on shows where it was all about "the vision" of a person at the top who...um...really didn't have much of a vision. And it's hell to be on a show like that. Because one by one, all those talented people -- you see the lights go off in their eyes as they shift from really stretching and trying to make it better and bring their creativity to bear to, "let me just get through this." Instead of thinking about the show and how cool it will be and how much fun the audience is going to have watching it, they're thinking about their mortgage payment.

And that's sad, and unfortunate.

But when you've got a bunch of people who are all as passionate about their thing as you are about yours: directors, art directors, casting, actors, wardrobe, locations -- everybody else...well... then you have a shot at creating something together that's far far better than you ever could have imagined when you were sweating over your script by yourself. Will their suggestions be right? No, not always. But I like to come to any suggestion from the frame of: well, how could that be made to work? And it's only when I can't easily come up with an answer that I say, "Hmm...I'm not sure."

Writers make a lot out of the fact that we're the original artist. We're the ones who have to start from the blank page. That's true. But if you're lucky, after that hell you get to go on a ride. And if you're with the right team, that ride can be lots of fun.

Enjoy the ride. Go with it, baby. Let everybody dazzle. And try to laugh. A lot. Cause it's really not like working at all, then, izzit?

***

Today marks the start of prep for my first ep. For the next several days I'm going to be in lots of meetings, and making lots of changes to my draft, before it goes to the floor later next week. So blogging might be light between now and then. I trust you'll all drink your Ovaltine and have a nice Bovril sandwich and play nice til I get back, right?