Writing The Comedy Pilot Script

Writing the Comedy Pilot Script
Navigating through the challenging process of writing a comedy pilot, this

book will help screenwriters to create an original script for television. Practical
and accessible, the book presents a step-by-step guide focusing on the key
elements of the process.
Incorporating both the history of TV comedy as well as its current evolving
state in this age of the dramedy and an ever-increasing variety of broadcast and
streaming platforms, the book will serve as a guide for the fledgling sitcom
scribe. Author Manny Basanese breaks down the comedy pilot writing process
from what may be perceived as an overwhelming, time-consuming mission
into a series of much more manageable, smaller steps (from logline to outline
to 1st, 2nd and polished draft). Utilizing his experience in Hollywood’s sitcom
trenches, the author offers real-world advice on such topics as building the
comedy pilot “world,” creating memorable comic characters, sound sitcom
structure, and the importance of crafting an emotional through line in a
comedy pilot. Finally, there is also practical career guidance for marketing this
just-completed script and breaking into the industry with advice on various
topics such as the value of networking as well as gaining representation in the
competitive Hollywood jungle.
It is ideal for students of screenwriting and aspiring comedy screenwriters.
Manny Basanese is an Associate Professor at Emerson College in Boston and

has been teaching screenwriting in their innovative Comedic Arts program
since 2014. Before that, Manny was a sitcom writer/producer. His credits
include Wizards of Waverly Place, The Steve Harvey Show, Family Matters, True
Jackson, V.P. and The Tracey Ullman Show. In addition to his series and staff
work, Manny has sold comedy pilots to “E!” Channel, Sony Television, The
Disney Channel and Paramount. Manny has been a member of the Writers
Guild of America since 1987.
Writing the Comedy Pilot
Script
A Step-by-Step Guide to Creating an
Original TV Series
Manny Basanese
First published 2022
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
and by Routledge
605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2022 Manny Basanese
The right of Manny Basanese to be identified as author of this work has
been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or
utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in
any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or
registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation
without intent to infringe.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Basanese, Manny, author.
Title: Writing the comedy pilot script : a step-by-step guide to creating an
original TV series / Manny Basanese.
Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2022. |
Includes index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021028826 (print) | LCCN 2021028827 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780367623067 (hardback) | ISBN 9780367623050 (paperback) |
ISBN 9781003108788 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Television authorship. | Television comedies—
Authorship. | Television pilot programs—Authorship.
Classification: LCC PN1992.7 .B33 2022 (print) | LCC PN1992.7
(ebook) | DDC 808.2/25—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021028826
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021028827
ISBN: 978-0-367-62306-7 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-0-367-62305-0 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-003-10878-8 (ebk)
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788
Typeset in Bembo
by Apex CoVantage, LLC
To my wonderful parents, Frank and Ann. Thank you
for all the love, laughter and letting me watch way too
much TV.
Contents
Acknowledgmentsix
Introduction: the serious business of comedy: why

laughing matters 1
1 What is a pilot and why write one? 4
2 Getting started: turning your idea into a comic pilot premise 7
3 Single or multi-cam? Workplace or family comedy?

Decisions, decisions! 15
4 Rise of the dramedy 27
5 The animated comedy pilot 32
6 The “tween” comedy pilot 38
7 Choose your platform: network, cable or streaming? 44
8 Comic characters: finding the funny 51
9 Finding your pilot story 59
10 Sitcom story structure: it’s no joke! 67
11 Crafting your pilot logline 73
12 Pilot outline: blueprint for success 78

viii Contents
13 Your plot device toolbox 87
14 Your Cold Open: grab us! 97
15 Your pilot’s beginning: setting up your series “world” 104
16 Middle magic: obstacles, complications and escalation 111
17 Your pilot ending: begin where you finish! 116
18 Your 2nd draft: making a good thing better 124
19 A note about notes 131
20 The power of punch-up: mining the laughs 135
21 Your polished pilot draft: is it ready to show? 144
22 Pilot pitch prep! 148
23 Breaking in: marketing your comedy pilot (and yourself !) 158
Index166
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Claire Margerison, Sarah Pickles, Katie Armstrong, Sathish

Mohan as well as the entire stellar crew at Focal Press/Routledge who patiently
guided me through the publishing process.
Martie Cook for her guidance, wisdom and willingness to listen to me end-
lessly whine about how hard it is to write a book.
My other esteemed colleagues at Emerson College (particularly those in
Screenwriting and the Comedic Arts Program).
UCLA M.F.A. Program in Screenwriting.
UCLA Extension.
Writers Guild of America, West.
All of the talented, gifted and funny comedy writers I have had the oppor-
tunity to work with and learn from other the years, particularly Jim Evering,
Rick Hawkins and Winifred Hervey.
My awesome and always supportive siblings, Maria, Anne, Frank and Gabriel.
And of course, all of my funny, wise and talented screenwriting students for
keeping me current and always on my toes (even that one in the back who
keeps looking at his phone!).
Introduction
The serious business of comedy: why
laughing matters
“There’s a lot to be said for making people laugh. Did you know that that’s all some people
have? It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing in this cockeyed caravan.”
—John L. Sullivan ( Joel McCrae) in Preston
Sturge’s Sullivan’s Travels
In Preston Sturge’s 1941 classic big-screen satire on Hollywood, Joel McCrae

plays John L. Sullivan, a wildly successful, yet artistically frustrated movie direc-
tor who longs to make “important,” socially relevant films rather than the frivo-
lous farces he’s built his reputation on. The quote comes near the movie’s
climax after Sullivan witnesses firsthand just how much his seemingly trivial
comedies can bring welcome relief for the downtrodden and suffering. Sullivan
finally sees the value of his work and the vital life-affirming lift laughter can
provide in a rocky and weary world.
And now, you are contemplating creating your very own TV comedy pilot.
And while bringing the light of laughter to a dark world is certainly the noblest
of intentions, that is not to say it will be easy. You may find yourself at times
challenged and frustrated by the process. So please try to remember the mes-
sage of Sullivan’s Travels as you embark on this new and perhaps bumpy journey.
While I certainly can’t guarantee that you will emerge with a pilot that will
bring you fame and fortune (although, who knows, you might!) if you are will-
ing to do the work, persevere and write from your heart, you will come out
with something that is uniquely you. A pilot you can be proud of.
If your passion is comedy, I can assure you that I share that same passion and
always have.
All in the Family, M*A*S*H, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, The Bob Newhart
Show, The Carol Burnett Show. This was the CBS legendary Saturday night
line-up of premier comedy for the 1973/74 season. If you dropped in on my
childhood North Jersey living room on any one of those storied Saturday ’70s
prime-time evenings, you would find me happily sunk deep into my cushy
bean bag chair in front of my family’s Zenith color console, laughing and lov-
ing these shows that would spark my own life in comedy writing.
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-1
2 Introduction
I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was doing more than merely watching
these great series. I was studying them, absorbing them. Norman Lear’s ground-
breaking All in the Family which tackled topical issues like racism, sexism and
homophobia taught me that you could empower comedy with important
social messages. M*A*S*H, with its edgy gallows humor against the backdrop
of the Korean War, stretched the boundaries of the traditional workplace com-
edy and reinvented the rules of the genre. The Mary Tyler Moore Show and The
Bob Newhart Show approached their warm urban character comedy in a more
sophisticated manner but still managed to strive for kindness and humanity.
And finally, the night was capped off with the comedic genius of Carol Burnett
and her variety hour of brilliant sketch comedy. She and her uber-talented
ensemble were all accomplished pros who took their silliness seriously and
seemed to be having so much fun doing it that their joy was positively conta-
gious to the audience—especially me in my trusty bean bag!
I wanted nothing more than to be part of a TV comedy writing staff . . .
perhaps even create my own show. But I was smart enough to recognize that
the brilliance each of these shows achieved didn’t just happen. The comedy
might have seemed like just frothy fun, but even then, I could sense the serious
craft behind the laughs. I wanted to be a part of that world, but I knew I hadn’t
even begun to master the skill set that I was going to need. I made it my goal
to learn everything I could about comedy, the industry and what it would take
to pursue my dream.
After high school, I learned about an intriguing school located in Boston’s
Back Bay called Emerson College that not only had a stellar reputation in
Communications, Film and Television but also amazingly featured the Emer-
son Comedy Workshop, a student-run extracurricular sketch comedy troupe.
None of the other schools at the time I was looking at seemed to have anything
like this. My choice was clear.
And I was right. Both Emerson and Boston proved to be a great fit for me.
I loved the creative opportunities the school provided not only in the studio
classrooms but also off-campus with student film shoots and all of the other
creative extracurriculars. It was an even a headier experience to be surrounded
by classmates who seemed to share my passion for all things entertainment.
At the time, Boston boasted a host of art house, second-run and revival
movie houses. I’d go with my friends to see all kinds of films: edgy independent
features from emerging new directors; classic film noirs; and especially the great
screwball comedies by the likes of Hawks, Lubitsch, Capra and, of course, the
aforementioned, Mr. Sturges. I was learning comedy from the very best (even
if it was in a dark theater rather than a formal classroom). I could see how the
quirky workplace ensemble and rapid-fire banter of Hawks’ His Girl Friday was
a natural antecedent to the wonderful WJM-News world James L. Brooks and
Allan Burns created for Mary Richards in their groundbreaking Mary Tyler
Moore Show. Without me even knowing it, these great screwball comedies
became a big part of my sensibility and goal posts for my own fledgling work.
Introduction 3
My dream was to write a pilot and create characters that might approach the
exhilaration I felt watching those movies.
After graduation, I set about making my dream a reality. I made the big move
to Los Angeles and tried my luck. But I knew I still had so much to learn not
only about writing but also how this elusive industry I was desperately trying
to crack worked. I found out about “spec” scripts (a script you write for an
existing series to use as your calling card . . . we’ll discuss more on this later).
I wrote my first one (Bosom Buddies with a very young Tom Hanks—I’m dating
myself !). Then I wrote my second and my third and then my fourth. No one
bought any of them, but I learned with each one. My writing improved and
each one got a little better.
Eventually, I was lucky enough to make my first sale and land an agent. That
led to my first staff writing job in the summer of 1987. My first chance at staff
writing was ironically on a show called Second Chance on the brand spanking
new Fox Broadcasting Network. And it was in this first and the many later
writing rooms that my real-life, on-the-job TV comedy education truly kicked
in. One of my intentions with this book is to share the knowledge and many
lessons I gleaned in those rooms to perhaps save you some of the time and
trouble I encountered learning them the hard way.
Now I’ve been fortunate to come full circle and actually teach comedy writ-
ing at my beloved alma mater. I try to always share that lesson with my students
by encouraging them to seek out work by others in all forms (films, TV, music,
photography, dance, fine art) that might inspire them.
So, perhaps the pilot you’re contemplating writing is a smart social satire
pushing to shed light on issues and change the world. Fantastic! But even if
what you’re considering is more of a silly, even mindless laugh-fest with no
greater intention than to let the viewer forget their troubles for a half-hour,
well, that’s absolutely fine too. Let your passion guide you. Write the show you
want to write right now—the show you need to write right now. My greatest
intention with this book is to help you realize your vision (whatever it may be)
and be there for you for every step in this journey. So, why not take your own
shot in comedy? As Sturges wrote in Sullivan’s Travels:
“It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing in this cockeyed caravan.”
1 What is a pilot and why
write one?
Well, you’ve done it. You’ve laid down your hard-earned cash and there you
sit, with this brand-new book in hand, all ready to make your mark and write
your very first comedy pilot. Congratulations! I’m sure you’re anxious to start
clicking away at that keyboard and get this glorious TV dream of yours started!
So, let’s start with the most basic question. What exactly is a TV series pilot?
We will obviously be expanding on this throughout the course of the book, but
in its most basic terms, an original pilot is the premiere episode of a show that
serves as the definitive prototype or test model of the series.
To make a comparison, think of Henry Ford’s Model T. Back in the early
1900s, before its original premiere, Ford couldn’t just ask consumers to invest
their hard-earned cash on this new transportation innovation. He first had to
painstakingly design and roll out the initial prototype model. Ford realized that
buyers needed to know exactly what they were getting before they made their
investment.
Your pilot script is serving the same function for your prospective series.
Again, we will be exploring all of the individual elements of the original pilot
in greater detail throughout the book but in terms of an overview, your script
must define all of the essential components of your prospective series and how
you envision it. With this initial episode, you are laying out all of the ground-
work: your premise, characters, how they interact and where they conflict. You
are setting up the world in which these characters (and your entire series,) will
live in. Your pilot will establish the comedy tone, the type of stories you’ll tell
and the manner in which you will tell them. But then, with a comedy pilot,
on top of all that, you also have the added challenge of finding the humor and
getting laughs.
Even if you haven’t yet written your first original pilot, you may have already
penned your first “spec” (from “speculative”) episode of an existing series.
When I was a young TV writer starting out, the accent was much more on
the spec as a selling tool/sample for the novice than the original pilot. The
idea was that you would show your ability to write a prospective episode of a
current hit series. Back then, a strong spec was the best way for young writers
to demonstrate that they were good with story and jokes and could capture
existing characters’ voices. The conventional wisdom was that a young writer
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-2
What is a pilot and why write one? 5
needed experience and seasoning before taking on the challenge of creating an
entire vision for a show.
With the wave in recent years of younger cutting-edge writing talent (Broad
City’s Abbi Jacobsen and Ilana Glazer, Atlanta’s Donald Glover and Girls’ Lena
Dunham, for example) exploding onto the scene as well as the need for more
and more fresh product for all of the emerging media platforms, newer writers
are expected to come to their first meetings with a piece of original material
that shows off their particular style and voice.
There is even a school of thinking now that young TV scribes don’t really
even need to bother with the preliminary step of writing a spec for an exist-
ing show and go right to writing an original pilot. I would strongly advise
against that. First of all, many TV writing contests and fellowships still read
spec scripts, so it’s good to have one in your arsenal. And there are still some
showrunners who prefer to read specs as an indication of how adept you are at
capturing existing character voices. But even more importantly, writing a spec
for an existing show affords the beginning TV writer the proper preliminary
training they need to tackle an original pilot.
Writing a spec sitcom in itself is a tremendous challenge. You have to cap-
ture a series’ tone and characters while demonstrating that you can handle
story, structure, dialogue and jokes. Yet, writing an original pilot is even more
daunting. With a spec, the framework of the show and characters are there for
you. But with an original pilot you have to create everything. With my students,
I equate the difference between writing a spec and writing an original pilot
this way. When you’re writing a spec, it’s like you’re throwing a party in your
parents’ house. With an original pilot, you have to build the entire house, then
throw the party.
So, while I absolutely believe that eventually getting an original pilot under
your belt is essential, it is just as crucially important that—if just for the sake
of your own development—you write a spec for an existing show first. Quite
simply, walk before you run.
I am not going to sugar coat any of this. Pilots are not easy. So, you may be
asking yourself, why even write one—especially on spec—when no one is pay-
ing you do it? At least not yet.
Of course, there is the obvious financial incentive. The television writing
game is tough, and competition is fierce. But let’s say you have the talent, per-
severance and amazing luck to somehow break through and one day manage
to sell your original pilot script. Maybe it even gets on the air! Awesome! You
have completely beaten the odds! Now let’s say, your show is a hit, runs a few
seasons and sells into syndication. Now you have truly hit the TV jackpot and
your deal-point payday can be truly staggering.
That is not to say that the business model of the industry has not continued
to evolve in recent years. Emerging platforms like Netflix, Hulu and Amazon
have tended to lean more toward series with shorter, more limited runs with
fewer episodes per season. Phoebe Waller-Stone’s brilliant and acclaimed series
Fleabag has had a huge creative impact on comedy and is deservedly considered
6 What is a pilot and why write one?
a major, groundbreaking success. And yet, it only ran for two seasons with a
total of 12 episodes. Compare that to Chuck Lorre’s CBS juggernaut The Big
Bang Theory with its run of 12 seasons and 232 episodes. So now, with fewer
of these longer running series, the likelihood of getting to the stratospheric
syndication paydays of the likes of Lorre’s Big Bang (as well as his Two and a Half
Men) or The Office is even tougher than it used to be. However, the lure of that
hefty pot of gold at the end of the syndication rainbow still endures for TV
comedy’s successful showrunner.
Obviously, writers are not the only ones with their eyes on this consider-
able prize. The folks who will be representing you—agents, managers and
entertainment attorneys—are also looking to take a percentage of your talent
in the form of their commission for their hard work in promoting you and
your efforts. Their interest in you as a young fresh-faced writer is often largely
based on what you can do for them over the long haul. They want to see if
you indeed, might possibly have the next Schitt’s Creek, Atlanta or Bojack Horse-
man in you. The best way to prove that is to come to them fully armed with a
portfolio which includes a pilot script that shows your unique voice and vision
to its best and fullest extent.
So yes, if money really matters to you, that may well be reason enough to
write your pilot. But there are two other even more powerful motivations:
creativity and passion.
For the television writer, the ultimate dream and goal is to get your own
show on the air. It represents the top of the mountain. TV’s pinnacle. Writers
are writers because they have stories and they long to tell them. With a suc-
cessful series, you have the unique opportunity to not only tell your story but
to see it unfold and guide your characters’ growth over the course of years (even
decades)! Your series may even be a way for you to make a statement about the
world and the way you see it. For the TV writer, it affords the greatest and most
complete expression of one’s artistic vision. You get to reveal your soul over the long
term.
Now I have known a few writers who approached their work from a more
jaded point of view as simply a paycheck or means to pay off their Porsche
lease and keep up their Brentwood lifestyle. But I would argue that for most
of the writers I have had the good fortune to work with, it’s not really about
the money at all. We toil in TV because we love writing and working with other
writers.
Your passion should be the reason you are creating your pilot. You’re writing
it because you must. And the practical truth is that when it comes to selling
your pilot, that passion you have for your project really cannot be faked and
may well prove to be the most crucial and potent element you bring to the
table.
So, I ask you . . . what’s your passion? What story are you itching to tell?
What is your dream show? Let’s figure it out!
2 Getting started
Turning your idea into a comic
pilot premise
Okay, you’re all ready to take the plunge and create your very own comedy
pilot. You’ve made the decision, committed to scheduling consistent blocks
of time to devote to your work and perhaps even have invested in the latest
industry-standard script software. Only one pesky question remains: What are
you going to write?
This is definitely a step in the process you do not want to minimize. Your
idea is everything. This is in no way to say that the execution of your idea isn’t
absolutely crucial to your pilot’s success. Of course, it is! There have been times
in my own experience as a young fledgling sitcom scribe where a prospective
studio or network exec wasn’t that enamored with the premise or concept of
one of my original spec pilots but was impressed enough by the execution—
the structure, characters, jokes, etc.—that they set a meeting with me to see if
I might have some other ideas that might like. So, your execution can definitely
sell you as a writer. But in terms of the pilot itself, if a buyer doesn’t like your
idea your script will be dead in the water.
At this point, you may be starting to despair or even panic:
“But I don’t know what to write! I don’t have a brilliant original idea! How do
I get a refund for this stupid book?!”
It’s okay. Take a breath. We are going to work on that now.

If you haven’t yet conjured up that perfect brilliant pilot idea, one thing
I would advise is rather than getting anxious or worried, try instead to reside
in the possibilities of this powerful moment. You might not have that amazing
premise just yet, but it could come at any time and be right around the cor-
ner. That’s a very exciting prospect! Who knows? Your awesome show idea
may well already have begun to gestate in your psyche without you even quite
knowing it and might just need a little creative nurturing push from you to
bring it to life. Here are a few tips to help with that process.
Inspiration is overrated!
Don’t get me wrong. I believe that when it happens, spontaneous creative
inspiration is an amazing, real and wonderous thing. There are countless stories
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-3
8 Getting started
of great works of literature, art and music miraculously springing about seem-
ingly from thin air through the artist as if they were merely some sort of creative
channel through which the “divine inspiration” could be born.
Famously, Paul McCartney has shared that early in his music career, he once
woke from a dream in his London flat with the melody of a lovely little tune
in his head and started playing it on the piano. The “lovely tune” turned out
to be the Beatles classic “Yesterday.” According to the Guinness World Records,
with over 1600 different recorded versions, the composition is the most cov-
ered song of all time. So yes, these perfect moments of inspiration are quite
powerful and most definitely do occur. But it’s also important to remember
that as a young musician, the future Sir Paul was also no doubt toiling quite
hard at his songwriting craft. He didn’t just lazily lull about sipping pints with
his mates and depending exclusively on this sort of divine inspiration to just
happen to happen. He (along with those three other lads from Liverpool) put in
the discipline, time and work to make the magic happen. And, so should you.
Write what you know

Okay, I know you’ve heard this line before. Every writer just starting out has no
doubt encountered this well-intentioned, folksy sounding advice. And many
of us (myself included) indeed had a hard time believing that anyone would be
that interested in our mundane, boring little lives. This rings especially true in
our youth. If you’ve barely begun to live, how could you possibly have acquired
enough colorful life experience to engine your art? There’s often therefore this
idea that as young artists, you have to delve far out of your own experiences
to reach people.
Early in my comedy writing courses, I often screen an interview clip with
legendary British comedy icon Ricky Gervais where he recounts an early
experience as a student in an English writing class. Young Ricky kept trying
to impress his teacher with big fanciful stories that had nothing to do with the
young man’s own experience but rather were inspired by the cheesy programs
of the day he had been gobbling up on British telly. In Ricky’s young mind,
these were action-packed stories based on the rough and tumble exploits of
cool cowboys and maverick cops. How could his staid and stuffy old teacher
possibly resist? Well, resist he did with a stinging stream of poor grades and
sharp critiques decrying poor young Master Ricky’s novice writing as melo-
dramatic and empty.
Ricky plotted to teach this instructor a lesson of his own. If his teacher was
so out of touch that he wouldn’t go for the thrilling fictional fare he was churn-
ing out, Ricky would instead give him the most impossibly boring take of his
own actual dull, ho-hum young life as he could muster. Ricky wrote an una-
dorned recounting of one particular routine morning when his mother helped
a neighbor woman. With precise attention to every tiny truthful detail, Ricky
conjured up what ended up as a very vivid portrait of this seemingly typi-
cal, impossibly “mundane” morning. Ricky was surprised when the teacher
Getting started 9
returned his graded paper with a big “A” splashed on it. The adult Gervais
related that what the teacher taught him with this paper was that in writing,
it’s this simplicity and honesty that really counts. As he describes it in the clip:
Trying to make the ordinary extraordinary is so much better than starting out with
the extraordinary.
The lesson is that if something is true, important and real for you—even if it
may just seem like your boring little life—there’s a great chance it will ring just
as true, important and real for others. Use your life. It will connect.
Go way back!
Look at your own childhood. As a young adult, you may find yourself reflect-
ing on your early years. Perhaps there’s a show idea in those experiences? Chris
Rock’s acclaimed UPN/CW show, Everybody Hates Chris (co-created by Ali
LeRoy), is based on Chris’s recollection of his 1980s teen years in Bed-Stuy,
New York. Netflix’s Big Mouth, created by Nick Kroll, Andrew Goldberg, Mark
Levin and Jennifer Flackett, was inspired by Kroll and Goldberg’s upbringing in
suburban New York. Both series gain texture and benefit tremendously from
their autobiographical origins with both characters and stories that resonate
and connect to audiences with that basis in real life. And while both series
might reside in their respective creator’s recollected childhoods, many of the
feelings and lessons the characters learn still transcend and connect to modern
audiences.
But also, be in the now

Your current life may well also be a great source of inspiration. Perhaps you’re
toiling at a part-time job with a motley crew of co-workers who, with just the
right mix of creative license and comic exaggeration, might having the mak-
ings as a backdrop for a brilliantly funny original show?
Of course, family is always one of the most potent sources of conflict and
comedy. In the ’90s, showrunner Phil Rosenthal worked with Ray Romano
to mine the stand-up comic’s Italian-American family life as the inspiration
in creating the CBS hit Everybody Loves Raymond. Look also at your current
life, family and living situation. In her initial pitch document, Elizabeth Meri-
wether described her intention for a series inspired by some of the deep pla-
tonic friendships she had experienced with men. That pitch eventually turned
out to be Fox’s long-running New Girl.
The lesson? For some writers, thinking of friends and family in your creative
life may be just as important as in real life!
Look at your day-to-day life. Even singular, seemingly random events may
serve as a jumping off point for a great comedy premise. In 1970, John Cleese,
along with other members of the legendary Monty Python troupe, endured
10 Getting started
a comically horrible stay at the Gleneagles Hotel in Torquay, England. It was
there that Cleese encountered Donald Sinclair, the Gleneagles irritable and
unhinged owner who would become the inspiration for Cleese’s memorable
lead character, Basil Fawlty. And with that, Cleese and Connie Booth created
Fawlty Towers, the much revered and perhaps most-beloved sitcom staple in
British television history.
Use the world

Another great source of material is to simply look at what’s happening in the
news and the world. Is there something that’s currently popping in the cultural
zeitgeist that you could mine for laughs and shape into series?
ABC’s mockumentary comedy Modern Family explores the lives of three
separate but related American families. In the pilot, we meet the main patri-
arch, Jay Pritchett, who is on his second marriage and family with his new,
much-younger, Columbian-born wife, Gloria, and her young son, Manny.
Then there’s Jay’s son, Mitchell, and his partner, Cameron (in the pilot, it’s
revealed that they’ve adopted a little girl of their own). Finally, the third (and
most conventionally traditional) unit is comprised of Jay’s daughter, Claire, and
her husband, Phil, and their three children. The series creators (Christopher
Lloyd and Steven Levitan) recognized the evolving cultural shift towards more
and more families that didn’t quite fit the “traditional” mold and cannily used
it as the premise and framework for this long-running, multi-Emmy award-
winning series.
This idea of utilizing real-life trends and topics as jumping off points for
comedy series ideas is not just limited to cutting edge events just exploding onto
the cultural landscape (although the heat of being “of the moment” can most
definitely be quite powerful in the pitch). Northern California’s famed tech
capital Silicon Valley’s origins date all the way back to the ’70s. But it hadn’t
been seen through the episodic comedy lens until Mike Judge, John Altschuler
and David Krinsky created their satiric look at that world with Silicon Valley for
HBO in 2014. Mike Judge has said that the show’s creation was influenced by
a very early period of his career when he worked for a Silicon Valley start-up.
Judge’s use of his own tech roots speaks to what a powerful combination it
can be both in your pitch for a series and its subsequent creation and develop-
ment to have actual personal experience on a cultural topic or movement you’re
interested in exploring. Is there something out there happening in the world
and trending on Twitter that you have a personal stake in that you could pos-
sibly tap into? Remember, the world is your creative oyster. Don’t be shy about
using it for inspiration.
But what if my idea is “out of this world”?

Perhaps you have an idea that’s not autobiographical at all. Maybe your idea
doesn’t even take place on Planet Earth but some quasi-comic version of
Heaven (Michael Schur’s, The Good Place on NBC, anyone?). Or you have this
Getting started 11
vision of an intergenerational family/buddy comedy about a mad scientist and
his grandson who embark on impossibly bizarre and hilarious interdimensional
adventures (Dan Harmon and Justin Roiland’s animated Rick and Morty on
Cartoon Network). Am I saying that an idea that doesn’t emerge directly and
completely from your own scope of experience is off-limits? No, not at all!
While I’m fairly certain Schur has yet to see the hereafter he conjures up on
The Good Place and neither Harmon or Roiland have spent much time in the
faraway galaxies his Rick and Morty explore, they were nevertheless able to craft
funny, incredibly inventive and hugely successful shows without personal first-
hand experience in these worlds they so vividly created. So, no. Obviously, you
don’t necessarily have to have precisely matching life experience for your idea
to work. But it is your job to make whatever you’re writing real and relatable
to your audience. The Good Place and Rick and Morty may take place in strange,
even surreal worlds, but they’re both grounded in recognizable real-life feelings
and emotions that keep the viewer engaged.
Assessing your idea

So, one beautiful miraculous day, whether through tortured brainstorming ses-
sions or effortlessly upon awaking from a blissful dream, an idea comes to you.
Hallelujah and congratulations! But before you break out the bubbly and start
celebrating, remember, no matter how brilliant your idea is, it’s imperative that
you step back from your concept and analyze it objectively from several key
vantage points. Is a TV comedy series really the best vehicle for this idea? Or
would it be better served as a movie, play or even novel? Ask yourself:
• Does the idea work best as a stand-alone story? Do you already have a very
fixed ending in mind for it? Then it might work best as a movie or film.
• Perhaps you’re feeling your idea requires longs scenes of extended dialogue
between characters? Perhaps even monologues and soliloquies? Then a
play might be the best format for you.
• Or does your idea hinge more on the internal world and thoughts of your
characters rather than outside actions and events? Then a novel where you
would have the opportunity to freely give sprawling voice to your subjects’
inner lives and feelings might be the way to go.
Now, what if you’re feeling certain your idea is an open-ended premise that
could be ripe for ongoing conflict and comedy rather than a singular story with
a fixed beginning, middle and end? What about your characters? Does it feel
like there’s room for a good deal of potential growth and expansion over the
course of a TV multi-season run? If this is the case, you may well have stumbled
on a great idea for your comedy pilot.
Of course, this is not to say that your idea couldn’t work successfully in more
than one of these mediums. Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag first emerged from
her one-woman Edinburgh Fringe stage show in 2013. CBS’s long-running
Korean War black comedy M*A*S*H had multiple media incarnations. The
12 Getting started
premise first saw the light of day in the form of Richard Hooker’s 1968 novel
MASH: A Novel About Three Army Doctors. Then in 1970, Robert Altman gave
the novel the big-screen treatment with his film version (M*A*S*H) which in
turn inspired the Emmy Award-winning 1972 series. So, while I’m not saying
your idea couldn’t work in more than one creative arena, it’s still important to
think about which one would serve the idea best.
One obvious consideration in assessing your idea is originality. You always
want to come up with an idea that feels fresh and original. Ask yourself, is this
idea something that I’ve already seen? That’s not to say that it can’t have some
similarities to other previous shows. Brooklyn 99 and Superstore are both ensem-
ble workplace comedies, yet there are key differences in their setting, character
mix and tone. It’s your mission to make sure the show you’re developing feels
as unique as possible and not obviously derivative.
Do your research!
Additionally, while I am sure it would never be your intention to plagiarize,
sometimes great minds really do think alike, and wonderful ideas can be “in the
air.” Therefore, you should always devote some time to researching the web to
make sure that the idea you’re considering (or a close version of it) isn’t already
on the air or even somewhere in future development. Industry online trade
sites such as The Hollywood Reporter and VARIETY routinely post yearly pilot
development reports which list various pilots being ordered, often detailing the
loglines as well as writer/producers, directors and cast who are attached. The
last thing you want to have happen is devote months to a pilot script only to
find out that the amazing “original” idea you’ve been working so hard on has
already been long in development and is about to debut. So, always do your
due diligence to research your idea as best you can.
Does your idea have “legs”?

Again, another important element to consider in terms of your idea is longevity.
How long will it take to tell the episodic story of your series? Does this idea of
yours have “legs” which could carry it for many seasons? Or is it more of a com-
pact story/premise that could be successfully explored in just a season or two?
In the past, the general way of thinking was you would ideally want an idea
that feels open-ended with characters and storylines that can grow, evolve and
even surprise the audience over the course of many episodes and seasons. As
we’ve discussed, there can be a massive pot of gold for the writer/creators who
see their shows reach the milestone of rerun syndication.
However, again, the current business model of the industry, with a wider
variety of broadcast platforms featuring a larger selection of series with often
shorter runs and fewer episodes, has dramatically shifted this thinking in recent
years. Formerly, 100 episodes was considered the “magic” number of episodes
required for a successful bid in the syndication arena. Eighty-eight episodes
Getting started 13
(typically four seasons containing 22 episodes each) arguably seems to be a
more common current desired minimum for a large-scale syndication launch.
But now, there seems to be much more latitude for series with even shorter
projected runs. So, if the ultimate broadcast life of what you’re envisioning for
your pilot is much more limited, that may well be fine in this more flexible
current market. But either way, it is still vitally important for you to have at a
good idea of how you see the life of your series and an awareness of how that
may inform it both creatively and commercially.
Can you find the funny?

And of course, you are writing a comedy pilot, so the laughs do matter. A lot!
The rules of tone have most definitely evolved over the years with the advent of
the “dramedy” (which we will examine in more detail later), but it’s still vital to
know that the subject matter you’re intending to explore will work on at least
some level as a comedy. While you can most definitely do a darker comedy (the
aforementioned M*A*S*H used the Korean War as its backdrop), you want
to make sure you’re mining an area that will generate at least some element of
comedy. Is this an area that audiences are willing to laugh at? Again, the rules of
tone between drama and comedy are much more fluid now than they’ve ever
been so you do have much more freedom to explore areas for humor (both
light and dark) that might never have been tapped in the past. But this is still a
crucial question to ask yourself as you move forward.
Writing for the marketplace: “Nobody knows anything”

Commerciality is another aspect you may be pondering. Who wouldn’t like
the idea of networks and studios engaging in a bidding war over this “hot” idea
of yours that everyone wants? It’s also a very practical consideration. It’s called
show business for a reason. If you’re just starting out, you’re going to need rep-
resentation: agents, managers and lawyers (whose roles we will explore more
later in our “Breaking In” chapter). For better or worse, the vast majority of
these folks are going to be motivated to work with you because they can see
the long-term money-making potential you represent. Your original spec pilot
can provide a tremendous indication of that. In essence, it’s your commercial
calling card. So, it is smart to have a keen awareness of the marketplace. Again,
you should be scouring the online trades as well as meeting and talking to as
many industry folks as you can and keeping a keen eye toward trends that seem
to be selling. And yet still, even armed with all that industry knowledge and
wisdom, it’s also just as vital to remember. . .
Nobody knows anything. . . . Not one person in the entire motion picture field
knows for a certainty what’s going to work. Every time out it’s a guess and, if you’re
lucky, an educated one.
—William Goldman, screenwriter/author
14 Getting started
Adventures in the Screen Trade
The preceding quote, from the late, great screenwriting legend William Gold-
man (Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid, Marathon Man, The Princess Bride and
many more) speaks succinctly to the idea of how current prevailing industry
wisdom concerning commerciality will only take you so far and is never infal-
lible. And I would say his sage words are equally true in television as well as the
movie world. So, yes, while having a keen awareness of the current marketplace
is desirable and important, I would still strongly advise against allowing yourself
to be solely ruled by it and doggedly chasing every single market trend.
In 1985 with NBC’s Golden Girls, Susan Harris created a series centered
around four older female leads. On paper, a bawdy comedy examining the
lives of a post-menopausal ensemble sharing their twilight years and cheesecake
in Miami may not have seemed to many of the so-called show biz pundits of
the day as a terribly commercial or exciting concept. However, the series did
manage to get greenlit and, with its stellar cast and writing, went on to be a
massive hit, winning a slew of Emmy’s during its long run. Golden Girls proves
Goldman’s point: “Nobody knows anything.”
Power of passion
There have been a couple of instances in my own experience when I gave my
commercial instincts free rein and just blatantly set out to devise that “hot” pilot
of the moment that I was absolutely sure the industry was clamoring for. That
approach may have been the right move for others but never ended up working
out for me. Those scripts may have felt polished and professional, yet they still
fell short because they lacked a certain passion that can’t be manufactured from
a purely commercial intent. I was chasing the marketplace and ultimately there
was an emptiness in the work.
Yet, when I set out to write something I cared about and would want to see
myself, I always seemed to get a much stronger response. And even when read-
ers weren’t fully taken with the work, they could still see I was truly invested
in it. It felt like more than some kind of calculated, manufactured career move.
Because it mattered to me, it mattered more to them.
Passion matters (and sells)! When it comes to the marketplace, use your head,
but always write from your heart. Create the show that only you could create.
Write your pilot.
3 Single or multi-cam? Workplace
or family comedy? Decisions,
decisions!
These may well be two primary initial preference questions you may be pon-
dering as you contemplate creating your comedy pilot.
Let’s begin with the issue of shooting style. While current TV comedies
can vary wildly in content and tone, two long-prevailing and distinct stylistic
shooting choices still remain: single-camera or multi-camera (single-cam
and multi-cam, for short).
Once you have settled on your premise, you will need to give serious thought
about which style best suits your pilot. The differences between the two are fairly
straight-forward and easy to understand. On a very basic level, as the terms suggests,
it’s about the number of cameras employed and the specific manner in which each
type of show is shot. Each style also comes with its own specific formatting require-
ments (which we’ll go into more detail on later in this chapter). But this is a choice
that extends far beyond simple formatting differences. Your decision on which style
works best for your idea is going to be a crucial factor both in the development of
your pilot and how you should approach writing your script.
The multi-cam comedy

While both shooting styles and techniques have been around for decades, the
multi-cam is often considered the more traditional and old-fashioned method.
Multi-cam shows are typically shot on sound stages using—you guessed it—mul-
tiple (usually three to five) cameras to capture scenes often filmed before a live
studio audience. The technique allows for a scene to be shot from start to finish
from multiple angles simultaneously. Later, the scenes are assembled with the best
edits from the various cameras. Because they’re performed in front of a live audi-
ence, the shows have much more of the theatrical feel of a play than a film (even
though they may sometimes be enhanced with a laugh track or “sweetening”).
Multi-cam shows date well back into the ’50s with landmark series such
as I Love Lucy and The Honeymooners. Since then, the form has alternately
waned and thrived over the years with enduring hits ranging from The Dick
Van Dyke Show to Seinfeld to Mom. In the early ’80s, the traditional sitcom was
pronounced all but dead by some media pundits. But then The Cosby Show
exploded on NBC and ushered in a whole new era for multi-cam form.
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-4
16 Decisions, decisions!
Today, multi-cam comedies seem perceived to be in a bit of a popular and
creative slump. In my classes, I sometimes encounter a bit of snobbery about
them among students who find their humor a little broad and pedestrian. But
I would still contend that it’s far too early to write the obit for the multi-cam.
Networks, studios and producers continue to develop them and for good rea-
son. Multi-cams might not currently have the critical cache of single-cams, but
they still can be more economical to produce so when they do hit, the massive
audiences and potential long-term profit margins they can deliver can be noth-
ing short of astounding (think of the perennial syndication juggernaut that is
Friends, for instance).
One of the primary reasons that multi-cams can be cheaper to produce is
that unlike single-cams, they are shot on sound stages rather than on various
locations. They are typically more limited location-wise within the number
of their regular fixed (or “standing”) sets. While the Friends writers always
started each of their show titles with “The One With,” you would be hard-
pressed to find “The One Without” the series’ trademark standing sets of Monica
and Rachel’s roomy (yet somehow affordable?) NYC apartment and the gang’s
funky caffeine hangout, Central Perk.
That certainly isn’t to say that multi-cam shows can’t venture out of their
standing sets with extra or “swing” sets. Quite the opposite, without some
outside sets it would be much more difficult to plot stories and avoid the show
having a claustrophobic feel. But for the most part, showrunners almost always
try to design episodes to make primary use of the established locations.
Additionally, the seeming “limitations” of the form can sometimes work to
the material’s great advantage. With its synergistic combination of theater, film
and even the hold-over influence of radio days of the pre-television era, the
multi-cam format is truly a unique TV creation unto itself. As such, the more
theatrical feel of the fixed sets and addition of the “live” studio audience can
sometimes potently enhance the material and overall execution. For the right
show, the multi-cam format can be the perfect partner in achieving its ultimate
potential in terms of rhythm, energy and mining laughs.
In the ’70s, when the late great feature and TV comedy legend Garry
Marshall adapted the Neil Simon play and movie The Odd Couple for televi-
sion, its first season was done single-cam style. The ABC show featured the
formidable talents of the perfectly cast Jack Klugman and Tony Randall in
the lead roles but nevertheless struggled in the ratings. Sensing that his actors’
larger than life presences might benefit from the energy of a studio audience,
Marshall switched the show to a multi-cam format. The move worked with
Klugman and Randall truly hitting their comedy stride. While never a mon-
ster hit, the ratings improved enough to enjoy a respectably long network run
and an even larger loyal devoted audience for decades in syndication.
A few years later, Marshall pulled the same trick with the ABC hit Happy
Days. Early in the series run, Marshall sensed the lightning he had in a bottle,
with the mounting pop culture moment bubbling around Henry Winkler’s
breakout performance in his supporting role as the cool but surprisingly sage
biker, Arthur “Fonzie” Fonzarelli. Again, Marshall’s instincts were spot-on.
The live studio audiences at those tapings both mirrored and built on the fre-
netic fandom and energy of the adoring masses watching at home taking the
“Fonzie phenomena” to the next level and making Happy Days one of the most
successful shows of its era.
The single-cam comedy

Single-cam comedies are shot more in the manner and style of a TV drama,
feature, indie or short film. Like multi-cams, they have been around since
the early days of television through the years with comedy series such as The
Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet all the way up to the present with the likes of
Schitt’s Creek and Insecure.
Single-cam is the preferred form for the many “dramedies”—those series
that meld elements of comedy and drama as a hybrid—that we enjoy today
(we’ll be taking a deeper dive into the dramedy in our next chapter). Single-
cam makes sense for the dramedy as it feels like a better fit to essay a wider
range of themes and topics. Without a studio audience or laugh track, it can
be easier for a single-cam series to achieve a more delicate sense of intimacy
and even switch gears more fluidly between comedy and poignant drama.
While there are certainly some multi-cam series that have managed to deftly
tackle sensitive subjects (All in The Family, for instance), the more theatrical,
joke-driven nature of those series can make these tone shifts much trickier.
In my own TV staff-writing career, I’ve been tasked with penning a few of
these multi-cam “Very Special Episodes” based on topical events of the day.
Again, although there are some notable exceptions (the powerful 1994 “Good
Cop, Bad Cop” episode of ABC’s Family Matters spotlighting the injustice of racial
profiling written by Sara V. Finney and Vida Spears comes to mind), addressing
these serious issues in the measured manner they so deeply merit can be a tre-
mendous challenge in the confines of the live studio audience, multi-cam format.
Single-cam shows are typically less constrained by a limited number of sets,
although in terms of premise and from a budgetary point of view, it still makes
sense for single-cams to lean heavily on standing sets (take the shared loft in
Fox’s New Girl, or the office in both the U.K. and U.S. versions of The Office,
for example). Generally, there’s much more freedom in single-cam shows to
jump from location to location. Episodes can include more scenes and because
those scenes tend to be shorter, the stories may feel faster paced than a typical
multi-cam episode.
With single-cam shows you not only have more freedom in terms of sets
and locations but also with editing and stylistic options, so the stories you’re
telling can have a much more cinematic visual feel and style. Editing can often
be utilized more nimbly to structure jokes. For instance, think of the way a
mockumentary series like The Office or Modern Family is able to instantly cut
away from what a character is relating in an “interview” to a piece of action that
comically contradicts what they’re saying.
Other cinematic style devices such as voiceovers, flashbacks and “pops”
(those quick little cut-away bits of action that might comically comment on a
situation or what’s going on in a character’s mind) can usually be melded with
more seamless ease within the single-cam style. In Chapter 13, we will examine
specific considerations in weighing which of these (as well as other) various
storytelling style devices might be right for your pilot.
Even your structure can be affected by which form you choose. Donald
Glover’s amazing pilot script for FX’s Atlanta, his genre-breaking single-cam
comedy/drama, ingeniously played with rearranging time and events to
provide the first episode with a searing, memorable climax. It would have
been tough (if not arguably impossible) to achieve the same level of believ-
ability and emotional punch filmed on a sound stage in front of a studio
audience.
I’m not saying something like this can’t be pulled off in a multi-cam show.
I suppose in a multi-cam version of Fleabag, Phoebe Waller-Stone could still
give her trademark conspiratorial winks and fourth wall-breaking asides to the
camera. But I’m not sure they would have been quite as easy for the audience
to accept. The filmic nature of Fleabag’s single-cam form makes the device feel
much more natural and seamless than it might if it were filmed in front of a live
audience.
Format differences
As mentioned, there are some key differences in the way you would format
your pilot script for single vs. multi-cam.
The single-cam format is closer to a typical screenplay format. The multi-
cam format differs in a number of ways. The two most noticeable are:
1 In multi-cam, the dialogue is double-spaced. Therefore, the page count

on multi-cam shows tends to be larger (meaning that your 22-minute
single-cam pilot might be in the neighborhood of 30 to 38 pages, and the
page count on a multi-cam version of the same 22-minute script could be
somewhere in the 40s or 50s).
2 In multi-cam, the action lines and scene descriptions are in all caps.
To demonstrate the differences between the two formats, let’s examine a scene
I wrote for a TV comedy pilot called Male Pattern about a Beverly Hills plastic
surgeon/dermatologist. Here is the opening scene as it was originally written
in single-cam style:
ACT ONE
FADE IN:
INT. DR. MICHAEL BARTEK’S EXAMINATION ROOM -- DAY

COREY BOYD (24), brooding young TV heartthrob, lies
face down on the exam table in a hospital gown as
his butt gets examined by an unseen DOCTOR.
COREY
Damn paparazzi hounding me. That’s
one thing they never taught me
about at the Actors’ Studio. Glad I
dropped out after a week.
DOCTOR (O.S.)
My daughter loves you on “Beyond
Valley Village.” She has your
poster on her wall.
COREY
TV shows, posters, walls . . . what’s
it all mean without your health?
How’s it look, Doc?
CAMERA PULLS BACK TO REVEAL, the doctor: MICHAEL BARTEK
(40’S), comfortably handsome.
MICHAEL
Moderate overproduction of oil from
the sebaceous glands. It’s caused
some pore clogging and appears to
have spread to the buttocks.
Corey reacts completely baffled.
MICHAEL (CONT’D)
Assne.
COREY
Assne?
MICHAEL
That’s what we call it in the trade.
COREY
I’m a star. Stars don’t get assne.
MICHAEL
You’d be surprised.
COREY
(urgently)
I just booked my first movie.
There’s like six nude scenes. My
butt’s on screen more than my face.
MICHAEL
Relax, Corey. We have treatment
options.
COREY
Nobody can know about this. If the
press finds out, it’ll wreck
everything.
MICHAEL
We pride ourselves on patient
discretion and confidentiality.
Corey reacts relieved.
COREY
You really think you can help me,
Doc?
MICHAEL
Don’t worry about a thing. Your ass
is in good hands.
Now here is the same scene simply converted to a multi-cam format:
ACT ONE
FADE IN:
INT. DR. MICHAEL BARTEK’S EXAMINATION ROOM -- DAY

COREY BOYD (24), BROODING YOUNG TV HEARTTHROB, LIES
FACE DOWN ON THE EXAM TABLE IN A HOSPITAL GOWN AS
HIS BUTT GETS EXAMINED BY AN UNSEEN DOCTOR.
COREY
Damn paparazzi hounding me. That’s one
thing they never taught me about at
the Actors’ Studio. Glad I dropped out
after a week.
DOCTOR (O.S.)
My daughter loves you on “Beyond
Valley Village.” She has your poster
on her wall.
COREY
TV shows, posters, walls . . . what’s it
all mean without your health? How’s it
look, Doc?
CAMERA PULLS BACK TO REVEAL, THE DOCTOR: MICHAEL BARTEK
(40’S), COMFORTABLY HANDSOME.
MICHAEL
Moderate overproduction of oil from
the sebaceous glands. It’s caused some
pore clogging and appears to have
spread to the buttocks.

Corey reacts completely baffled.
MICHAEL (CONT’D)
Assne.
COREY
Assne?
MICHAEL
That’s what we call it in the trade.
COREY
I’m a star. Stars don’t get assne.
MICHAEL
You’d be surprised.
COREY
(urgently)
I just booked my first movie. There’s
like six nude scenes. My butt’s on
screen more than my face.
MICHAEL
Relax, Corey. We have treatment
options.
COREY
Nobody can know about this. If the
press finds out, it’ll wreck everything.
MICHAEL
We pride ourselves on patient
discretion and confidentiality.

Corey reacts relieved.
COREY
You really think you can help me, Doc?
MICHAEL
Don’t worry about a thing. Your ass is
in good hands.
As you can see, the page count spreads from about one and a half pages on
the single-cam version to just over two pages on the multi-cam version.
Did you notice any other differences? How about the scene headings in the
multi-cam version? They were underlined, right? In the single-cam ver-
sion, when new characters are introduced, their names are put in all caps.
In the multi-cam version, the name is already in caps along with the rest of
the action line so it is underlined to differentiate it. There are other small
differences, and screenwriting software programs like Final Draft (which
I highly recommend as the industry standard) will provide templates for
both to guide you through all of the various formatting differences.
In addition to the simple matter of formatting differences, if I was to fully
transition this single-cam pilot to a multi-cam format, I would probably con-
sider a number of adjustments to the way I have written the scenes throughout.
For instance, in this opening, as a multi-cam, I might rethink the introduction
of the series’ lead in which I call for the camera pulling back to reveal him. If
this were to be shot in front of a live audience, that choice might not work
quite as well. Whether you choose the single-cam or multi-cam approach, you
must think far beyond mere formatting to make the most of the strengths of
whichever form you have chosen.
So, which is better?

I know this may sound like a cop-out but I would say in truth, neither is better
or worse. They each have their advantages and disadvantages. The trick is to
figure out which form works best for YOUR VOICE and the stories you want
to tell with your series. Some factors to consider:
Your premise
Think of your premise and try to visualize your potential series being done in
both ways. Does your series mostly take place on just a few sets? Then a multi-
cam approach might be best. But then, look at Greg Garcia’s NBC series, My
Name Is Earl. The premise has Earl traveling far and wide to restore his karma by
making amends with all the various folks he has wronged throughout his whole
life. A freewheeling premise like this calls for a production that can utilize a ton
of different locales and settings and of course requires a single-cam approach.
Visual and special effects

Does your series hinge on special effects that might be harder to pull off in
front of a live audience? There’s a reason that all those vintage comedies about
lead characters with superhuman powers like Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie and
The Flying Nun (yes, there really was an actual series about a nun who could
fly) were done as single-cam series.
Some premises just have inherent challenges that make shooting them
in front of a live audience more problematic and challenging. I once had a
“tween” pilot in development that centered around a teenage boy who was a
gifted animal trainer. Each episode would feature some amazing animal tricks.
Those tricks could have conceivably been executed in front of a live audience,
but it would have most definitely added a layer of logistic difficulty to the entire
enterprise. Therefore, it was decided early on that the show would be best
served by a single-cam format.
Brooklyn 99, as an ensemble comedy looking at life in a New York police pre-
cinct, often features stories about the characters’ lives on the job. Sometimes this
means foot and car chases that would obviously be impossible to capture on a
sound stage in front of an audience. The pilot also plays on the stylistic tropes of
cop shows and movies as part of the series formula. Those parodic elements are
easier to capture using the filmic style the single-cam form allows for. However,
that is not to say that an ensemble comedy set in a police precinct couldn’t work
as a multi-cam. ABC’s long-running Barney Miller did it beautifully in the ’70s.
Do you have a very particular or ambitious vision for the look of your show?
The magical and sometime amazingly surreal vision of heaven that Michael
Schur conjured up in The Good Place could never have been quite so boldly and
fully realized within the confines of a multi-cam production. The same goes
for the darkly funny supernatural goth world Jermaine Clements creates in his
current FX vampire comedy, What We Do in The Shadows.
Your lead
If you’re writing a series with a specific performer (or even yourself ) then con-
sider which form would work best to showcase their talents. Stand-up comics
have often found their careers evolve from the club circuit to shows designed
around their comic sensibility. The list is long: Bob Newhart did it with The
Bob Newhart Show and later Newhart, Redd Foxx/Sanford and Son, Robin
Williams/Mork and Mindy, Martin Lawrence/Martin, Rosanne Barr/Rosanne,
Brett Butler/Grace Under Fire, Jerry Seinfeld/Seinfeld and many more. Every
one of these was done as multi-cam series, and it’s easy to understand why.
These are all performers who cut their teeth and made their mark working in
front of live audiences. Doesn’t it make sense to opt for the shooting option
that allows them to tap into their ease with a live audience?
Always consider who you’re building your show around and which type of
shooting style will serve them best.
Workplace vs. family comedy

While you will have to decide whether or not your prospective pilot is single-
or multi-cam, the decision as to whether your show should be a workplace or
family comedy is much more of an optional choice. Back in the day, nearly
all sitcoms neatly fit into either camp (or be a combination of the two like
The Dick Van Dyke Show or Frasier), but the trend in recent years is towards an
increasing number of strongly character-based shows (such as Insecure, Master of
None and PEN15) which defy such easy premise categorization. Still, there’s a
good chance the comedy you are contemplating may be falling under one of
these primary premise umbrellas. Let’s consider each.
Cubicle comedy: making the workplace work for you

The 99th Police Precinct. The Cloud 9 discount store. Dunder and Mifflin
Paper. Even the most casual TV comedy fan will probably recognize as least
some of these iconic work locations as the settings for series like Brooklyn Nine-
Nine, Superstore and the U.S. version of The Office (Wernham and Hogg Paper, if
you’re more of a fan of the U.K. original). The workplace settings in each are the
essential common element that “houses” the premise as it provides a backdrop to
bring otherwise disparate characters together for conflict and comedy.
It’s easy to understand the appeal of workplace comedies. Since most of us
have jobs, they are highly relatable. People often spend more time muddling
through their workday than they do with their families. And while sitcoms
typically employ some exaggeration in mining comedy, who among us hasn’t
encountered a workmate who can seem just about as weird and annoying as
The Office’s Dwight? Or endured a challenging relationship with a boss (Brook-
lyn Nine-Nine’s Officer Jake Peralta and Captain Holt)? Maybe even experi-
enced a budding attraction to a co-worker (Superstore’s Amy and Jonah, The
Office’s Pam and Jim)?
These vocational character dynamics are not only relatable but also ripe for
the sort of intense and mounting conflict that can prove powerful breeding
ground for comedy. The workplace also provides a means to bring in a wide
range of varied characters to play off each other to build stories and mine
laughs.
Social status can be a tremendously potent source of humor and the work-
place comedy is a natural fit to bring those comic conflicts to life. Since just
about any job setting comes with its own unique power structure, the work-
place sitcom typically has its own sort of “status structure” firmly set up in the
pilot as a go-to comedy component.
In terms of variety, the workplace comedy is as wide open in options as
the job market. Settings can include anything from blue-collar (Brooklyn Nine-
Nine, Cheers, Taxi) to “nerdy-techy” (Silicon Valley, I.T. Crowd) and even cloak
and dagger (Archer, Get Smart). Tone can also vary wildly from the nihilistic
bawdiness (Workaholics, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia) to sharply sardonic
political sophistication (VEEP) as well as frenetically wild unpredictability (30
Rock or Apple TV’s current offering, Mythic Quest).
In terms of character in the workplace comedy, the secret is in finding the
right mix to create conflict and comedy. We will be taking a more in-depth
look at the importance of pilot character development later in the book but
suffice it to say for now that the success of your pilot is going to hinge largely
on the “comedy engine” you create for it. And that engine runs on the array
of characters you conceive and how they conflict to spark comedy. A robust
mix of workplace relationships featuring varied comedic voices is essential to
keep churning out stories. It’s also important to note that while workplace
comedies typically might have a number of more extreme character types,
there is usually one individual at the center who is the most grounded and
relatable (think Amy on Superstore). As neurotic as Tina Fey’s Liz Lemon was
on 30 Rock, I would still argue she usually seemed like the sanest one of that
brilliantly funny bunch.
It’s also important to remember that if you are going to portray a particular
work environment, it’s imperative that you have a keen knowledge and under-
standing of the workplace world you’re trying to bring to life. For example,
Mythic Quest centers on a studio that produces multi-player video games. In
order to conjure up that world convincingly (much less capture the comic
nuances of the types of creative folks that world attracts), you would need a
great deal of knowledge of that world and the process of how those games are
conceived and created. Therefore, pick a workplace area you know or do the
research necessary to be an expert on it.
Family comedy: “F” is for finding the funny

Like workplace shows, family comedies trade heavily on relatability. Most of
us have grown up in some sort of family structure so we come to these shows
with an immediate understanding of the conflicts inherent in those familiar
dynamics. Family comedies continue to succeed with a wide array of varied
entries from shows like ABC’s Black-ish, CBS’s Mom as well as animated stal-
warts like Fox’s long-running The Simpsons and Family Guy. The tone too can
vary between more broad, wide-appeal comedy (ABC’s ’80s period piece, The
Goldbergs) to the much more savagely cynical (Fox’s Arrested Development) and
even more groundbreaking fare (such as Netflix’s Atypical which thoughtfully
features a family dealing with a son who is on the autism spectrum).
While your family comedy options are wide-open, the same considerations
for strong character development are going to come into play just as equally as
they would for the workplace comedy. You are going to require a strong selec-
tion of varied characters with different voices to create compelling conflict and
comedy. What are the character dynamics that are going to create the conflict
within the family that are to serve as the comedy engine for your show? The
Mom pilot finds an estranged mother (Alison Janney) and adult daughter (Anna
Ferris) both struggling with addiction who come back into each other’s life at
an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Just from hearing the premise, you can
sense the rich history of potential conflict to tap for a wealth of emotionally
comic stories.
Yet, as vitally important as conflict is in the family comedy to generate
stories and laughs, it’s also equally crucial to not lose sight of the underlying
bond and love that holds your prospective TV family together despite their
differences. Later in the book, we will discuss how a strong emotional through
line can serve to ground your pilot. Genuine moments of heart connect with
audiences and can endear your TV family to audiences for (hopefully) many
successful seasons to come.
Your comedy
Whether you are contemplating writing a multi or single-cam show or a work-
place or family comedy, your final decision will ultimately rest with you and
your own comic sensibility. What shows are you a devoted fan of and faithfully
watch? (And please, please, please, do not tell me that you don’t watch televi-
sion! I have had students proudly let me know this on the first day of class.
I will tell you what I tell them: If you want to write television, you have to watch it!
Okay, rant over.)
Where are you in your own life? Have you not started your own family yet
and are more invested in your work? Then a workplace comedy might be a
better fit for you. If you have done comedy writing in the past, think of your
style and voice. Do you lean more on visual gags, edits or other filmic devices?
Then the single-cam might be the best form for you. Or perhaps, you tend
to write longer more theater-based dialogue driven scenes? Then multi-cam
might be the way to go.
Take stock of your personal taste and emerging comedic voice. If you really
gravitate towards one genre or style over the other, you should come up with
an idea that will be well-served by the type of comedy that most speaks to you.
The choice is yours but remember, passion always matters and can’t be faked.
Whether single- or multi-cam, workplace or family, write what you love!
4 Rise of the dramedy
A few seasons back, Saturday Night Live featured a TV parody promo for a
fictional upcoming new fall CBS dramedy. A breathlessly booming voiceover
alerts us that the old guard “Tiffany” network, frustrated that their trademark
brand of traditional multi-cam comedies is now habitually overlooked dur-
ing award season in favor of the more au courant single-cam cable dramedies,
is coming out with their own new entry in the field: Broken. The relent-
lessly bleak “comedy” stars guest host Tom Hanks as the patriarchal head of
“a family of adjunct professors all diagnosed with depression on the same day.” CBS’s
usual impossibly sunny, upbeat promo style is played against decidedly dreary
introspective scenes from the series that feel positively Bergmanesque in their
unrelenting stark sadness.
The juxtaposition of the two wildly opposing styles not only makes for a
very funny sketch but also speaks to the current TV trend of increased tonal
flexibility and freedom as the traditional lines between comedy and drama con-
tinue to blur. The notable rise of the dramedy in recent years has much to do
with the emergence of so many more cable and streaming platforms allowing
for much more niche content for varied audiences. With this increased move
to more narrowcasting, show creators now enjoy much more opportunity and
latitude to explore darker, more intimate themes beyond the mass appeal laughs
they mined in the past.
In short, TV comedies no longer always or only have to be funny.
Atlanta, Barry, Insecure, Shrill . . . the list of these current genre-defying shows
goes on with each helping to reshape the TV comedy landscape as we know it
today. While there has been a proliferation of dramedies in recent TV seasons,
that is not to say they are an entirely new concept or even completely foreign to
the traditional networks. As mentioned earlier, there was M*A*S*H. The CBS
half-hour series centered on a mobile army surgical hospital in the throes of the
Korean War. The show was highly successful having run for 11 seasons (much
longer than the actual Korean War which only lasted three years) and was criti-
cally acclaimed with a slew of Emmy awards and nominations. M*A*S*H was
also an important pioneer in the dramedy genre as it juggled workplace ensem-
ble character comedy against the ever-looming presence of the horrors of war.
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-5
During its run, show runner/creator Larry Gelbart faced pushback from
CBS over how best to finesse this new and tricky tonal balancing Act. The
network, seeing the show (especially at the onset) in more purely comedic
terms, insisted on a laugh track for the single-cam series more in keeping
with their usual sitcom brand. The thinking was that TV audiences of the day
would require the usual laugh track to cue them to the comedy. Gelbart, find-
ing the canned laughter false and intrusive, fought for an eventual compromise
wherein the laugh track would be used generally but omitted during tense life
and death operating room scenes. This laugh track battle is of course a non-
issue for current purveyors of modern dramedies as we know them today ( just
try to imagine Atlanta or Fleabag with one). But the fact that at the time, the
network insisted on the device for M*A*S*H speaks to just how groundbreak-
ing and far ahead of its time the show really was.
Indeed, when I was beginning my own TV writing career in the late ’80s,
broader, more “jokey” multi-cam sitcoms were still very much the order of
the day. Unlike today’s dramedies, the early shows I broke my writing teeth
on required a pronounced set-up/punchline rhythm ideally with a minimum
of at least three jokes per page. They were constructed with a specific type of
comedy-crafting that I was fortunate enough to learn from the talented, more
experienced writers I worked under. But even then, there were starting to be
more and more TV comedies taking up the mantle of out-of-the-box shows
like M*A*S*H and changing the sitcom form.
One of the early pioneers of the dramedies we know today was The Days and
Nights of Molly Dodd. Created by Jay Tarses, the NBC (and later Lifetime) single-
cam show ran from 1987 to 1991 and starred Blair Brown in the title role of a wist-
ful divorcee navigating her moody and meandering life in Manhattan. The series
was fairly well-received by critics but not so much by some of the older veteran
sitcom scribes I was working with on those early shows. Coming from an earlier
era, they simply were not so enamored with this new emerging brand of “com-
edy” that was so much looser and less formulaic. I recall one of many frustrated
writers’ room rants from one about a particular Molly episode and the series lead:
A half-hour of this woman clutching a cup of tea, staring pensively out the window
at the rain. Where are the jokes?!
While I understood my older colleague’s discomfort with this new kind of

almost joke-less “sitcom,” as a young writer, I was excited and inspired by the
freedom it could represent in my own writing. I loved multi-cam shows and
felt ridiculously lucky to be serving on staff under some incredibly talented TV
comedy craftsman. But I was also a big fan of the smart, more personal film
comedies by the likes of James L. Brooks and Paul Mazursky. I soon became
interested in expanding my own writing horizons by trying my hand at a
single-cam pilot. Molly Dodd showed me what might be possible in terms of
blending some more personal drama with my comedy.
Rise of the dramedy 29
If you are at a similar point in your creative TV writing journey, you too may
be finding yourself inspired by the powerful and personal range of evocative
and emotional exploration the dramedy may provide in showcasing your own
stories and emerging voice.
Dramedies: power of the personal

As I detailed in the introduction, I always advise my students to seek out those
works that inspire them. For me at that time, I was particularly influenced by
the 1982 film Diner, written and directed by Barry Levinson. The movie was
a semi-autobiographical period piece inspired by Levinson’s early adulthood
circa 1959, Baltimore. It featured a stellar new generation of just breaking
future TV and film stars including Mickey Rourke, Kevin Bacon, Ellen Bar-
kin, Daniel Stern and Paul Reiser. When I first saw the film, I was roughly the
same age as the movie’s main characters and related to their struggles as they
rode the rocky road to adulthood this period can represent. I was also struck
by how well the movie blended sharply observed character comedy along with
surprisingly effective moments of raw emotional pathos and drama. I loved the
film and the very real way Levinson’s dialogue seemed to capture the funny,
rambling conversations I was having with my own pals. I wanted to see if
I could perhaps bring that same sort of mix and energy to my own work and
wrote an original spec dramedy single-cam pilot titled Hometown Blues with
that intention.
Hometown Blues was about a young man named Paul Crenshaw moving back
home to New Jersey after a failed stab at success in Hollywood. I was still in
LA, but “Paul” was basically a version of me. After writing for months on staff,
it was energizing to be able to write something so much more deeply personal
(even if it was only on spec at that point). It was also very fun and freeing to
be able to utilize the array of film editing and style techniques choices that
were not available to me on the multi-cam shows I was being paid to write.
However, it was also one of my first stabs at pilot writing and my greenness
showed in some unevenness. For starters, I had pictured it as a half-hour and
my script came in at around 45 pages (very long for a single-cam). But still,
it was a piece I was excited about, and this new dramedy form allowed me to
explore emotional themes in a much deeper, more nuanced manner than the
sitcoms I had been toiling on.
While it never ended up getting produced, a lot of the creative folks my agents
submitted it to saw beyond its flaws and responded to the passion I brought to
it. The piece ended up doing a great deal for me in terms of landing me pitch
meetings and eventually script assignments. I even had some opportunities that
arose on dramas that never would have come had I not ventured out of the
multi-cam form that I had been making my early living at. I’m sharing this
because if you deeply long to tell your own story and share your truth, the
dramedy may well be the best means to get real and personal.
Dramedies dare
If the personal story you’re so passionate to share also happens to be tackling
topical, controversial or sensitive issues, that may be even more reason the
dramedy may be your best option.
Joey Soloway’s groundbreaking Amazon series, Transparent, about a Los
Angeles family dealing with the news that a parent was living as a trans-woman,
was inspired because Soloway’s own parent had come out as a trans-woman.
I May Destroy You, the searing BBC One/HBO dramedy starring and created
by Michaela Coel, details the tumultuous life facing a young London writer
after she comes to the gutting realization that she had recently been roofied and
raped. The series veers brilliantly between Coel’s sharp comedic observational
takes on relationships, gender dynamics and culture commentary to the very
stark drama of the character’s anguished situation. Coel has stated that she was
inspired to create the series after she had been sexually assaulted herself while
writing her prior British series, Chewing Gum.
With both Transparent and I May Destroy You, Soloway and Coel are offering
unflinchingly honest stories if not fully based, at least inspired by their own
lives. The powerful emotional journeys these writers have crafted for their
characters run the emotional gamut and absolutely benefit from the flexibility
between “light and dark” that the dramedy form provides.
Dramadies also often seem to share a more “risk-friendly” sensibility simi-
lar to independent film both in terms of their subject matter and the creative
freedom of their execution. Because so many of them find broadcast homes on
cable and streaming services rather than traditional networks, they often enjoy
more latitude on issues of censorship regarding nudity, frank sexual content,
violence and language.
Barry, the acclaimed HBO series created by Bill Hader and Alec Berg, is a
brilliant character study of Russian mob hitman Barry Berkman (Hader) as he
embarks on a new life path from murderer for pay to a new start as a struggling
Los Angeles actor. In terms of violence and language, it’s easy to see why the
creators felt the dramedy form might provide the best vehicle to explore their
decidedly edgy premise. HBO, with its ability to provide much more latitude
for uncensored content than the traditional networks, presumably made the
premiere streaming video on demand service a logical broadcast partner in
realizing their series vision. Similarly, I May Destroy You benefits as well from
the creative freedom both in its dramedy form as well as its HBO broadcast
platform (which allows for nudity and frank sexual discussion) in its uncompro-
mising exploration of adult themes and topics.
Dramedies also seem to sometimes enjoy less rigidity in terms of formulaic
restrictions than more standard strictly comedy entries. While many dram-
edies are serialized in their story telling, there seems to be more freedom for
individual episodes to sometimes break the rules and constriction presented in
their pilot premise. Atlanta’s Donald Glover took full advantage of this freedom
with “B.A.N.,” the brilliant Season 1, Episode 7 entry he wrote and directed.
With “B.A.N.” (short for Black American Network—parodying B.E.T./Black
Rise of the dramedy 31
Entertainment Television), Glover subverts viewers’ expectations by eschewing
the show’s established framework and having the entire episode revolve around
Paper Boi’s (Brian Tyree Henry) appearance on one of B.A.N.’s talk shows.
It even manages to memorably lampoon the urban commercial spots famil-
iar to B.E.T.’s audience with those segments almost operating as free-standing
sketches. Remarkably, the episode dares to not even feature series lead character
Earn (Glover). It’s the kind of bold rule and convention-breaking nerve that
makes for an incredibly smart, inventive and surprising episode that would
seem unattainable for a more standard-issue conventional network to achieve.
Long-form/hour dramedies
While this book is more focused on half-hour comedy pilots, the hour form has
also been greatly affected by the advent of the increasing homogeny between
drama and comedy in the dramedy mix. Notable entries such as Orange Is the
New Black, Shameless, Glee, GLOW, Jane the Virgin, Better Call Saul, Killing Eve
and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel all convincingly take advantage of the dram-
edy’s genre fluidity to successfully straddle the line between comedy and drama
while utilizing a traditional drama one-hour structure.
Deciding between a one-hour or half-hour format for a dramedy can be
tricky. It’s important to consider the scope of the pilot and series you are plan-
ning. Does your show feature a large sweeping premise requiring more com-
plex, intertwining storylines? Are you envisioning a series with an especially
large ensemble, requiring increased storylines to service your cast? In these
cases, the extended running time might be the best logistic fit for the show
you’re envisioning.
Even though the dramedy is a hybrid, perhaps the greatest key in making the
running-time decision is to ask yourself: Between comedy and drama, which
would be the dominant genre? If it’s clearly drama, the one-hour form may be
your best bet. And of course, your personal taste is again always going to be a
factor in this decision. If you’re mostly a fan of the one-hour form, it may well
be a more comfortable (and fun!) fit for you to write.
Should your show be a dramedy?

Think about the premise you’re considering. Is it purely light and frothy (and of
course, there is nothing wrong with that!) or does it contain darker edges that
require the bending and blending of genres between comedy and drama? Are
you telling a very personal story with complex themes that you want to explore
not only for comedy but also for their emotional or philosophical meaning?
Do you want to develop a show that breaks the rules in subject matter or form?
If the answer to some or all of these questions is a resounding “yes,” then the
dramedy may well be the best form and vehicle to realize your series vision.
5 The animated comedy pilot
As you begin to ponder your idea, you may be thinking of developing your
pilot as an animated vehicle. This is hardly surprising. Animated series such as
Big Mouth, Rick and Morty, Bob’s Burgers and F Is for Family account for some of
the sharpest, most inventive and creative adult comedy happening in television
today. Indeed, a spec animated pilot may well not only be the best fit for your
concept but also the most ideal means to showcase your emerging comedic
voice as you begin to define yourself as a TV comedy writer. So, is animation
the right road for you and your new pilot? Let’s consider it.
A brief look back

While, as we’ve noted, the current television landscape is highlighted by a slew
of smart and acclaimed adult comedy animated series, this was not always the
case. In TV’s early days, the form was relegated to children’s programming and
Saturday morning cartoons. That all changed in 1960, when William Hanna
and Joseph Barbera’s beloved prehistoric family series The Flintstones became
the first animated sitcom to appear in prime-time on ABC. The show, sort
of a stone-age version of the classic Jackie Gleason series, The Honeymooners,
enjoyed a six-year run. Hanna-Barbera Studios followed it with a succession of
other prime-time animated entries including The Jetsons (flipping the Flintstone
formula with this futuristic space-age sitcom), Top Cat, Johnny Quest and the
first-run syndicated Wait Till Your Father Gets Home.
While these new series enjoyed some popularity, there hadn’t been a big
break-out animated primetime series hit to match The Flintstones ’60s suc-
cess. That, of course, all changed on December 17, 1989, when a new show
exploded on the broadcast horizon about a loveable (and distinctively bright yel-
low), middle-class clan from a mythical town called Springfield: The Simpsons.
The Fox series, created by Matt Groening for James L. Brooks’ Gracie Films
and 20th Century Fox Television, originated on Fox’s Tracey Ullman Show. The
Simpsons clan: Homer, Marge, Bart, Lisa and little Maggie were featured in
mini-animated “bumper” transition shorts for the British comedienne’s sketch
comedy show.
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-6
The animated comedy pilot 33
I was fortunate enough to co-write a couple of freelance sketches for The
Tracey Ullman Show and recall going to a live-taping of an episode featuring one
of my sketches in the show’s second season. One of those early Simpsons shorts
was screened for the studio audience and it was clear that this early, crudely
rendered version of the cartoon family was already a huge fan favorite. It didn’t
take long for Fox to pick up on the buzz and spin them off into a full-fledged
sitcom of their own.
The Simpsons quickly made a big splash by becoming the relatively new Fox
Network’s first Nielsen Top 30 show. The show, with its smart satiric jabs at
American politics and pop culture tempered with often surprisingly affecting
moments of sentiment, quickly exploded into a cultural phenomenon with
Dad Homer’s signature catch-phrase grunt, “Doh!” even eventually earning its
way into the Oxford English Dictionary. At the time of this writing, the series
is in its 31st season and holds the record as television’s longest-running prime
time sitcom.
The Simpsons ushered in a new era of prime-time animated comedies with
a slew of entries in the ’90s including Beavis and Butthead and King of the Hill
(both created by Mike Judge), Daria, The Critic, Family Guy (created by Seth
MacFarlane), Pinky and the Brain (created by Tom Ruegger) and Futurama (cre-
ated by Simpsons mastermind Matt Groening). These varied shows, each with
their own sharp humor and unmistakable voice, redefined TV animation, ele-
vating critical and audience expectations for the genre as a whole.
Another major game changer in this post-Simpsons era was South Park. The
series, created by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, may have centered on four boys
(Stan, Kyle, Eric and Kenny) growing up in central Colorado, but its heady mix
of smart social satire coupled with surreal, absurdist and scatological humor was
decidedly adult. Parker and Stone had no qualms about pushing the envelope
and taking no prisoners with head-on attacks on controversial issues of the day.
With the show’s amazingly fast production turnaround utilizing a rushed six-
day schedule from concept to air, Parker and Stone were able to infuse episodes
with an unprecedented timeliness as it lampooned issues of the day—formerly
off-limits for an animated series—along with real-world hot topics ranging
from Scientology, presidential elections and even the capture of Saddam Hus-
sein. (Note: The television documentary 6 Days to Air examines the series’
demanding turnaround and is definitely well worth seeking out for a deeper
look at the show’s unique and intense production process.)
Bojack Horseman, the critically acclaimed dark character study of a deeply
flawed, anthropomorphic ’90s burnt-out, sitcom celeb, also broke down barri-
ers in its own way and is another crucial show to consider in the evolution of
adult animation. The series creator, Raphael Bob-Waksberg, originally pitched
the show to Netflix as Bojack The Depressed Horse and delivered boldly on
his vision with his uncompromising exploration of the very darkest depths of
human (well, horse/human?) despair. Bob-Waksberg remarkably managed to
shift almost seamlessly between the biting sardonic comedy of Bojack’s life on
Hollywood’s C-list to the searing psycho-drama of his most personal mid-life
pain. In accomplishing this, Bojack busted through old established animation
genre lines. The series not only challenged former conventions of what was
acceptable subject matter but also established a new, much more expanded
tonal range for animated dramedies to come (perhaps even for the one you
might be thinking of developing right now).
Should your pilot be animated?

So perhaps, you’re a huge animation fan and are even inspired by some of the
pioneering shows we’ve discussed here. Yet, you’re still on the fence about
whether your idea would be best interpreted as an animated or live-action
comedy. Here are a few points to consider:
Thinking visually
As different as animation and live-action may seem, much of your approach to
both will remain fairly similar. With either form, you should be ideally striving
to tell well-constructed stories with a compelling beginning, middle and end
while featuring well-defined characters your audience will hopefully respond
to and connect with. One key difference is that while all good screenwriting
requires adept skill at conveying the visual (showing not telling), it’s even more
pronounced and crucial in animation. It can be argued that animation is even
more of a visual medium. And therefore, it is imperative that your approach
reflects that.
Live-action and animation scripts both operate as blueprints for future col-
laborators to bring them to life. The action and description lines in your live-
action script are there for the director to interpret and usually do not require
a lot of special detail or additional information. And in fact, a more spare,
stripped-down method of writing your action lines will generally serve you
better and make for a much more effective read. (We will discuss this idea of
the “less is more” method later in the book.)
Of course, you also want to be careful not to “overwrite” with your ani-
mated script, but there is an expectation that you will offer more in the way
of thorough descriptions and action lines to get your visual intent across than
you might in a live-action script. With animation, you are likely writing your
action lines for a storyboard artist to interpret. Of course, there are many gifted
story boarders who do amazing work but there is more of an expectation for
you as the writer to provide your visuals in a more literal, full-bodied and
detailed manner than you might in a live-action counterpart.
In animation, it’s almost as if you’re not only the writer but you’re also in
effect functioning as the director. This is even more crucial at this stage where
you are creating your pilot and setting the tone of your show. In approaching
the animated script, you should be focused on making all of your elements as visual
as you can. That means everything: plot points, jokes, gags and even selling
the resonating emotional resolution moments as visually contextualized as
possible.
Your premise
While there are concepts that could work well both as live-action or animated
pilots, there are those premises that all but demand to be animated. One of the
obvious advantages of animation is that you are typically less logistically and
budgetarily limited in terms of locations, sets and special effects. Simply, ani-
mation can generally provide a much broader visual canvas to (literally) draw
upon. However, having said this, it’s important to note that while there is more
leeway in this area, animated productions come with their own set of time and
budgetary concerns. For instance, while an additional location would probably
not cost as much on an animated show as its counterpart might be on a live-
action show, you would still be looking at the added expense for an animator
to create and draw a new background and that would be more expensive than
rethinking your story to use a previously drawn background. But still (and
especially at the pilot-writing stage), the sky is much more the limit in develop-
ing your pilot premise and story.
As an exercise, try to re-imagine some of your favorite animated comedies
as live-action shows. How challenging would it be to realistically capture the
limitless imagination and sci-fi fantasy of Futurama or the intergalactic globe-
trotting exploits of Rick and Morty? The special effects budgets on those shows
would be nearly as astronomical as the distant planets those series explored.
How about translating the anthropomorphic characters who populate the
aforementioned Bojack Horseman? I’m not saying it couldn’t be done, but exe-
cuting convincing live-action versions of Bojack, Mr. Peanut Butter and the
feline Princess Carolyn (the film version of Cats, anyone?) would most defi-
nitely present challenges averted by animation and make for a very different
show.
A show like Netflix’s coming of age comedy Big Mouth includes fanciful
devices ranging from objects suddenly bursting to life, otherworldly “hormone
monsters” and even the ghost of Duke Ellington. And while all of these ele-
ments would present formidable live-action hurdles, there’s also some com-
plicated matters of casting. Big Mouth is a decidedly adult show that looks
unflinchingly back at puberty. Its “tween” cast of characters is voiced by an
array of gifted adult comedy actors and stand-up comics (including Nick Kroll,
John Mulaney and Jessi Klein). The show pulls absolutely no punches in its
frank depiction of this incredibly rocky time of sexual awakening and anxiety.
A live-action version of the show casting real-life actors who are actually the
age of the tween characters (or can pass for it) brings with it a host of moral
implications the animated version sidesteps.
Now consider your premise. Does it come with built-in logistic and budget-
ary concerns? Is your concept something that requires a lot of (or near limitless)
locations? Are you envisioning a slew of mind-blowing special effects? These
are all questions you should be asking yourself as you weigh the animation vs.
live-action question.
Animation and you

Of course, another essential consideration will be your personal relationship to
animation. Are you a passionate devotee of the form? Are animated shows typi-
cally your favorite kinds of comedy? Again, you really cannot underestimate
the power passion brings to all of your creative endeavors, so this should defi-
nitely factor into your decision. Say you come up with an idea that you decide
would work best in an animated form. Even if it’s an inspired idea, if you have
no real love or feel for the form, it will be challenging to breathe life into your
vision and bring it to life.
Then there’s the element of marketing one’s self and the sample spec as a
calling card to consider. Remember, if you are just starting out, each one of
your early spec samples is serving to not only define you as a writer now but in
turn how you envision your future creative career to others. While there is a lot
to be said for having a varied sample portfolio, if you really have absolutely no
desire to write in animation, then having one of your early specs be animated
may not be in your best interest and may send the wrong message.
Animation structure and format

We will be delving more into structure and formatting more deeply in future
chapters, but here is a brief overview of how they pertain to the animated pilot.
In general, with all of the emerging platforms and outlets for content, there
seems to be more leeway for some variations in formatting. But, while there’s
room for variants, animated scripts often do tend to run longer than single-
cam live action scripts because they often employ double-spacing within the
dialogue and as discussed more detailed action line descriptions. So, while the
live-action version of your pilot might be just 30 pages or so, an animated ver-
sion of the same script might clock in at over 50 pages even though they both
may have the same 22-minute running time.
For example, the draft of the pilot for the 2018 animated Netflix series Para-
dise PD written by Roger Black and Waco O’Guin I reference here is a total of
52 pages and breaks down this way:
COLD OPEN—Pages 1–2

ACT 1—Pages 3–23
As you can see, the writers went with a 4-Act structure with a Cold Open,
but you would have the option with your spec pilot to opt for a different
structure (say: Cold Open, 3 Acts, Tag). The main thing to remember with
whichever variant you employ is that you’re structuring your script soundly
and that you’re selecting the format options that will work best for the stories
you want to tell with your subsequent series.
I would also consider the broadcast platform that you feel is the most ideal
fit for your pilot. For example, if you envision your pilot as a perfect show for
Netflix or Comedy Central or FOX, I would see if there’s a preponderance of
one type of structure (number of Acts as well as the use of Cold Opens and
Tags) on the majority of shows currently on your chosen outlet and take that
into consideration with how you go about laying out your pilot structure.
Animation or live-action?
Again, consider your premise and how you envision your show. Think about
how you see yourself as a writer and which form best showcases both the piece
and your comedic voice. Is animation right for your new pilot? It’s really up to
you. Draw your own conclusions (sorry, couldn’t help myself !).
6 The “tween” comedy pilot
More than a decade ago, my first foray into teaching came when I was asked to
co-lead a high school summer sitcom arts camp held annually at UCLA. Stu-
dents from all over the world came to learn about TV comedy writing, acting
and production with the main project being the production of a Cold Open of
an original sitcom pilot penned by and starring the campers.
In one of our first sessions, I screened some selected sitcom scenes to dis-
cuss the basics of story, character and theme. While the campers seemed fairly
interested by the clips, there was only one that earned their complete and rapt
attention. It was the 2007 pilot of Disney Channel’s Hannah Montana created
by Michael Poryes, Rich Correll and Barry O’Brien. I knew the show and its
young star, Miley Cyrus, were extremely popular so I wasn’t surprised that the
campers would find the show entertaining, but what I wasn’t prepared for was
just how invested they would be in this multi-cam tween comedy.
When the opening credits rolled, there was this absolute—almost
reverential—silence. The students watched with an intensity and focus I had
not previously experienced with them when I had shown scenes from much
higher profile adult prime-time adult shows. Hannah was a show which seemed
to be speaking to these young people directly. They weren’t just watching the
show—they were studying it. It was suddenly clear to me just how powerful
tween content is to its young target audience.
Years later, I taught Writing for Television classes at Emerson College. The
course featured an overview of various TV genres. When we got to the week
on Children and Tween television, I was again struck by how spirited and pas-
sionate the discussion became among these college-age students on the shows
they grew up on and why they seemed to still mean so much to them. Upon
reflection, some shared that these shows like Hannah, Drake and Josh and Wiz-
ards of Waverly Place—designed to appeal specifically to the 8-to-12-year-old
demographic—served as important transitional entertainment for them as they
moved from kiddie programming to older-skewing, teen-oriented content.
With these series, emerging most notably from platforms such as Disney
Channel and Nickelodeon, the students related that they were suddenly get-
ting to see actors who were just a bit older than themselves at this pivotal time
when they themselves were struggling to figure out this new (and sometimes
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The “tween” comedy pilot 39
scary) adolescent world they were suddenly thrust into. These series and their
characters offered guidance on how to navigate issues like dating, friendship
and popularity. Most expressed fond affection for these programs and seemed
genuinely grateful for the insight and comfort they provided.
They went on to share examples of how they truly took the adolescent life
lessons these shows offered to heart. One student recalled how he had been
devastated by a big fight with his middle-school best friend but then a rerun
episode of Drake and Josh featuring the buddy comedy’s leads working success-
fully through their own dire estrangement provided him with guidance about
how listening and understanding could mend a friendship. The student related
that he actually utilized the episode’s communication lesson and it worked. He
made up with his buddy! For this young man, this little “tween” show made a
big difference. Drake and Josh helped.
So, if you’re considering writing a tween pilot or perhaps even focusing
your writing career in that arena, that’s fantastic. There’s always a massive need
for quality content and the tween segment takes up a formidable piece of
the entertainment marketplace. But while there is tremendous opportunity,
it’s also equally important to remember that with that opportunity comes real
responsibility.
I’ve encountered students who view going into children’s or tween televi-
sion more as a calculated career move than having to do with any real desire
to contribute meaningfully to their impressionable young audience. These stu-
dents somehow had the misguided notion that the quality standards will be
lower so therefore, the road to breaking in will be much easier than with adult
programming. While there are some differences in writing for the youth mar-
ket, you can be sure that the genre requires its own specific and formidable
skill set and the competition is still quite fierce. If you choose to write a tween
comedy pilot, do it because it’s your passion, not because you perceive it as the
path of least resistance.
The tween spec pilot sample

As you devise your career plan and create your script portfolio, it’s important
for you to know that if you are interested in writing for tween television, you
certainly have the freedom to use an original adult comedy pilot or episodic
spec as your sample. Showrunners, high-level producers and execs in the genre
often have come from adult television and can appraise your particular fit for
their show from more broadly aimed comedic samples. So, a tween sample is
usually not going to be a requirement to be considered for one of those shows.
However, if you really do have a burning desire to build your future creative
career more solely in the tween arena, an original pilot geared specifically to
the age group will most definitely demonstrate your passion for the form and
strongly signal your commitment. If that is the case for you, go for it!
In creating your tween show, it’s important to remember that your goal
will remain fairly similar to what it would be for any adult comedy pilot.
You want to present a fresh, original concept that feels ripe for conflict and
comedy. You’ll want to populate it with compelling, multi-dimensional char-
acters who audiences will want to invite into their viewing lives for seasons to
come. And of course, as with an adult comedy, you are going to want a solidly
constructed story with a satisfying beginning, middle and end. In short, good
TV is good TV.
Relatability and aspiration

During my TV writing career, I was fortunate to work in the tween market
and sell several pilots there. Whenever I was about to pitch ideas to a network
or production company, I would ask if there was anything they were look-
ing for in particular. Almost without fail, I would hear the same familiar dual
refrain: relatability and aspiration.
As discussed, tween viewers are looking to these shows not only for some
guidance but also to see a version of themselves on screen. It can be argued
that the human need to relate is even more pronounced during adolescence
when young people are struggling to carve out their own identity. But it’s not
enough just to capture the superficialities of this particular time of life. Just hav-
ing characters roughly in the same age range of your audience talking the same
slang and wearing the same fashion is not going to cut it. We have to care about
them. To accomplish this, your young target audience requires characters who
feel authentic to their own lives and ring true—characters they can relate to.
When the main character in your pilot faces challenges, your audience
should understand and care enough about them to create empathy and put
themselves in their position. In the 2017 pilot for Disney Channel’s Andi Mack
we meet the title character on the night of her 13th birthday. Andi’s world is
turned upside down when she discovers her older “sister” Bex is actually her
mother. The pilot and entire series hinges on the audience being on board with
Andi on this life-altering journey of self-discovery.
The pilot works because the series writer/creator, Terri Minsky, first estab-
lishes Andi as a vulnerable and convincingly multi-dimensional character who
already has her hands full with a lot of the usual adolescent issues around bud-
ding romance and friendships. Because we’ve gotten to know and like Andi,
when she eventually does get sideswiped by this new life-shaking disclosure,
we are right there with her for the series’ whole rocky ride. Andi’s relatability
doesn’t just happen because the writer placed her in a difficult situation but
rather is earned through strong and richly nuanced character development.
Remember, it is your job to do the work necessary to come up with charac-
ters who we can care about and can truly come to life for us.
Aspire to aspire
If you research successful tween shows past and present, you will see a great
deal of them feature an aspirational premise of some sort. What 12-year-old
wouldn’t be excited about the prospect of being a secret undercover pop star à
la the aforementioned Hannah Montana? I was fortunate enough to write a free-
lance episode of Nickelodeon’s True Jackson, V.P. (created by Andy Gordon).
The pilot premise finds True (Kiki Palmer) landing a position of vice presi-
dent of a youth fashion company. How cool would that seem to the average
fashion-forward middle-schooler? The Netflix series The Expanding Universe
of Ashley Garcia, created by Mario Lopez and Seth Kurland, features Ashley
(Paulina Chávez) as a 15-year-old rocket science prodigy who toils as a robotics
engineer at NASA. Clearly, these characters are not exactly leading typical teen
lives. There is a very definite dose of wish fulfillment running through all three
of these series. Their appeal makes sense since adolescence is this time when
many young people are dreaming about what their lives may become. So, an
original pilot premise that can tap into this hopefulness and sense of wonder
about what might be possible can be a crucial selling point to your tween pilot.
And of course, if you can aspire in a way that feels fresh and original, all the
better. The trick is that if you do place your main character into the sort of
amazing unique tween fantasy lives enjoyed by Hannah, True or Ashley, your
mission will also be to just as equally ensure that your main character remains
relatable to your audience. You always want the combination of aspiration and relat-
ability. The idea is for your audience to think, “Hey, that could be me!”
Believe in magic!
In this era of massive literary and movie mega-franchises such as Harry Potter,
Star Wars and Twilight, it’s hardly surprising that tween TV would be prime
ground for the fantasy supernatural series.
Disney Channel’s Wizards of Waverly Place looks at life and sorcery among
a trio of modern-day sibling teen wizards living in Manhattan’s Greenwich
Village. In Nickelodeon’s Henry Danger, 13-year-old Henry gains and loses a
variety of super powers as he serves as faithful superhero sidekick to Captain
Man. And then there’s Just Add Magic, the Amazon Studio series wherein three
tween besties find a mysterious cookbook and start whipping up middle-school
spells. That one actually puts Magic right there in the title!
Clearly, tween TV can be a haven for otherworldly themes and content.
Again, one can correlate the familiar call for teen aspiration in all of these fanci-
ful premises. But be aware that even if you’ve come up with your own amazing,
tween fantasy premise (Vampire Cheerleaders: “They got pep but need plasma!”)
even the coolest supernatural premise will only take you so far.
An awesome magical premise gimmick can be a great jumping-off point and
powerful selling tool. But you still have to back it up with a well-constructed
pilot that feels ripe for future comedy and conflict with memorable characters
who are compelling and relatable (there’s that word again!). In short? Embrace
the magic. But remember, the magic is not a magic bullet for the hard work
and craftsmanship required for your tween pilot to succeed and perhaps even
be, well . . . magical.
Remember your demographic
As you build your tween pilot, remember that you want to showcase your
young players front and center. Networks like the Disney Channel and Nick-
elodeon have staked their formidable success and reputations on the youth
market so make sure that you’re making your leads the tweens and teens your
young target audience is tuning in to see. That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t
strengthen your pilot with an interesting and fun supporting adult author-
ity figure cast. But do not make the parents or teachers the star of your pilot.
Tweens are not tuning in for the parents on these shows. It’s called iCarly not
iCarly’s Mom. Make the kids the stars.
And of course, in terms of your pilot story, try to come up with subject mat-
ter that’s going to be of interest to your audience. Think back to the age that
you’re writing about and try to recall the things and life events that mattered
most to you. There are topics that just don’t work as well for your target audi-
ence. A pilot story about a character dealing with a changing federal tax law
structure probably isn’t going to resonate quite as well with the average tween
as say a story about getting a zit before a big dance.
Obviously, there are also limitations in the tween market with what’s accept-
able in terms of sexual situations, innuendo, violence and language. Networks
and broadcast platforms adhere to specific standards and practices (S&P) proce-
dures that must be observed. Again, writing for the youth market comes with
a higher degree of responsibility and care that will (and should) inform your
writing.
Respect your audience

As discussed, it’s imperative to write your tween characters as fully developed
and multi-dimensionally as possible. Avoid hackneyed familiar versions of typi-
cal teen types (the dumb jock, the airhead, the nerd). I’m not saying that you
necessarily must completely avoid the tropes of these various character types,
but you should strive to see if you can bring something new to your portrayal
of them. It’s imperative for you to bring as much humanity and nuance as pos-
sible to your characters. Remember, your pilot is serving as the blueprint for
your future series. Therefore, it’s your job to lay the groundwork to provide at
least a glimpse of the richer character development you have in store for us in
the future.
Do your tween research

One key way to show that you respect the current tween demographic is to
take the time to learn as much as you can about them. That means immersing
yourself into the culture as much as possible. Watch as much content (both TV
and movies) that is currently hot with this segment of youth. See if you spot
future trends as well as see what’s getting oversaturated or played out. Pay atten-
tion to sites and internet apps popular with this demo such as TikTok, Snapchat
and Instagram to help get a pulse on what’s trending. Of course, probably the
best way to learn about tweens is to talk to them. If you’re a parent or uncle or
aunt of one, then obviously this will be easier. But even if you’re not, it may be
well worth your while to try to seek out some interviews and interactions with
young people to lend your pilot the considerable insight and authenticity that
sort of personal research can provide.
Tween talk: don’t overdo slang

Now while doing your research and staying on top of youth trends is impor-
tant, be aware that firing off too much tween slang can make your script seem
like it’s trying just a bit too hard and actually undercut your authenticity. I once
co-wrote a pilot for the Disney Channel and made this mistake. In our quest to
not sound like the two middle-aged guys we were, my writing partner on the
project and I piled one trendy phrase after another. Instead of a tween character
simply saying, “These pancakes are great!” our line would be something like “Yo,
these pancakes are slammin’!” Loading so many of these desperately teen-friendly
lines made our young characters ring decidedly false and the whole enterprise
less convincing. Remember, by its very nature, slang is trendy and can make
your work feel dated very quickly. So, if you want your pilot to be Gucci and
totally lit, use your tween slang judiciously and sparingly or it may ring false and
fake (see what I mean?).
Be inclusive and bold!

It’s my belief that imbuing your work with as much inclusiveness and diversity
as possible will only improve and strengthen it. Among young audiences, there
is a rightful demand for content that is reflective of their world and the more
elevated ways in which many of them now embrace differences in race, ethnic-
ity, sexual orientation and gender norms. It’s important to remember that the
best television does not only reflect societal evolution in these areas but can also
educate and even be a tool of change itself.
If there are themes or issues you are passionate about (again, that p word),
perhaps your tween pilot may well actually be a most powerful tool for your
message. The Netflix coming-of-age series The Healing Powers of Dude, created
by Erica Spates and Sam Littenberg-Weisberg, shines a light on mental health
issues among young people with its depiction of its lead character, Noah Ferris.
Noah is an 11-year-old boy dealing with social anxiety disorder who gets an
emotional support dog to help manage his condition. Andi Mack was the first
show on the Disney Channel to feature a gay main character and won both a
GLAAD Media Award and British LGBT Award for its landmark effort. Both
of these series demonstrate that there are always opportunities to break new
ground and make a real difference. If there is something you long to say with
your pilot, don’t be afraid to take chances.
7 Choose your platform
Network, cable or streaming?
What was the last show you watched? Perhaps, it was an episode of NBC’s
Superstore from the comfort of your couch on your flat screen? Or was it
the latest episode of HBO Max’s Hacks on your cell while striding on the
treadmill? Maybe you binged an entire season of Netflix’s Big Mouth on
your iPad during a cross-country flight. Of course, these are just a few
viable viewing options and only a small representation of the countless
means available to today’s entertainment content consumer. But this was
not always the case.
The “Big Three”

When I first started making my way as a TV writer way back in the early
’80s, viewing options were much more limited. While there was a more lim-
ited market in First Run Syndication (programming broadcast through various
independent stations and affiliates), the vast majority of viewership was taking
place over the Big Three Networks: CBS, NBC and ABC. Hit series of the
day like Murphy Brown (CBS), Cheers (NBC) and Who’s the Boss (ABC) enjoyed
massive followings of viewers who faithfully—unless they were employing a
VCR—watched each episode exclusively during each series’ anointed day and
time slot. There was but one solitary viewing method and device: your good
old-fashioned television set.
Obviously, things have changed dramatically. It’s important to have an aware-
ness, not only of the current broadcast landscape and emerging trends, but
more precisely how the broadcast platform you choose may impact the way
your pilot should be developed and eventually marketed to its best advantage.
We’ll be examining that history briefly and where we are now, focusing pri-
marily on comedy programming.
Over the early years of television, the Big Three Networks each staked their
own piece of the TV comedy pie. CBS’s moniker as “The Tiffany Network”
alludes to its old-guard status dating back to the days under the leadership
of media mogul William S. Paley. In addition to the legendary success they
achieved in the ’70s with their aforementioned prestigious Saturday comedy
night line-up, in subsequent years they continued to find big audiences with a
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Choose your platform 45
string of hit multi-cam comedies, many of which were arguably older-skewing
than their competition.
ABC was the youngest of the Big Three Networks and spent a lot of its early
years as a ratings underdog. A string of hit multi-cam comedies helped change
that for the network in the ’70s. Two of the most successful were Happy Days
and Laverne and Shirley. This pair of warm, nostalgic Gary Marshall-produced
sitcoms not only rose to the top of the ratings during their long runs but also
helped propel other ABC comedies of the day including Three’s Company, Soap
and Mork and Mindy.
As discussed, in 1984, when the sitcom was seriously slumping, NBC’s The
Cosby Show exploded on the scene as a surprise breakout phenomenon. The
show’s juggernaut success both revived the genre as well as fueled a ratings
resurgence for the network. NBC became known for its “Must-See TV” slo-
gan which beckoned the viewing masses to their smart array of more sophisti-
cated and urbane comedies. Most notably on their legendary Thursday night
block were series such as Cheers, Seinfeld, Mad About You and Frasier which
dominated the ratings and Emmy awards.
In the ’90s, ABC found a slogan of their own and some lasting Friday night
ratings success with its branded “T.G.I.F.” line-up of family-friendly multi-cam
comedies with Miller-Boyett-produced hits such as Full House and Family Mat-
ters. Years later, Full House would pull the feat of evolving from network to
streaming in the form of Netflix’s Fuller House.
Meanwhile, at the Tiffany Network, CBS’s Nielsen highs continued from
the ’90s into the next century with Everybody Loves Raymond, King of Queens,
How I Met Your Mother and the powerful ratings one-two punch of Chuck
Lorre’s Two and A Half Men followed by The Big Bang Theory.
In 1994, NBC found another great game changer with its breakout hit
Friends. Although criticized in recent years for its lack of casting diversity, one
can’t overlook how, with its canny use of increased number of storylines (to
accommodate its larger, more equally featured ensemble cast) and quick cutting
style, the series truly altered the sitcom landscape and rethought the way multi-
cams could be approached and produced.
Over the years, all of the Big Three featured their own evolving trademark
brand of comedy. It was crucial for the prospective showrunner or creator to be
able to assess which network would provide the best fit and home for their new
creation. Was your new spec pilot more “NBC/Must-See” or “ABC/T.G.I.F.”?
Although each network was known for its own unique style of sitcom, in their
respective heydays, all of the Big Three were able to find mass audiences for
their comedy programming.
In recent years with the massive proliferation of increased competition from
a host of new emerging broadcast sources and platforms, that has all changed.
To provide some context, during the 1999–2000 TV season, the Nielsen-rated
Top 30 rated shows included ten situation comedies (with Friends topping that
sub-list at #5). Sitcoms accounted for a full-third of the Nielsen Top 30. Fast
forward 20 years later to the 2019–2020 Nielsen season and there is but one
half-hour comedy on the entire list: CBS’s single-cam, Big Bang Theory spin-off,
Young Sheldon coming in at #9.
New network challengers

So, why did the big “Big Three” lose their exclusive hold? For starters, in 1987,
the Fox Broadcasting Company (FBC) cut into the broadcast pie when they
launched their own fledgling fourth network, the FBC. As previously noted,
in comedy it found breakout success with The Simpsons as well as strong show-
ings with other comedy series such as Married with Children and Martin as well
as the sketch comedy entries The Tracey Ullman Show and In Living Color. The
network also eventually became a haven for several more highly rated animated
comedy series including Family Guy, King of the Hill and Futurama.
The year 1995 saw the emergence of two new networks with the United
Paramount Network (UPN) and Warner Brothers following suit with their
own WB Network. The two fledgling networks followed Fox’s business model
of going largely after a younger demographic. It’s also important to note that
like Fox, with hits like Martin, Living Single and In Living Color, both The WB
and UPN, in attaining their initial sitcom foothold, sought urban, African-
American audiences. The WB established black audience favorites such as The
Steve Harvey Show, The Jamie Foxx Show and The Wayans Brothers while the
UPN network made a name for itself with the help of their own slate of urban
sitcoms including Moesha, Girlfriends and Everybody Hates Chris.
In 2006, UPN and The WB merged together into what would become
known as the CW Television Network and remains in operation today.
“It’s not TV, it’s HBO!”

In 1996, Home Box Office (HBO) adopted this enduring slogan and it can
be strongly argued that the premium pay cable company’s seismic impact on
small-screen comedy was a major component of the outlet’s ambitious brand-
ing mission statement.
Starting in the early ’90s, with entries like Dream On (created by the pre-
Friends team of Marta Kauffman and David Crane) and the sketch comedy cult
favorite Mr. Show (starring Bob Odenkirk and David Cross), HBO rolled out
a succession of smart and influential half-hours that would change television
comedy. None would be more impactful than The Larry Sanders Show.
Debuting in 1992, the series created by the late great stand-up comic Garry
Shandling along with Dennis Klein featured the “show-within-a-show” prem-
ise of late-night talk show host Larry Sanders’ life both in front of and behind
the camera. Cannily playing up the dichotomy of the premise by shooting
both on tape and film, the series resembled no other sitcom on the air. Even its
entertainment industry premise ended up being quite game changing. When
I was a young writer, if you pitched a premise with any sort of show-biz ele-
ment, you would most often be met with the same familiar assessment: “too
inside.” The Larry Sanders Show started to change that, making shows about
show business much more viable.
The Larry Sanders Show, with its generous dose of comedy coming from
embarrassment and painfully awkward moments, was also notably key in
launching the pervasiveness of “cringe comedy” that traced through series
ranging from The Office (both the BBC and American NBC versions) through
Curb Your Enthusiasm and HBO’s Lisa Kudrow starrer, The Comeback. Sanders
also received a great deal of critical acclaim and went on to win several Emmys,
helping to build HBO’s budding reputation as a stellar creative outlet and criti-
cal favorite that could more than compete with the traditional networks in
terms of quality prestige programming.
With shows like Sex and the City, Girls and Veep, HBO has also been a
significant groundbreaker in building series around varied and strong female
points of view. With Girls, it’s important to note that the series created by
Lena Dunham in 2011 for Executive Producer Judd Apatow when she was
just 25 years old ushered in an era of HBO (and other platforms) increasingly
seeking out more women with new emerging voices to not only star in shows
but helm them as creators and showrunners. That tradition continues today on
HBO with two of their most acclaimed shows: Issa Rae’s Insecure (co-created
with Larry Wilmore) and Michaela Coel’s I May Destroy You.
Cable and scripted comedy

In 1997, South Park made its debut on Comedy Central. In retrospect, would
any pilot script featuring a plotline wherein a main character (Cartman) gets
abducted and anally probed by aliens receive a green light from any one of the
traditional established networks? Pretty doubtful. But Comedy Central was
willing to take a chance on Matt Stone and Trey Parker’s subversive vision. And
therein all that dare and risk-taking lies a great deal of the impact cable outlets
such as Comedy Central and FX have had on the TV comedy.
Because these outlets have the fiscal ability to survive and even thrive on
much smaller audiences than the bigger networks, they are often able to take
more creative chances on edgier shows designed to appeal to smaller, more tar-
geted audiences. This proliferation of so many new and varied cable comedies
was great news both for audiences as well as TV writers looking for increased
opportunities to sell their ideas. And again, with cable, those ideas can be con-
siderably much more outside the traditional network broadcast box.
Following South Park, Comedy Central continued to aggressively push the
envelope and attract younger audiences with boundary-busting fare such as
Strangers with Candy, Workaholics and Broad City, a bawdy NYC buddy comedy
created by and starring the young duo of Illana Glazer and Abbi Jacobson.
Before it debuted in 2014, Broad City originated as a YouTube web series. The
untraditional genesis of the show is indicative of how the need for increased
content to feed the swell of new broadcast outlets brought about much more
creative development and ingenuity in tapping new undiscovered talent.
The FX effect
FX first made a name for itself in original scripted programming with their
searing early 2000s dramas like The Shield and Rescue Me. In 2005, FX broke
through in comedy with a subversive little comedy of their own, their endur-
ing hit, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. The ensemble single-cam was created
by one of the series principal actors, Rob McElhenney. The series spotlights
“The Gang” a motley crew of five of the most unscrupulous, nihilistic and
generally shameless barkeep misfits the City of Brotherly Love has ever seen.
Like South Park, cable now feels like the obvious best fit for a comedy as dark
as Sunny. It doesn’t seem likely that the comic savagery of McElhenney’s gutsy,
balls-to-the-wall vision would have survived (or not at least been critically
compromised by) the traditional network development process.
FX has continued to make a big mark in comedy with a slew of other
cutting-edge cable comedies such as Better Things, Baskets and the current vam-
pire hit What We Do in The Shadows. In terms of bending style and tone, FX
also emerged as a bold leader with several of its dramedy offerings. In addition
to the aforementioned and ground (and genre) breaking Atlanta, another nota-
ble entry was You’re the Worst.
Created by Stephen Falk, the series took an uncompromising look at mod-
ern love through the complicated and often painful relationship between a
writer named Jimmy (Chris Geere) and a P.R. exec named Gretchen (Aya
Cash). The series’ entire second season was devoted to a sometimes raw and
anguished examination of Gretchen’s clinical depression and how it impacts
the couple’s relationship. A daring season arc like this hardly makes for typical
sitcom fodder and would be difficult to imagine showing up on one of the
established networks. Cable, however, provides a place where this sort of crea-
tive comedy rule breaking and risk taking can thrive.
Comedy and the streaming revolution

The year 2007 proved to be a major turning point for television. It was not
until then that internet speeds became fast enough to accommodate video
streaming film and TV programming to personal computers and other devices,
ushering a whole new era of OTT (“over-the-top”) delivered content sans
a traditional cable or satellite pay TV service.
Netflix can be classified under the OTT umbrella as an SVOD (subscription-
based video on demand) platform. By the end of 2020, it has been esti-
mated that the service may boast upward of 200 million subscribers worldwide.
The advent of Netflix along with a slew of other streaming platforms such as
Amazon Prime, Hulu, Apple TV, Disney+ and most recently, HBO Max have
exploded into the marketplace, forever altering broadcasting with newfound
viewing freedom for consumers.
Suddenly no longer constrained to their TV sets, viewers could watch their
favorite shows how, where and when they wanted whether on their computer,
cell phone, tablet or even gaming device. Evidence of just how sweeping and
powerful the trend has become can be evidenced in that, according to The
Hollywood Reporter, 2018 marked the first year there were actually more scripted
original series on streaming services than on the broadcast networks or cable.
For today’s viewer, streaming has become more of a necessity than an option.
Art of the “binge”

In 2013, Netflix debuted their first original streaming series, the political
drama House of Cards. For many viewers, the series provided their first “binge
watching” (watching multiple episodes in one sitting) experience. The advent
of “the binge” not only changed the way viewers took in programming, but
in turn, also had an effect on how shows were designed. Streaming platforms
embraced storytelling that was more serialized than a strictly “stand-alone”
episodic format. This can be seen in the dramedy Orange Is the New Black that
Netflix dropped later in 2013 as well as Bojack Horseman which manages a
hybrid between stand-alone plots and overarching season and series arcs.
In addition to Orange and Bojack, Netflix has made a name for itself in com-
edy and dramedy through a variety of acclaimed original series such as Grace
and Frankie, Master of None, American Vandal and Russian Doll. Other power-
ful streaming platforms have followed in Netflix’s comedy footsteps including
Amazon Prime Video (Transparent, Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, Fleabag) and Hulu
(Pen15, Shrill ).
Niche and Netflix

The proliferation of new and emerging platforms has forced providers to
become even more competitive in finding new means and methods to attract
subscribers. Consumers, having grown accustomed to the increased conveni-
ence and choice streaming provides, now expect more of an individualized
viewing experience. This has resulted in a sweeping trend in streaming towards
more personalized “niche” programming.
Netflix and other streaming platforms have come to rely heavily on data
research as a key component of their business model and success. When Net-
flix first began streaming, the data were used simply to assess subscribers’ taste
to try to find content that would best appeal to them. Since then, as metric
and quantitative capabilities have steadily increased, streaming companies have
become even more data-driven, using consumer information to actually serve
as a crucial component in pursuing new talent and mapping original content
development.
The good news for you is that this trend towards more niche programming
means more opportunities than ever exist for a much wider range of varied and
occasionally provocative new voices on the broadcast landscape. So, while it’s
always been true that a key part of selling your pilot and yourself as a writer
laid in communicating your unique point of view, I would say that in this age
of streaming niche programming, the power of your voice and having a very
firm grasp on what it is you want to say is even more decidedly pronounced
and essential.
Case in point: Hulu’s Shrill. Based on Lindy West’s 2016 memoir, Aidy
Bryant plays Annie Easton, a smart, wry young journalist who also happens
to be (unapologetically) overweight. Annie is a wonderfully complex, funny
and flawed character who, in an earlier era, may have been deemed a bit too
quirky to have the broad appeal necessary to carry a show for a mass network
audience. Most probably, Annie would be relegated to supporting “funny best
friend” status to the more conventionally attractive lead. But on Hulu, Annie’s
voice is allowed to be front and center. Streaming provides a venue and means
for Shrill and Bryant to shine and thrive.
Where does your show fit in?

In terms of figuring out the best broadcast “home” for your pilot, today you
have more amazing choices than ever. But all that freedom can be daunting.
Should you go for the mass appeal of a Big Three Network hit? Or is FX edgy
better for your show? Maybe it’s Netflix niche? It can be a lot!
My best advice on this is fairly simple and by now probably familiar. If you
are writing a pilot on spec, the point is to write your passion. Later in your
career, you may well find yourself in the enviable position of having represen-
tation who gets you pitch meetings where you’ll have to create for a specific
network or platform. How awesome will that be?! But right now, you are writ-
ing this script to sell yourself and your point of view. And that’s pretty awesome
too. Because this script is all about you . . . your voice. Now is the time for you
to write the script that matters most to you. As you write it, the best home will
be revealed to you in the creative process. Don’t put the creative cart before the
horse. What I mean is, don’t set out to specifically write a network, cable or
streaming show but rather write the show you want to write. The show you’re
meant to write. Your show! You’ll know soon enough where it best belongs.
Once you do have a handle on where your show belongs, it’s up to you to
have a clear awareness of the particular network or platform and use it to its
very best advantage in creating your series. If you’re writing a family-friendly
comedy that would be perfect for ABC, make sure your characters have the
broad appeal necessary for a wider mass audience. If you see your show as the
next big binge for Netflix, then you better design it to accommodate for a sea-
son arc full of amazing cliffhangers to keep viewers hooked. In short, make the
very most of whatever venue you feel is right for your show. And always be sure
that your take on the platform is current and up to date. Broadcast outlets and
brands are not stagnant but constantly evolving. For instance, in recent years
Comedy Central has been making a shift away from its live-action comedies
to more adult-animation fare. By the time you read this, that may have well
changed. So, it’s always important to keep up to date.
8 Comic characters
Finding the funny
In advising my television students on their choice of a series for their comedy

spec projects, one show that still almost always comes up is the aforementioned
It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. While I’m a huge fan of the enduring series,
I usually offer some warning regarding it as a spec choice. At this writing, the
show is currently enjoying its 14th (!) successful season. My opinion is that it
would be a better move to choose a younger series that demonstrates promise
than a veteran show that may not feel quite as shiny and new as a spec sample.
Besides, after so many seasons it may be tough to come up with a story idea
or area that a long-running series like Sunny hasn’t already tackled. Despite my
misgivings, I have to admit that the in-class Sunny specs I’ve come across turn
out to be surprisingly strong and funny. The reason: characters.
The students who choose to write the show have literally grown up watch-
ing the series. It’s not just that these students have come to know the series’
motley crew of hapless characters; they have actually deeply internalized Frank,
Dennis, Mac and Sweet Dee. These young writers arrive at their spec scripts
knowing precisely how each member of the gang thinks, feels, acts and talks. So,
while there may be weaknesses in other areas of their script (coming up with
a story that doesn’t somehow feel familiar, for example), their character work
tends to be spot-on. This speaks to the vital power of strong character develop-
ment in TV comedy and just how incredibly crucial it is to your pilot.
Think of the comedy shows you love. What’s the first thing you think of
when you picture those series? It’s almost certainly the characters who bring
them to life. So, if you want your pilot script to be successful and grab your
reader, you need to first do the work of crafting compelling, multi-dimensional
characters who resonate with truth and relatability.
Use your life

So, how do you go about developing great memorable characters? For start-
ers, you can begin with your own life. Are you going through a challenge
right now or perhaps in the past that might make for a great “want” for your
character?
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-9
52 Comic characters
I’m not saying necessarily that you must write something directly autobio-
graphical (although that may well be the perfect option). But even if you’re
creating a main character who you feel is miles away from you, there’s a very
good chance that elements of you and your persona almost inevitably are going
to seep into your creation. And that can be a very good thing. Often the best
thing! Embrace it.
I once wrote an original spec pilot called Meet Danny Muffin. The title char-
acter was a comically oblivious 30-year-old man who had been abandoned by
his mother on the steps of a Catholic orphanage as an infant. In the pilot story,
grown-up Danny finds his birth father (who had no idea of his existence) and
seeks to jam himself into his father’s current family situation (complete with
a wary stepmother and two teenage half-siblings). Danny was on a quest to
experience the family life he never had.
This was certainly not directly autobiographical. I was lucky enough to
never have been abandoned as a baby and in fact had a quite wonderful fam-
ily. However, when I wrote the pilot, I do think in retrospect, that I had gone
through a period where I was searching for a similar sense of family in my own
life. So, while the situation was fictional and Danny certainly wasn’t precisely
me, his underlying motivations, yearnings and emotions were most definitely
rooted in me and my reality. I had some success with that pilot and I do think
that while the comedy in it was often fairly broad and wacky, there was an
emotional authenticity to it born from my own experience that came through
and that readers responded to.
Again, think about your life and what you’re going through now (or even
some struggle from the past). Is there something there that could be a jumping
off point for your main character? The “want” of your character can serve as a
potent emotional through line for your pilot story and define what your show
is attempting to explore thematically.
Now look at the other folks in your life. Family, friends and even enemies
can be fine fodder for comic character creation and development. Having said
this, when you work as a TV writer, you find yourself often hearing from
well-meaning industry civilians telling you about how someone they know is
so ridiculously funny and would make a great sitcom character. Of course, as
anyone who has tried to write a pilot will tell you, this idea of simply trans-
posing characters from life doesn’t really tend to work. The writer still needs
to do a great deal of creative heavy lifting to make the fictional version of the
character come to life. But still, don’t underestimate the value of these real-life
human sources as a powerful starting point. Think of them as your “character
clay” from which to sculpt your comic creation.
So how do you take your real-life inspiration and run with it? Let’s say you
have a boss right now who just drives you crazy. You’re thinking you’d like to
incorporate elements of that annoying energy into the boss character you’re
developing for your workplace comedy pilot. Great. Let’s go with that. Now
remember, you’re not at all limited or locked into the reality of the actual indi-
vidual who is serving as your inspiration. Maybe for your pilot, it would help
Comic characters 53
to make your boss character much older or younger? You could even flip their
gender, if that would make more sense for your series concept.
Now look at the traits that you find funny or even frustrating about this per-
son. In comedy, exaggeration can often be your friend. If your boss is a bit persnickety
about things in life, can you find ways to exaggerate those tendencies in your
pilot to underline them even more for comic effect? Maybe you even decide to
branch out and combine a couple of former bosses you’ve endured by combining
potential comic foibles from each to create a true hybrid boss from hell. One
positive outcome of this is that the more you change your character from the
real-life person who may have served as your initial inspiration, the less likely
they’ll be to recognize themselves in the creation (which might save you from
some awkward explanations).
Of course, you don’t necessarily have to base your characters on anyone you
know personally. Inspiration is everywhere. There may be someone intriguing
you sit across from on the subway who you find yourself building a character
around. Or perhaps a profile pic of a friend of a friend on Facebook starts you
daydreaming that person as a supporting player in this new show in your mind.
Again, inspiration is everywhere if you’re open to it and as a creative person, it’s
your job to recognize it when it appears.
Eavesdropping can also be a great means to character creation. I recall being
on a long line at the concession stand at a revival movie theater in Los Angeles
in the ’80s. The young woman working the counter was commiserating with a
male co-worker about a recent busted romance she was trying to get over. As
she scooped giant tubs of popcorn, she wryly grumbled about the suitor. She
had this halting comic rhythm that I found very endearing. I still recall how she
detailed how she really should have known better: “The dude had leather tassels
on his shoes . . . you can never trust guys with that kind of footwear.” I used her as
inspiration for the romantic interest for my main character in Hometown Blues,
the aforementioned dramedy pilot I wrote at the time. The character’s name
was Laura and while in my piece she didn’t work at a movie theater, I tried
to give her the same romantically world-weary energy and that same halt-
ing comic rhythm. The people who responded favorably to that script almost
always cited specifically the realness and relatability of the “Laura” character. So
again, be on the lookout for these real-life character inspirations.
Character development: do your homework

As I stated at the top, my students who had opted to write Always Sunny specs
had the benefit of years of viewership to base their character work on, so they
came into the process at a very strong advantage. Even though it was passive,
they had already done years of character work in the countless hours of logged
viewing hours. You, on the other hand, are building your characters from the
ground up. And while that’s incredibly exciting, it can also be fairly daunting.
So how do you go about creating and getting to know these new characters
bouncing about in your mind?
54 Comic characters
One of the first things you should do is start asking yourself questions about
your characters . . . lots and lots of questions. And while there are many answers
to these questions about your characters that you will need to know, the most
important will always get back to that core question we’ve mentioned before:
What does this character want?
The want is crucial because it tells you so much. What’s on your character’s
mind? What is driving her? After you figure out the want think about what’s
keeping your character from their goal. That thing getting in your character’s
way can be an external block (her company has just folded and she’s out of a
job) or internal (she doubts herself and lacks the confidence to go for the job of
her dreams). Often most effectively, it can be a combination of both. But one
thing is for sure: If there’s nothing holding your character back then you don’t
have much in the way of conflict or a story for a pilot episode much less of an
engine to run your prospective series.
The Rose family in the Schitt’s Creek pilot begin the series wanting their
former luxurious lives back but find themselves forced by the reality of their
finances to make the best of their new lives at a run-down hotel in a town
full of often frustrating eccentrics. Issa Rae’s brilliant series Insecure is literally
named after an internal flaw that informs the series as the title character seeks
to overcome her own personal struggles on her quest for the romantic and
professional success that is her “want.” Think deeply about your main character
in terms of what they want and what’s keeping them from getting it—both
internally and externally.
Of course, a character’s “want” can (and usually does) evolve and change.
Often this “want” will morph into a much more compelling and satisfying
story of a character discovering what they need. The Schitt’s Creek family begin
their series journey just wanting their lavish wealth and lifestyle restored. While
that may have been their initial “want,” through the course of the series, the
Roses discover what they really needed all along was to become the much
closer family they eventually became after losing their fortune and taking on
their new no-frills life running that dusty motel.
A character discovering and achieving an emotional “want” will always trump a char-
acter merely getting a materialistic or ego-driven “want.”
Conflict = comedy
With your pilot, your goal is to set up a world where we can foresee a situation
(hence the term, situation comedy) that is ripe for a plethora of great stories and
big laughs. Of course, the essential element for either of those goals is going to
be conflict. We should be able to glean from your pilot where the future con-
flict will bubble and explode among your ensemble. We should get the sense
that this initial conflict you’re establishing has the potential to grow, evolve and
eventually sustain over the life of your series.
Therefore, as you create your characters, it is just as crucial to know as much
about how your characters relate to each other as it is to know them simply as
Comic characters 55
individuals. Have you ever been to a dinner party where some of the guests
didn’t get along and sparks flew? While it may have been uncomfortable at
times, I bet the party was fairly interesting. Good conflict will do that. It’s your
job to create your pilot’s character ensemble intentionally with ample built-in
conflict to provide a powerful (and enduring) comedic engine to your stories
and series.
Think of your favorite comedy series and its characters. How do the char-
acters relate to each other? Can you cite their central conflicts? If the show has
been on the air for a while, is there at least an element of that initial conflict
that was introduced between the characters that is still evident? While good
characters may evolve and change, some version of this initial conflict must
remain to continue to find compelling stories and keep the funny going.
In the pilot of Brooklyn Nine-Nine capable but also fun and freewheeling
NYPD Detective Jake Peralta (Andy Samberg) clashes with his new stiff, ultra
by-the-book precinct boss, Captain Raymond Holt (Andre Braugher). This
central conflict is underlined in the pilot story with a running story thread
involving the captain insisting Jake wear a tie while on duty. The characters’
opposing comic traits are clearly defined and the brittle dynamic of their work
relationship make for a potent source of comedy.
Strive for character diversity

One of Brooklyn Nine-Nine’s greatest strengths lies in its diverse array of char-
acters and inclusive casting. It not only offers a racially mixed group of officers
but features Captain Holt who is openly gay as their able leader. The matter-
of-fact approach the series takes to their differences lends an ease to the comedy
that doesn’t feel labored as it attempts to capture the reality of its modern urban
setting.
In developing your series cast of characters, I would urge you to bring this
same sort of inclusive sensibility to your work. It will make your pilot much
more interesting, textured and vital if it is more reflective of the world we live
in today. But it’s imperative that when you create diverse characters, you do not
approach it as if you are simply checking some sort of inclusivity box. Writing
for under-represented voices comes with responsibility. Respect those voices
enough to write them as authentically as you can to create the full-bodied,
multi-dimensional individuals they are. And do not ever lean on familiar (and
often painful) racial and ethnic tropes or biases for comedy. Your goal is to cre-
ate great characters, not perpetuate stereotypes.
Keep the conflict competitive

In crafting one of Brooklyn Nine-Nine’s key comic rivalries, one crucial ele-
ment the writers achieved was in creating a convincingly competitive balance
of power where both Jake and Captain Holt were each quite formidable in
their own way. While Holt, unflinchingly stoic, may have the upper hand in
56 Comic characters
the power struggle, Jake is armed with his own maverick investigative methods
and cutting irreverent sense of humor. What each brings to the table makes
for powerful (and unpredictable) comic battles. We don’t always know who is
going to prevail and that keeps us watching (and laughing).
As you create these sort of conflict-driven comic “partnerships” for your
characters in your pilot, it’s important to match them competitively to keep the
conflict engaging and alive. It’s like a boxing match. The more evenly matched
the opponents are, the fiercer the competition will be and the more exciting
it will be to watch. You want to strive for that same kind of similarly matched
power dynamic for your comic characters as well (minus the punching part!).
There’s not one single process of discovering and defining your characters.
Different writers employ different methods. But they all require some work
and creative effort. You have to find the way that works best for you. Here are
some suggestions.
The character bio

Have you ever known someone in your life that you perceived in a negative
way? But then, after you got to know this person a little better and became
more aware of their past and the challenges they have faced, you saw them
in a new light. Perhaps you found yourself more sympathetic. Of course, an
individual’s backstory is a potent and powerful force in shaping who they are in
the present. Good actors know this, and faced with the challenge of building a
character they have often employed the tool of the character biography in their
quest to fill in the pieces that might be missing for them in the text that they’re
working from. Of course, as the writer, it’s even more essential for you to have
a firm grasp of not only where your characters are now but also where they
came from. Writing a character biography can be a powerful means to help you
create and understand your characters.
There are various ways to approach the character biography. I have found
that writing them from a first-person perspective can give you so much more
in terms of understanding your subjects. With the first-person account (“I never
liked school. I never felt like I fit it.”), it can feel easier to get into your character’s
head and get their perspective on what’s happened to them. The first-person
lends an immediacy and instantly makes things feel more personal when you’re
viewing the world from your character’s perspective.
In terms of detail, you can be very straightforward about it with a very thor-
ough chronological narrative approach that provides a complete and exhaustive
account of the character’s life up to the point of your pilot. While this can be
very informative and helpful, I have encountered many students who make the
scope of their bio a bit too broad and sweeping. Without enough focus, they
can actually sometimes find themselves mired in too many details that may offer
a lot of random character facts and information but not be that helpful in get-
ting to the core of their characters. So, while you may have spent endless hours
on a character bio that provides many interesting but ultimately unrelated life
Comic characters 57
details (“He was a vegetarian for a year!” “She flunked her driver’s test the first time!”),
your character biography may still be missing the crucial backstory and spine
you need to understand your character’s all-important present motivations and
actions. Therefore, it’s vital to approach your character biography with focus
and intention.
How do we do this? Let’s go back to examining what your character wants
(and needs) in the present in your pilot. As important as it is to know what
your character wants, it’s just as vital to know why he wants it. Say your main
character longs for fame. What was it in his early life that made him crave the
spotlight? What (or who) made him feel that might be the only way he could
be good enough or worthy?
Always be aware of the challenges your character faces in your pilot and the
themes you are exploring. While you’re absolutely free to provide yourself with
full and exhaustive details about your character’s prior life, make sure you’re fill-
ing in the blanks of their past in an intentional and even investigative way. Ask
questions. Make connections. Strive to get to the “why” of who your character
is and the life events that brought him to where he now finds himself in your
pilot. If you bring this sense of laser focus to the “why” of your character biog-
raphy, it can be both powerfully informative and illuminating.
As previously detailed with my Hometown Blues pilot, I have found a criti-
cal part of figuring out your characters and defining them is not only to know
what a character would say in a given situation but also—just as importantly—
how they would say it. In speaking, people all have their own individual manner
and rhythm. So should your characters.
To demonstrate this, sometimes in my Writing for Television classes, I will
take a produced sitcom script that I assume at least most of the class is familiar
with. Let’s say, 30 Rock. I will read various speeches from the script without
revealing which character is saying what speeches. Then I will ask the class
to match the mystery character to the speech. Of course, 30 Rock is a such a
smart, character-driven show, invariably students could instantly assess whether
a line is coming from Liz Lemon, Jack, Tracey, Jenna or Kenneth. It’s easy to
understand why. Each character on 30 Rock is brilliantly defined, and that
comes through in the way they speak and, in turn, the manner in which their
speeches are written.
The “Getting-to-Know-You” scene

After you write the draft for your pilot, you too should be able to block out all
the character name headings and be able to identify the character speaking not
only by the speech’s content but also the manner and style your characters are
speaking in. Achieving that individual slant for each character’s speech rhythm
and style is the goal. But how do you achieve it?
One useful tool I have found is writing a short, simple “Getting-to-Know-
You” scene between myself and the character. Typically, for the exercise, I will
start the scene at a coffee shop with my character (me) sitting at a table. The
58 Comic characters
place is full, so the character who is the subject of the exercise will ask me if
they can share the table with me. Of course, my “character” accepts and then
I write an exchange between the two of us. I allow the character to tell me
about their day and offer (or perhaps even more tellingly, refuse to offer) what
they might be feeling. What they’re sharing doesn’t need to have anything to
do with the specifics of what you’re planning for them in your pilot necessar-
ily. It’s really just a way to use this random encounter with this stranger you’re
creating to get a glimpse at the way she presents herself to the world as well as
how she speaks.
Is she curt and to the point? Or does she favor more flowery, lilting prose?
Does she stammer shyly and unsteadily, or can she rattle off rapid-fire banter
like a vintage screwball comedy heroine? This “Getting-to-Know-You” scene
is only an exercise, so it can be very rough. It really doesn’t need to represent a
huge time investment and can actually be a quite fun way to get to the essence
of your character. The payoff is that once you are better able to assess your
character’s rhythm and how she speaks, you may find it infinitely easier to
understand and write for her. Worth a try!
The secret power of secrets

I once worked on developing a pilot with a very astute, talented veteran pro-
ducer. He employed one tip I found incredibly useful in creating characters: the
secret. With each of my key characters, he asked me to come up with a secret
that the character was keeping.
This secret could be big or small; funny or sad; important or seemingly triv-
ial. It didn’t necessarily have to figure in directly with the pilot story or be later
revealed in the writing. I ended up finding this to be a very telling, effective
means to reveal hidden sides of my characters which informed my approach
to them. In one of the pilots we developed, the “secret” I came up with for
a main character was that every day, on her commute to work in her car, she
would tightly close up the windows and devote a solid minute to just scream-
ing her lungs out. With this character, I was trying to create a woman who
was in a constant state of tension. Someone who always seemed ready to snap.
This routine daily detail of the character’s secret little daily-commute-primal-
scream-session ritual was crucial in keeping her inner turmoil front and center
in my mind as I crafted her dialogue and tried to define her.
This idea of determining a defining secret reminds me of the following
powerful quote (credited to, among others, philosophers Plato and Philo of
Alexandria as well as Scottish author Ian MacLaren):
“Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind. Always.”
Ask yourself, does my character have a secret (big or small) that others don’t
know about? What is their battle? The answer may help you find the character.
9 Finding your pilot story
Pilot check-in: Hopefully, you’ve begun to put in the hours and creative work
to come up with a strong premise you feel passionate about. Awesome! Perhaps
you’ve even started to build the “world” of your pilot and inhabit your vision
with an ensemble of compelling comic characters ripe for funny conflict with
opposing viewpoints. Fantastic! Before you start practicing your Emmy accept-
ance speech you still may be missing one crucial element: your pilot story.
To be precise, your pilot will probably not only feature one main “A” sto-
ryline but also supporting “B,” “C” and possibly “D” storylines as well. So,
when discussing your pilot story, I’m really talking about your combined stories.
The choice and execution of your primary pilot story (along with your sup-
porting storylines) is going to be absolutely crucial in the success or failure of
your project. Why? Because while as awesome as it is that you’ve nailed down
a fresh and original premise featuring an inspired array of hilarious characters
and an amazing comic world for them to all clash and thrive in, you still need
that special pilot story that will pull all of these comedy puzzle pieces together.
Your pilot story is your vehicle into this new world and your vision. It’s
imperative that you find the story that will best communicate all of these amaz-
ing essential elements you’ve worked so hard to create. It doesn’t just have to
be a great story; it has to be the right story. Here are some things to consider as
you search for yours.
Premise vs. non-premise pilots

As you begin to ponder the kind of story you think would best set up your
pilot, one primary decision you will first need to make is whether you want to
write a premise or non-premise pilot.
The premise pilot: the brave new world

In a premise pilot, you are presenting an event (or chain of events) that leads
to a brand-new life situation for your character that your series will explore.
A simple way to think about it is that there had been one familiar way of life
or status quo for your characters but something changed and now a new life
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-10
and world has emerged. Your premise pilot is the narrative bridge between these two
worlds.
This newly established “world” will serve not only as your series premise but
also as its comedy engine. Ideally that engine should be robust and strong. That
means this new situation you’re creating should brim with the makings for
plenty of potential conflict and challenges for your characters that can lead us
to multiple seasons worth of future stories and comedy.
In the Schitt’s Creek pilot, the series’ obscenely wealthy Rose family suddenly
find themselves destitute and reduced to rebuilding their lives from scratch by
moving to their last remaining asset: a rundown motel they bought as a joke in
the rural hell of Schitt’s Creek.
Bill Hader’s title character in Barry is a former Marine turned small-time
Cleveland hitman. In the pilot, Barry takes a trip to Los Angeles to perform a
job but winds up catching the acting bug. He makes a decision to stay in LA
and try to build a new life around his acting dream.
The CBS multi-cam comedy B-Positive opens with the lead character, a
therapist named Drew, suddenly finding out he’s in the early stages of renal
cancer and will require a kidney transplant in the very near future to survive.
In the pilot, Drew attends a wedding where he encounters Gina, a woman he
once knew in high school. Gina volunteers to donate her kidney to him on the
spot, forever changing both of their lives.
In each of these premise pilots, something happens that forever changes the
landscape for the lead characters, launching them into a new world. They are
all faced with a new set of challenges and characters to contend with.
• The pampered Rose family will have to adjust to a much less cushy and less
privileged life among Schitt’s Creek’s resident lower-middle class eccentrics.
• Barry is going to have to find a way to “fit in” with the new classmates he
meets in his new Hollywood acting class while he struggles to keep his past
a secret from them and tries to figure out a way to extricate himself out of
his former mob life.
• In taking Gina up on her generous organ offer, B-Positive’s Drew suddenly
finds his familiar life inextricably connected to a woman with whom he
shares little in common with other than their compatible blood type.
With each of these new emerging situations, we can immediately see the obvi-
ous conflict that is sure to come and the big comedic possibilities that could
be mined.
Take a look at some of your favorite shows. How many started out with a big
life change for the lead character? Notice how often their series pilot may find
the lead character moving to a new town or leaving a relationship or marriage,
beginning a new living arrangement or starting a new career. There’s good
reason for that. Not only is change healthy and inevitable in life, but it can also
be a great jumping off point for your pilot!
Finding your pilot story 61
The “soft premise” pilot
Under the premise pilot umbrella, there is a sub-category sometimes referred
to as the “soft premise” pilot. There’s plenty of room for debate on this, but
I would still consider the soft premise pilot a premise pilot. The differentiation
for me is that with the soft premise pilot, it’s not about creating an entirely
whole new life situation but rather bringing a major new character into an
existing situation that may alter that world. But that character’s adjustment may
not be the central focus of the show. Sometimes, the introduction of the new
character is being implemented as a way into the series world and characters
rather than as means of creating the series premise.
For example, in the pilot for NBC’s Superstore, Jonah (Ben Feldman) shows
up for his first day at a big box store where he clashes with his new boss, Amy
(America Ferrera), and encounters romantic interest from Assistant Manager
Dina (Lauren Ash). Feldman is a series lead on Superstore and the pilot story may
be about his character’s first day on the job, but the series is not centered on
Jonah’s adjustment to the situation but rather the entire ensemble and situation
(albeit with a focus on his relationship with Ferrera’s Amy character). In this
instance, Jonah’s arrival at his first day on the job is really more of a way into a
situation and world that was already in place rather than the full-on premise of
the show.
In the Friends pilot, when would-be, drenched bride Rachel ( Jennifer Anis-
ton) comes out from the rain and walks into Central Perk, the rest of the gang
is already all there. All that’s left is for Rachel to join them. The pilot story may
be about Rachel’s arrival, but the series really ends up being more about the
ensemble as a whole rather than Rachel’s adjustment to this new close circle of
pals. Again, Rachel’s arrival is just our way into the ensemble’s shared stories
and lives. While as popular a character as Rachel proved to be (all due respect
to Jennifer Aniston’s inspired comic work and Season 1 breakout hair-cut sen-
sation), the comedy engine of the series lies in the combined magic of the entire
ensemble. After all, it is called Friends, not Rachel.
As discussed, one of the big challenges in writing a pilot is laying in what
can feel like mountains of exposition and introducing characters with ease and
elegance. The goal is to give the audience information they need without hit-
ting them over the head with it. Having a new outside character come into an
existing situation can offer a viable and easy means to accomplish this for the
audience.
For instance, if the “way in” into your workplace pilot is through a char-
acter’s first day on the job, it won’t feel forced or clunky to have this new
colleague meeting all of the principals of your pilot. It’s actually logical and
organic to your story to go through these steps and therefore, the exposition
doesn’t feel forced or clunky. It would actually be more jarring for the audience
not to have these beats. The audience gets briefed on the series principals and
situation just as this new character does. So, while the series may not solely be
about this new “outsider’s” journey, we can use their entry into the situation
as a way to cut through the forest of exposition inherent in setting up a pilot.
The non-premise pilot: just another day

While a premise pilot operates as more of an origin story, the idea of non-
premise pilot (sometimes referred to as the “episodic pilot”) is to drop the
audience smack dab in the middle of a world that’s already been fully formed
and is up and in place. While this type of pilot will still, of course, serve as the
first episode of your prospective series, it is intended to just feel like a typical
episode. It could just as easily be your 3rd, 6th or 30th episode. In fact, one of
the reasons that industry thinking began frowning upon premise pilots some
time ago, was that in terms of future syndication, some felt it was jarring to
have the pilot episode in the rerun package since premise pilots, with their
emphasis on the backstory and set-up, often would have a decidedly different
feel than subsequent episodes.
Of course, one of the prime benefits of the non-premise approach is that
the audience is able to hit the ground running and experience the world you’re
envisioning in terms of the characters, tone, conflict and comedy. With the
non-premise approach, you’re not saddled with starting at the very beginning
to explain how this new situation/world happened but rather you can just
jump right in and let the audience experience the show and instantly discover
what it’s all about.
Family comedies (think The Simpsons, The Goldbergs, Roseanne) often tend
to start as non-premise pilots. For example, when we meet the upper middle-
class African-American Johnson family featured in Kenya Barris’s critically
acclaimed and culturally aware ABC family sitcom Black-ish, the brood is led by
the patriarch, advertising exec Andre (Anthony Anderson), and his physician
wife, Rainbow (Tracey Ellis Ross). The family and work dynamics are already
firmly in place right from the opening moments of the series. The pilot does
manage to effectively underscore the conflict and tension in the racial dynamics
inherent in Andre’s work-life by featuring a storyline wherein Andre assumes
he’s up for a general promotion at work only to find out that it’s actually to be
the Senior V.P. of the firm’s “Urban” division but again, the essential core series
family element was already firmly in place.
Both the U.K. and U.S. versions of The Office are prime examples of series
that began as non-premise pilots. Larry David employed the non-premise
pilot and enjoyed massive success with both Seinfeld (originally The Seinfeld
Chronicles) as well as Curb Your Enthusiasm. It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia
took Seinfeld’s ensemble comedy nihilism to new highs (or lows?) and began its
incredibly long successful run with a non-premise pilot.
Your decision on whether the premise or non-premise method is the best
means to set up your pilot is really your call. Over the years, there does seem
to have been a move among industry insiders away from the premise pilot in
favor of the non-premise pilot for its ability to instantly thrust the viewer into
the world and tone of the show and provide a closer representation of what
a typical episode will be like. But if you are considering a very high-concept
idea, a premise pilot may still be your preferred choice. It’s important for you
to analyze your concept at this stage and give this decision the careful consid-
eration it deserves.
Exposition alone does not equal story!

Whether you choose to write a premise or non-premise pilot, you will still be
faced with the challenge of setting up your series in terms of situational expo-
sition and character introduction. One misstep I’ve often encountered with
new writers taking their first stab at a pilot is that in their quest to cover all the
necessary exposition bases, they neglect providing a compelling story for the
reader to hook into. Instead, they opt for what amounts to series of episodic
“introductions” of the characters designed to provide information about who
they are and how they relate to each other but little in the way of story. These
scripts almost always end up feeling talky and static. Nothing happens!
No matter how quirky and funny your characters are, you are going to need
to frame them in a strong story to keep us interested in them. Create stories
that challenge your protagonist. Test your lead by putting her or him into a
tough corner. Force hard choices. Devise complications that escalate and sur-
prise. Give us a satisfying resolution that keeps us hooked into your characters
to come back and watch again. Great dialogue and jokes will only take you so
far. Memorable characters are defined less by what they say than by what they
do. We want to see these great new characters you’re creating for us in action.
Show us your show!

In developing your pilot, your goal should be to give the audience a strong
indication and sense of what a “typical” episode will be like. Even with a
premise pilot, you never want to devote the entirety of your pilot to the set-up
without showing us at least a glimpse into what the new world of your series
will be like. Therefore, you should devise a story that can do the double duty
of conveying all the pertinent exposition and character detail needed to under-
stand the dynamics of your show as well as being representative of the kinds of
stories you’re planning on telling with your series.
Now consider tone. The mood, essence and feeling that you’re hoping to
achieve in your series should be crystal clear and firmly in place in your pilot.
Your pilot script story should support achieving that. A sardonic, seriocomic
adult dramedy about relationships is going to require a story that can provide
opportunities for those nuanced tonal elements. Conversely, a breezy, family
multi-cam is going to need a story that reflects the series that pilot is setting
up. The pilot for Insecure has a decidedly different tonal feel than Fuller House.
Think about the kind of stories you want to tell in the future with your series.
Your pilot story needs to be reflective of that.
Now think about the stylistic choices of your show (which we will discuss
in further detail later in the book). If you’re planning on incorporating devices
such as voiceover, flashbacks or a mockumentary format, then those elements
need to be present in your pilot and utilized in telling your pilot story.
Case in point: the pilot for CBS’s long-running hit How I Met Your Mother.
The pilot for that show quickly establishes the series’ signature framing device
of having the older Ted Mosby character tell his story to his son and daughter
via voiceover and flashback. The pilot audience knew what they were in for
with the style of storytelling right from the start. The same needs to be true
for your show. In short, if you’re planning on using special stylistic means to
tell your series stories in the future, you need to incorporate them in the same
fashion within your pilot.
What are some other special considerations of the “formula” for the series
you’re creating? If there are elements that set your series apart from others,
those should be present in your pilot story as well. While Brooklyn Nine-Nine
is primarily an ensemble, workplace comedy, there’s a component of it that
also operates a bit like a mini-police procedural. If you watch that series’ pilot,
you’ll see that along with introducing Captain Holt to the Nine-Nine and
establishing all of the other characters, a murder investigation story regarding
the death of a luxury food importer is threaded through. Brooklyn Nine-Nine
is a comedy and a cop show. The pilot establishes that these types of investiga-
tive crime stories will play a regular and significant role in what audiences can
expect in future episodes.
Where is your show going to live?

One big problem I often come across with my students writing pilots for the
first time is that they get so mired in the backstory and establishing the concept
for their series that they neglect to demonstrate where future episodes will
actually take place. I often finding myself asking them this key question: Where
is your show going to live?
New Girl “lives” in the roommates’ airy LA loft. That’s where the series’
action is largely based. The What We Do in the Shadows gang reside in their
dank Staten Island vampire lair. That’s where that series (and its undead char-
acters) “live.” It’s important for you to know where your series “lives.” Where
does the bulk of a typical episode take place? And if characters don’t all live
or work together in one setting, you should consider establishing a location in
your pilot to bring them together regularly (think Central Perk on Friends).
Again, your pilot story has to not only set up your series but show us what
to expect from future episodes as well. Where is your show going to live?
Service your characters

We’ve discussed the necessity of introducing and establishing your characters
with opposing viewpoints in your pilot so of course you want to incorporate
pilot stories that will help you in achieving that. But it’s also important to think
about the overall mix of your characters and how you present them in terms of
their rank and importance in your series formula.
If you’re writing an ensemble piece with a character anchoring it at the
center ( Jake in Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Issa in Insecure or Jess in New Girl ), you
want to make sure that your pilot story is about that main character. While you
still will need to establish and sufficiently service supporting characters so the
audience will get a sense of how they’ll function for conflict and comedy, you
have to keep their screen time proportional to the size of the role you foresee for
them in the overall formula for your series.
I recently had a group of students working together on a comedy pilot that
took place at a high school. They devised a situation where a pair of dueling
comical principals vied to run the school. The administrative duo was funny
but by no means were meant to be a primary focus of the show. Yet early drafts
of the students’ pilot devoted far too many pages to their antics at the expense
of the show’s lead characters. The principal duo was intended as supporting
characters to punctuate scenes with jokes and provide their brand of comic
relief, but their early execution of this betrayed that design. Suddenly the show
seemed to be all about them. In subsequent drafts, the students cut down on
the principals’ screen time considerably while still mining them for what was
needed of them in the pilot and the script was vastly improved for it.
Of course, this is not to say all of your supporting characters are not vitally
important. Of course, you should do everything you can to fully realize even
your most minor ones in the most creative, fully formed way possible. Later on,
you may well even have an episode in your series that will go deeper into one
of your supporting character’s life and provide insight. But the pilot is not the
place to too heavily feature a supporting character in favor of your lead. There-
fore, your “A” story should be centered on your lead character. You can utilize
“B,” “C” and “D” storylines to service supporting characters but they should
not be made the focus of your pilot. Think about how you see the hierarchy
of your characters and make sure you strategize your pilot story to best reflect
their level of importance to your overall vision.
Serialized vs. episodic

TV comedies used to be primarily episodic, meaning that the story for each
episode was self-contained and free-standing. That’s not to say that episodic
comedies in the past haven’t had serialized arcs throughout a season (the Nick/
Jess romance on New Girl, for example). But now with the advent of stream-
ing and “binge” watching, there seems to be more of a push for comedy shows
with more of a pronounced serialized component. Therefore, it’s important
for you to assess your series and how you want to approach your storytelling.
Look at a plot-heavy show like The Good Place. Your approach to writing a
show like that with such a strong ongoing serialized component has to be dif-
ferent than for a more standard traditional comedy. Do you want each of your
episodes to end on some sort of cliffhanger? Then you would need to incor-
porate that into your pilot. In developing stories for a serialized show, it’s much
more essential to know more precisely where your show is going in order to
plan stories to build to the season end climax you’re envisioning.
Whether you’re writing a premise or non-premise, serialized or episodic
pilot, the decision and execution of your pilot story is going to be essential in its
success. Take the time now to seriously assess what the very best story is going
be to showcase your vision and launch your series.
10 Sitcom story structure
It’s no joke!
So. Are you comfortable? Consider the chair you’re sitting on. (If you’re not
sitting, maybe go sit down or use your imagination? Work with me here!) The
reason that chair is able to hold up your weight is that it was properly designed
with a solid structure to provide a sound foundation. Without the right struc-
ture, that foundation would collapse and you’d be on the floor. The same holds
true for your pilot story.
Structure is what holds everything together. Without proper structure, your
story (and in effect your entire pilot) is going to fall apart and collapse. How
often have you read a movie review where the critic chides the script’s “rick-
ety” plot? Structure matters. Always. Make no mistake, no matter how origi-
nal, quirky and hilarious you think your pilot story is at this point, without
sound structure, it is going to collapse as fast as a rickety old chair. And if your
story collapses, then your entire pilot idea (no matter how brilliant!) is on the
floor too.
Strong structure will propel your story forward, allow for surprising twists
and turns and make it possible to ultimately pay it all off with a satisfying
resolution. In essence, good structure provides both the narrative vessel and
foundation to tell your story effectively.
Sound story structure is one of those things that doesn’t always get its proper
due. It can sometimes even be taken for granted and not always fully appreci-
ated. But what about when that sound structure isn’t there or goes M.I.A.?
Oh, you know it. You feel it. It may be that time in a movie when you start
squirming and take out your phone for a peek (hope you’re not sitting by me!).
And possibly even more personally and professionally dire for you, it could that
point where the studio or network exec who you have campaigned so hard to
get to look at your script may just stop reading your pilot because she now sees
you as an amateur who has failed to master this basic and essential concept.
How can we avoid that?
The power of poetics

Many of my students have related to me that tackling proper structure can
often feel frustratingly challenging and elusive in their pilot writing. It’s easy
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-11
to understand why. Again, in creating an original pilot, you are doing the daunting
double duty of both setting up the entire world of your series as you simultaneously
lay in a satisfying story to kick it all off. Building a structure that seamlessly meshes
those two formidable goals and manages to achieve both is not easy but neverthe-
less, remains an essential element of craft for the newbie screenwriter to master.
Then there is the whole matter of determining how many Acts you want
to construct your pilot around. On top of the more familiar 2-, 3- and 4-Act
structures, recent television seasons have seen an increasing number of stream-
ing comedies and dramedies on premium pay cable networks like HBO and
Showtime as well as SVOD services like Netflix and Amazon Prime that shun
the traditional Act Break structure altogether. And even among those there
are a number of entries such as Amazon Prime’s The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and
HBO’s The Righteous Gemstones that go well beyond the 22-minute broadcast
network standard in favor of significantly longer running times.
And what about Cold Opens and Tags? How will those bookending devices
play in your structural design? It’s a lot, right? Well, take a breath. We’ll explore
all of these factors in more depth in just a bit so don’t be overwhelmed. But
first it may be instructive to first take a step back and gain some insight from
the very first master of dramatic theory, the great Greek Philosopher, polymath
(and obvious overachiever) Aristotle.
How far back? We are talking 4th Century BC when Aristotle offered the
world a collection of his written lecture notes which would become the first
foundation for narrative theory known as Aristotle’s Poetics. The volume may
be slim, but for the budding screenwriter, the densely packed pages of his
philosophical treatise provide a powerful and invaluable storytelling base and is
essential reading.
Poetics, plot and your pilot

In Poetics, Aristotle offered a nearly contemporary examination of classic Greek
tragedy. While you may be creating a comedy pilot, the same lessons will apply
in your script. In the work, Aristotle identified the Six Elements of Drama that
needed to be present to make for an effective tragic play. For the purposes of
this chapter, we are going to focus on the first: plot.
The philosopher considered plot or “the form of action” as much more than
simply the sequence of events. Rather, he deemed plot as the most important
element, terming it “the soul of tragedy.” Notably, he wrote:
A whole [story] is what has a beginning and middle and end.
Beginning, middle and end. It is not an understatement to say that your craft in
sitcom writing must be supported by this basic tenet of storytelling structure.
And this not only applies to your pilot as a whole but is just as essential through
each individual component that comprises your script. That means that in
every step of your script process as you write each of your scenes, sequences
Sitcom story structure 69
and all of your secondary stories that each must be crafted to all have their own
beginning, middle and ends as well.
Beginning, middle and end. This elemental and ubiquitous three-prong
concept now may be perceived as a storytelling given, but at the time Aristotle
was breaking new ground in identifying the origins of what was to evolve into
the familiar 3-Act Structure still embraced in literature, theater and screenwrit-
ing. Even if you are not planning on writing a 3-Act pilot, you will still need to
consider and adapt the pilot structure you are using in terms of the beginning,
middle and end of your story.
Pilot story structure: getting your acts together

One of the first decisions you’ll have to make before you start your outline
will be determining how many acts you want to use in your pilot structure
design. When I was starting out, there were far more comedies that utilized a
simple 2-Act structure featuring one big Act Break. Of course, the Act Break
structure of early sitcoms rose out of a need for commercial breaks. Now as we
have detailed, TV comedies can fall under a range of different Act structures
and may just as easily not feature Act Breaks at all.
How do you determine how many Acts your pilot should be? One way to
approach this question is to consider the type of show you’re trying to create
and where you envision it being aired. For instance:
The Big Bang Theory—the pilot for the CBS multi-cam stalwart was con-
structed with the classic 2-Act structure and bookended with a Cold
Open and Tag.
PEN15—Hulu’s single-cam streaming coming-of-age cringe comedy was
launched with a 3-Act/Cold Open/Tag.
New Girl—the long-running FOX single-cam featured a 4-Act structure
(sans the Cold Open and Tag).
The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel—the Prime Video pilot introduces us to Midge’s
fledgling world of Greenwich Village jokes and stand-up without any for-
mal act breaks, Cold Opens and tags altogether, reading much more like a
short-length screenplay.
Clearly, there are a number of viable options for your Act Structure. Before
you make your decision, let’s go back to the principle of beginning, middle and
end in storytelling and how the number of Acts you choose for your pilot will
inform how they operate within your chosen Act Structure.
Beginning, middle and end: the basics

Let’s start with a very basic overview of the role of each of these three intrinsic
components and how they will connect to create a basic structure for your
pilot story.
Beginning: the set-up
This is where you’re introducing us to the series world and your main charac-
ters (although you may end up having a pivotal character who may not pop up
until later in your story). It’s also here where you are establishing the tone of
your series. Your beginning should ultimately provide what the main goal or
obstacle for your main character or protagonist is going to be.
Middle: obstacles and complications

The plot thickens. This is where the heart of your plot action will lie as your
main character faces challenges and obstacles in achieving his or her goal. The
middle is the place for rising action, meaning a succession of escalating plot devel-
opments and complications that create more tension and raise the stakes of
your story.
End: resolution (and new beginnings)

The climax. Your main character either wins or loses but either way should
ideally gain some sort of new insight into themselves. By the end, we should
understand the themes your series is seeking to explore and a sense of the type
of stories your series is going to tell. Whether you are writing a premise pilot
or non-premise pilot, we should have a firm grasp on this series world you’ve
created and an idea of the challenges in store for your main character in navi-
gating it.
Applying your chosen Act-structure

Of course, if you’ve chosen a 3-Act Structure for your pilot, then formulat-
ing how you should weave your beginning, middle and end couldn’t be more
straightforward. Your 1st Act (along with your Cold Open, if you’re using
one) will be your “beginning” and serve as your set-up where you establish the
“world” and introduce us to your main characters. Your 2nd Act, marked by
rising action (escalating obstacles and complications), will serve as your “mid-
dle.” Your 3rd and final Act (along with your Tag if you’re using one) will give
you your resolution and “end.” For this structure, you will require two strong
Act Breaks. But what if you’ve chosen other Act structures?
TWO-ACT STRUCTURE—Your 1st Act (along with your Cold Open,
if applicable) will be your “beginning” wherein you’ll establish your “set-up.”
But it will also be composed to contain part of your “middle” as you’ll intro-
duce rising action which will culminate in a single big “cliffhanger” Act Break.
Your 2nd Act will provide the balance of your “middle” in continued rising
and then falling action leading to your resolution and ending.
FOUR-ACT STRUCTURE—With this structure, it would make sense
to use Act One for your “beginning” and set-up. Acts Two and Three combined
Sitcom story structure 71
will make up your middle of rising action. Act 4 will serve as your ending and
resolution. With a 4-Act structure you might be more likely to opt not to use
a Cold Open and/or Tag but rather weave those elements into the additional
number of Acts. For this structure you will require 3 Act Breaks.
NO-ACT STRUCTURE—If you’re opting for the oft-used streaming
model of not incorporating formal Act Breaks into your script, that’s defi-
nitely a viable choice. Just remember that although you may not be officially
organizing your script by overtly marking it with Acts, you will still need to
build your story on a solid beginning, middle and end foundation. This means
that even though you may not have formal “Act Breaks” you will still need to
incorporate at least some semblance of those big “Act Break” moments and
plot points into your story.
Again, there are a variety of ways to go in Act structure. In making your
decision it might be helpful to first ask yourself some questions:
• As a viewer, is there a show structure in comedies that you tend to be

drawn to?
• Is there a platform you view as ideal for your show? Broadcast network?
Cable? SVOD?
• Does that platform tend to lean towards one type of Act structure more
than another?
• Is there a specific series on the air now that seems like it might be similar
in any way to the vision you have for your show?
• Would that show’s structure work for your series?
Perhaps the answers to these questions can help you decide what Act structure
is right for your pilot and series.
Pilot structure breakdown exercise

While your goal certainly isn’t to plagiarize or even be derivative, if there is a
series that you feel would share a similar genre, format or feel to what you’re
envisioning for your show, you may find the following exercise really helpful
and informative. Watch the pilot episode of the series you admire and be ready
to take notes. Keep a watch or timer in hand as well. With each scene, jot down
a very brief summary of each:
• What was accomplished story-wise?

• What character was introduced?
• Did your character encounter a new challenge or goal?
• Did your character make a plan or take an action in quest of their goal?
• Did they encounter a person or obstacle in their quest?
• Importantly, note which storyline (A, B, C, D) or combination of sto-
rylines was covered by the scene?
• Was a running gag (“Runner”) introduced?
• If your show incorporates Acts, note when the Act Breaks happen and
what they are.
• Be sure to time each scene as well so that you can assess the proportions of
the Act.
• If your show doesn’t feature formal Acts, make a note of the running time
when major plot points happen.
After you complete this, you will have a sort of “dummy” pilot structure break-
down of the full pilot. Now count up the various storyline beats. Note how
many more story beats the pilot’s “A” story has in relation to the supporting
stories. Assess how many beats of each story appear in each Act.
Of course, if you have a pilot script, you can also opt to do this sort of break-
down as you read through the script. Either method will give you the same
result: a sort of full “dummy” pilot structure breakdown. I have found that for
many students taking the time to do this exercise is not only informative but
can make the whole enterprise of figuring out their pilot structure feel much
less daunting. When we get to constructing the outline for your own pilot in
Chapter 12, it should be really helpful. Give it a try!
And if you haven’t read it yet, check out Aristotle’s Poetics. There’s good rea-
son it endures, and your pilot will be the better for it.
11 Crafting your pilot logline
“I didn’t have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead.”
—Mark Twain
Just one or two sentences. No more than about 50 words. Sounds easy enough.
Yet, as Twain alluded, distilling one’s thoughts in a clear, concise, “less is more”
manner can take much more creative time and energy than being longwinded
and lazy. It’s also why you may find composing a strong logline that judiciously
conveys the elements and essence of your pilot in a winning and convincing
manner much more challenging than you might suspect. But in terms of both
marketing and developing your project, the logline is an essential step. Let’s get
to work on yours!
What is a logline?
Simply, a logline is a one- or two-sentence statement which tells us what your
project is all about. In the case of your pilot, your series logline will convey an
overview of your prospective show’s concept along with its characters and plot
(stemming from possible future challenges or conflicts). For example, one for
Friends when it started out might read something like:
A group of quirky twenty-somethings create a makeshift family as they navigate life

and love in Manhattan.
Why your logline matter?

As noted, your logline will serve as a vital marketing tool for your pilot. As
you’re painfully aware, TV writing is an extremely competitive game. You’re
going to be vying to grab the attention of producers and directors as well as
studio and network execs to take a look at your work. Their time is limited and
there’s a good chance they already have an inbox full of pilots ahead of yours
waiting to be read. To cut through all that, you need a fast and furious, one- or
two-sentence statement that not only encapsulates your pilot but even more
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-12
importantly, excites your prospective reader and makes them want to put yours
at the top of the stack.
While at this point you may be looking at the logline more exclusively in
terms of selling your pilot, it is my belief that it can also be an incredibly pow-
erful tool in developing your pilot. As discussed, coming up with the concept
of your show can be a daunting process. You may be feeling like you’re trying
to cut through a thick forest of thoughts and ideas to find your pilot. You may
even be feeling like you’re getting close . . . like you’re circling something really
amazing but somehow, you’re still not quite there. The process of developing
your logline wherein you are forced to distill the concept and essence of your
show to its most basic and essential elements within the confines of just one or
two potent and powerfully crafted sentences can make all the difference in the
world in terms of clarity. It can bring your potentially strong but still fuzzy idea
into clear focus and make it truly great.
Once you have your logline, you can use it through every step of your devel-
opment and writing process to keep you on track. Later in the book we will
also be examining other marketing tools such as the pilot pitch deck as well as
the series document and the integral role your logline will play in those. How-
ever, that is not to say you should think of your logline as something written
forever in stone (especially at the beginning of your writing process). There’s a
good chance your pilot idea may change, perhaps even significantly. If it does,
your logline should evolve as well. It’s important at every juncture of your crea-
tive process to keep your logline updated and pitch-ready.
Quite simply, your logline is a crucial step in your pilot process. Before you
can write a great pilot, you need a great (and clear) vision for it. A strong and
tight logline can help you define that vision for yourself as well as give you the
power to concisely communicate it effectively to others.
Anatomy of a logline
As you approach the design and construction of your pilot logline, it’s impor-
tant to remember that while you want to encapsulate your concept in a way
that’s compelling, you don’t have to answer every single question and tell us
everything about your series. You only want to give us enough to understand
your concept and whet our appetite for the future conflict and comedy your
idea obviously promises to have in store for us.
Because you are creating a TV show rather than a movie, you also want to
be sure that while you are specific about the conflict your concept will create,
it should also be clear that the central conflict or challenges the pilot presents
will not be quickly resolved but rather feel open-ended with plenty of room to
grow and evolve for future episodes and seasons.
Logline elements
PROTAGONIST—The “Who” of your pilot. Who is driving the stories
and action? If you’re writing an ensemble show, is there someone at the center
Crafting your pilot logline 75
of it? Focus on that individual in your logline. For instance, Liz Lemon in 30
Rock:
A talented but slightly neurotic TV comedy sketch head writer must juggle her
slacker staff, erratic star and a smug new corporate boss to make her show a success.
Note that you normally do not need to use character names (although rules
are made to be broken and you could make a case that incorporating Liz Lem-
on’s catchy, alliterative name might make for a more memorable and catchier
logline). While there is no need for proper names, laying in some descriptive
character traits and flaws (describing Liz as slightly neurotic) can go a long way
in cuing us in on the challenges and comedy to come from your main character
within the premise of your series.
ACTION—As discussed, characters are defined by what they do. There-
fore, your protagonist needs to take action. In the 30 Rock logline, Liz Lemon
“must juggle her slacker staff, erratic star and a smug new corporate boss to make her
show (and life) a success.”
You want to colorfully define your protagonist’s proposed action by making
it feel as challenging and interesting as possible.
INCITING INCIDENT—Not always essential but with a high-concept,
premise pilot, a strong inciting incident can serve as a compelling way into your
logline and series concept. As could be the case with Schitt’s Creek:
When a pampered and privileged family suddenly lose their fortune, they are
forced to forge a new life for themselves running a rural motel in the no-frills world
of Schitt’s Creek.
In terms of the inciting incident, again we don’t need to know everything for
your logline. It is not necessary to reveal all of the specifics of how/why the
Rose family lost their fortune. At this point, in order to understand the series
concept, we need only know they’re now broke and are facing this new chal-
lenge. Later in your pilot outline and script you will have to give the logistics
of how the situation came about but for now, the information that the money
is gone is enough.
Also, using the adverb “suddenly” in describing inciting incident is helpful
because it ups the stakes of the situation. Again, you want to make every ele-
ment of your logline as compelling and enticing as possible.
GOAL—When we looked at character development, one of the key ques-
tions was what does your character want? Your logline should tell us what
the central issue/challenge/struggle your lead character (or characters, if it’s a
more equal ensemble) will face through the course of your series. In the 30
Rock logline, Liz Lemon’s goal is to “make her show (and life) a success.” In the
Schitt’s Creek logline, it’s for the family to “forge a new life for themselves.”
It’s important to remember that the goal you set for your protagonist has
to be heady enough to demonstrate plenty of potential for future stories and
character development.
ANTAGONIST/OBSTACLE—Finally, who or what is your main char-
acter fighting against? In 30 Rock, Liz Lemon’s logline antagonists/obstacles
are going to be “a slacker staff, an erratic star and a smug new corporate boss.”
With Schitt’s Creek we can see that the antagonist doesn’t necessarily have to
be a specific individual, but rather as in the case of that show, “a rural hayseed
motel in the no-frills world of Schitt’s Creek.” While the logline is not specifi-
cally citing a specific antagonist, the “no frills world of Schitt’s Creek” obstacle part
of the loglines provides a strong indication that there will probably be some
challenging townsfolk to play against our protagonist family in the overall fish-
out-of-water comedic premise.
As with all elements in your logline, you want to create a worthy antagonist/
obstacle to indicate plenty of possibility for major conflict and high-stake com-
plications in future episodes. Therefore, you should always be striving to give
your protagonist someone (or something) convincingly formidable to battle.
Your logline formula

To review, your logline will be composed of a combination of these possible
elements.
PROTAGONIST
ACTION
INCITING INCIDENT
ANTAGONIST/OBSTACLE
GOAL
Let’s examine how the elements come into play with this possible logline for
PEN15:
With only each other, a pair of painfully awkward tween soulmates (protagonists)
tackle (action) the horrors of middle school circa 2000 (antagonist/obstacle) in
search of popularity, love and friendship. (goal)
With this example, I chose not to include an inciting incident. However, the
series pilot does begin with the two lead characters entering their first day of
7th Grade, so a logline could definitely be constructed around that as an incit-
ing incident. Since PEN15 is a period piece and the 2000 era time setting
serves as a significant element of the show’s comedy and tone, I wanted to make
a point of weaving that information into the logline.
In terms of the language, I strove for wording that would best sell the prem-
ise and establish the high stakes. With the protagonist, I could have described
them simply as a “pair of girls” or “best friends,” but I opted instead for “tween
soulmates” because I felt like it might give it more flavor and personality. While
in describing the “antagonist,” I felt that making it more specifically “the hor-
rors of middle school” rather than simply “middle school” helped to more
Crafting your pilot logline 77
colorfully set up the stakes by reminding the reader just how rough and scary
those formative years can be.
Since the protagonists have been described as “painfully awkward,” we can
see that their goals of “popularity, love and friendship” are not going to be easy
to obtain. The logline makes it instantly clear that there’s lots of potential for
a varied and plentiful array of stories and comedy that can emerge from their
quest. It’s also important to note that the goals that the protagonists share are
highly relatable. Who doesn’t want popularity, love and friendship? PEN15 is
a series with a decidedly emotional component that hinges on the audience
relating to the coming-of-age subject matter. When taken all together, we can
see how this solitary sentence, 26-word logline can provide a concise, clear and
powerful overview of the series.
Logline exercise
Before you begin to construct your own logline, try this exercise. Take one or
two of your favorite comedy shows and construct your own loglines for them
based on the elements we have covered. Think about the dynamics that make
the show work for you and see if you can craft a colorful, compelling logline
that conveys why you love the series.
Now get to work on your own logline! Remember, your goal is to cap-
ture your show in a colorful, compelling way that sells us on the great comic
potential inherent in your characters and this premise/world you’ve devised
for them. A winning logline takes time to craft properly so keep rewriting and
tinkering with it until you get it right! You’ll be happy you did.
12 Pilot outline
Blueprint for success
Just about every semester, I encounter a student who offers resistance on doing
an outline for their script project. They earnestly contend that they already
have the whole story in their head and insist there’s no need for what they
deem as this completely superfluous step. Some will even confidently assure me
their “process” is to simply start writing and “just let it happen.”
I assure them that they’re free to go straight to script and skip the outline.
They’re usually thrilled to hear that until I add that, however, if they do that,
then I will also be free to give them an “F” on their outline assignment which
will wreak havoc with their overall grade. Invariably, they end up doing the
outline. And in the end, they’re almost always glad they did because complet-
ing their outline not only eased their scriptwriting process but ultimately, they
came out of the course with a far better script for it.
So of course, the real reason I require my students write an outline is not
about grades at all. Your outline is crucial. It is going to serve as your first road-
map for your entire pilot. The last thing you want is to be half-way through
your script writing process and encounter a story problem that throws a wrench
into everything. Unfortunately, that’s what often happens with writers “who
have the whole story in their head and just let it happen.” Crafting your outline
is your opportunity to foresee possible future story problems and do the real
heavy lifting of structuring your script properly.
While you may be certain you have a clear idea of where your pilot story is
going and how you will execute it, it is in the writing of the outline where you
will really be forced into the nuts and bolts of your story. If your story doesn’t
work, then your pilot will be a bust too. Writing a solid outline is the step that
will ensure that you avoid a lot of that misery.
And far beyond grades, when you step out into the professional world of
television script writing, you will find turning in an outline is usually a required
step in the payment process (and who doesn’t enjoy getting paid?). Writing
payments are typically divided between story and teleplay. Your story fee comes
upon the arrival of your outline. If the folks in power like your story and green-
light it, they will let you go to story. If your outline doesn’t work for them,
they will have the ability to contractually halt you in your tracks at that point
and stop you at “story.” That’s right. No outline—no more payments. That’s
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-13
Pilot outline 79
going to be even more unfortunate for you (and your bank account) since your
teleplay fee is usually going to represent a significantly greater chunk of your
total script fee than what you received for the story.
Your ability to write a strong, polished and professional outline is going to
prove to be indispensable not only in completing your current pilot but also
as an essential skill you will need moving forward in your TV comedy writing
career. So, let’s get started on yours.
Outline basics
One way to think about your outline is that if your script is going to be the
blueprint for shooting your pilot, then your outline is going to be the blueprint for
your script.
Simply, an outline is a scene by scene, sequential breakdown of your pilot
story. You will write one or more paragraphs for each successive scene which
provide the main beats and action of each individual scene as they will appear
in your script. You should lay out your outline just as you envision your pilot
script: scene by scene and act by act. With multiple storylines, you will inter-
weave those together throughout in the same manner and sequence as how you
envision them arranged in your script.
It is important to remember that your outline functions as an overview
of the action that is going to be presented in your script. Therefore, while
you may use snippets of dialogue in your outline, you should only do so
judiciously.
While your outline is written in simple prose, you will utilize some script
formatting in terms of labeling acts and heading each of your scenes with the
matching proper slugline that will appear later when you take your outline
to script. As in your script, the slugline will tell the reader the location of
your scene and when it is taking place (DAY or NIGHT). Underneath the
slugline, you will offer an overview of the main beats of the scene as they
unfold. As we read through each of your scenes, we should be able to grasp
the main beats and action of each. When you finish each scene, you move on
to the next until you get to the end of your story. Ultimately, the goal of your
pilot outline is not only to provide us with a clear grasp of your characters,
situation and their story but also to do it in a crisp, concise and entertaining
manner.
Be active! Not passive!

One of the first tip-offs that you’re reading the work of a screenwriting amateur
is action lines written in a passive voice. Don’t do it! As with the action lines in
your script, your outline should too be written in the present tense using active
verbs. This means that you want to limit using “is” and “are” as linking verbs as
well as ending verbs with the “ing” suffix. Case in point, here’s a stage direction
excerpt that might be in a beginner’s prospective pilot.
80 Pilot outline
PASSIVE VOICE:
INT. BOWLING ALLEY -- NIGHT
Bill and Tom are cheering as Jane is bowling a strike.
*
Pretty flat and not too exciting, right? Do you see how the passive voice makes
the line less immediate? The reader feels more removed and distant from the
action. The whole idea of screenwriting is to draw the reader into the action
you’re presenting.
Now let’s try it with an ACTIVE VOICE:
INT. BOWLING ALLEY -- NIGHT
Bill and Tom cheer as Jane bowls a strike.
*
Better, right? Do you see how that little verb change brings this to life? You can
almost hear the ball smash into the pins in the second active voice version. We
are more viscerally drawn into the action in the active voice version because
there’s much more of a sense that it’s happening now. Additionally, it also just
makes the sentence less wordy and clunky. You always want to strive to make
your outline (as well as your script) as lean and tight as possible. The present
tense/active voice will help you achieve that. I know it sounds like a little thing
but embracing the present tense/active voice will do wonders to help the over-
all “read” of your outline and pilot script.
“But what I really want to do is direct.”
This all too familiar celeb talk-show refrain may be all well and good for the
glamorous glitterati but has no place in your approach to your outline. What
I mean by this is that often a newbie writer will include a lot of specific camera
angles and movement instructions in their outline (as well as later in their pilot
script). Your job here is to be the writer and tell your story. Let the director direct.
That’s not to say there are never exceptions to this. For example, you may have a
joke or bit that hinges on a reveal that requires a tight shot at the beginning. But
for the most part, you should avoid including a lot of production jargon.
Perhaps stemming from this desire to direct, there is sometimes also this
tendency to preface the action of each sentence with a “we see” or “we hear”
instruction. “We see the man run away.” “We hear the car crash.” This is just
adding unneeded words and is not necessary. If you simply write “The man
runs away,” that’s alone tells us what we are seeing. The sensory outcome result
for the reader is inherent in the sentence.
Just tell your story. Be as clear and compelling as possible about your intention
as the writer for each scene, then allow the director to figure out the best way
to interpret your intention and shoot it.
Think of “the read”

Studio and network development execs often act as the gatekeepers of the
industry. As previously noted, they have to wade through piles of material so
Pilot outline 81
you want to make whatever you’re submitting as hard to put down as possible.
Write with directness, clarity and economy. You want to strike a balance of
being descriptive enough without slowing down “the read” with too many
unneeded details. Be careful of stepping out actions more than absolutely nec-
essary. Case in point: Which of the following makes for a better outline action
line “read?”
“Joe reacts annoyed and sighs. He then uncrosses his arms and gets up. Joe walks to
the window and unlocks it. He pushes the window up to open it.”
Or
“Annoyed, Joe crosses to the window and opens it.”
Now I realize this may seem like an exaggerated example, but, I have actu-
ally seen outlines in which writers actually have over-stepped out a character’s
actions to this degree while additionally micromanaging the physical choices
(sighs, unfolds his arms) the actor playing the character may make within the
scene. It’s exhausting and kills the read. While you want to strive for clarity, that
does not mean that you need to monotonously step out every last single solitary
micro-beat of your scene. Just give what we need.
Be concise and precise

Again, as with your pilot script, you want to make your outline as engaging
and entertaining as possible. That means the same general basic rules of good
writing will still apply. Vary your sentence structure and avoid being repetitive
with words. Strive for the most specific and compelling colorful verbs and vivid
descriptions.
How long should my outline be?

There really is not one set answer for this as your pilot outline length can vary
a great deal from writer to writer and from project to project. It’s important
to remember the time, energy and pre-planning work you’re putting into your
outline now is going to serve you when you take your outline to script. If there
are story holes in your outline now, they are not going to magically disappear
when you go to script. You’ll just have to deal with them then. So rather than
focusing on a specific length for your outline, just set up the world you’re creat-
ing and your pilot story. Provide yourself with enough detail to ease the process
of going to script as much as possible.
For me, I find the sweet spot for most outlines to be around eight to 12
pages. But again, that number is going to vary from writer to writer. I do find
that anything less than eight pages for a pilot isn’t quite enough time to fully
present all of the elements you need to in your pilot. When you go beyond
12 pages, you risk overwhelming whomever you’re submitting the outline
to for review. Of course, if you’re strictly writing an outline for your own
efforts, then this is really a non-issue. You can make the outline as long as you
like. When writing an outline to be submitted you may find yourself omit-
ting some potentially funny details, dialogue or bits because you’re concerned
about length. One good option in that situation is to just keep a record of
82 Pilot outline
those “script possibilities” by jotting them down on a pad or transcribing
them on your phone. Great ideas can be fleeting and can be easily forgotten.
This is a means to circumvent that but still keep your outline to a reasonable
length.
“Should we stop for a joke here?”
This is a question that’s popped up in every single comedy writers’ room

table I’ve ever encountered. But wait, you say. “How can that be?” If you’re
writing comedy, how can there ever be too many jokes? Why would you ever
not stop for a joke? While some may disagree, I would argue that really strong
comedy writers know that while it’s imperative to be funny, serving story is
always your top priority.
Outline = story
In terms of the overall writing process, this emphasis on story is even more
crucial at the outline stage. There will be plenty of time to dazzle us with funny
jokes and dialogue, but without a sound story structure to frame them you have
nothing. Therefore, in addition to only including minimal dialogue, you should
also be particularly cautious about the jokes you lay in at the outline stage.
Maybe you’re still saying to yourself: “But don’t I need to prove I’m funny?” The
answer is an emphatic “yes!” Your outline should absolutely demonstrate the
comedic promise of both your pilot idea as well as your own individual comic
voice. Absolutely. But your biggest, all-encompassing goal is to craft a funny
pilot with a great story that works as a whole piece. Be careful not to let your
quest to show off how hilarious you are sabotage that.
How can that happen? Well, I have seen many outlines that get undermined
by just way too many jokes that paralyze the action. Remember, you want each
scene to continually and compellingly push the story forward. Your outline is
not going to work if your reader loses interest in a story that feels static. Stop-
ping for too many jokes can wreck your momentum and completely derail the
read. So yes, by all means, lay in some jokes that reflect your comic sensibility
but as with your dialogue, do so judiciously.
And if you’re going to insert a joke, make sure it’s a great one. The outline
you’re handing in as a professional piece of writing is not the place for a weak
placeholder that you’re intending to improve later. If you don’t deliver with
your outline, “later on” may not come at all. A bad joke can often do you much
more harm than just skipping it and just staying on story.
Presentation matters: proofread!

Handing in work that is riddled with misspellings and typos makes it seem like
you really don’t care and simply are not professional. Watch your punctuation.
Pilot outline 83
As your high school English teacher probably admonished, commas matter.
Leaving them out can change the meaning of your sentence (the old “Let’s eat,
Grandma” vs. “Let’s eat Grandma” example comes to mind).
I always tell my students that there are so many variables they can’t control.
Someone reading your work may have a sensibility or sense of humor that sim-
ply doesn’t mesh with yours. Or maybe they’re just having a lousy day when
they open your outline and simply don’t feel like laughing at anything. You
can’t control those things. But you can control making sure you’ve scoured your
script for every single last possible mistake and corrected them all.
So, proof your work! Then proof it again. If you are really not adept at
proofreading, then find a friend who is great at it and see if they’ll give your
script a once (or twice) over. The bottom line is you never want to undercut
your talent or vision with a presentation that is sloppy and substandard. Always
give yourself and your work your very best shot!
Outline sample
As an example, here is the Cold Open start of my outline for the Meet Danny
Muffin pilot I referenced earlier:
COLD OPEN
EXT. SUBURBAN PICNIC GROUNDS - DAY

Perfect afternoon. Reveling in the sunshine, DANNY MUFFIN (30), off-
beat and oddly upbeat, cheerfully leads the MORAN FAMILY. There’s
JACK, the middle-aged patriarch and his two children: BEN (16), good-
looking and laid back, along with AMY (14), coltish and a bit insecure. The
three grumpily lug picnic items and hardly seem like happy campers. Danny,
surveying the area, announces that he’s found the perfect spot and excitedly
tells everyone he hopes they’re hungry since he’s made a big batch of his
“famous egg salad!”
Danny addresses the camera introducing himself only as “Danny.” (NOTE:

Whenever Danny addresses the camera, the family is oblivious.) He goes on to
explain that this is a big day: his very first family picnic. Danny claims every-
one is beyond excited as he points out Ben and Amy as his “new half-brother
and sister.” Danny then points out his “new dad, Jack.” Jack grumbles that he’s
missing his tee-time for this. Danny notices that someone’s missing: “Where’s
Stepmother?”
INT. MORAN FAMILY SUV - CONTINUOUS

BARBARA MORAN, the weary but still sexy wife and mother of this clan
sits behind the driver seat in big dark glasses. She takes a long drag on her ciga-
rette and glances off in the distance askance at her “new” family.
84 Pilot outline
EXT. PICNIC GROUNDS - CONTINUOUS
Danny continues to address the camera happily declaring that he’s now feeling
like the luckiest guy in the world but that it wasn’t always this way. He says he
should start at the beginning detailing that it all began on a cold winter morn-
ing in Chicago.
EXT. MERCY HOME - DAY

Snow falls on this stony grey Chicago orphanage. FATHER JOE, a good-
hearted priest dressed in a traditional robe, pushes the heavy front door open
and is surprised to find a basket left on the front steps. Shock and concern
sweep over his face.
INT. MERCY HOME DINING HALL - DAY

Moments later. Father Joe and another priest, FATHER PAUL (a little less
good-hearted), look down at the basket now sitting on the dining hall table.
A BABY gurgles happily in the basket surrounded by various baked goods. In
voiceover, present-day Danny tells us that these were his humble beginnings.
He was left at an orphanage in a basket. He clarifies “actually it was a muf-
fin basket.” Father Paul happily samples the muffins while Father Joe looks on
perplexed. Father Joe leans into the basket and Baby Danny promptly hoses the
priest with a sudden blast of baby piss. In voiceover, Danny concludes, “And
they called the boy, Danny Muffin.”
END OF COLD OPEN
As you can see, I began the outline by labeling it with the “Cold Open”
heading at the top then followed it with my first slugline. At the end of the
scene, I would do a page break and then start Act One of my outline at the
top of the next page. If your pilot is going to be broken down by Acts, you
too should do a page break at the end of your Cold Open and after each Act.
Again, after the Cold Open, I would simply just go through and write up
the narrative action for each successive scene as it would appear in my script.
My objective was to give the reader enough so they could visualize the story as
it unfolded while not bogging them down with too much detail. It’s also impor-
tant to try to convey the tone of your show and its comic sensibility as soon as
possible. If you’re writing a dark comedy or broad family farce, we should get
a tonal sense of it as soon as possible from your outline.
With each character, I tried to convey at least their essence upon their intro-
duction. Avoid loading down your descriptions with too many specific physical
characteristics if they are not intrinsic to what you require from the character
to tell your story and set up your series. Besides unnecessarily slowing down
the read, physical characteristics like hair color or height can seem arbitrary
and superfluous. They may also prove limiting in casting. In terms of character
descriptions, just give us what we need to convey their essence. When each
character is introduced for the first time (and only the first time), you should
put their name in all CAPS as you would in your pilot script.
Pilot outline 85
While I did lay in some snippets of dialogue here and there, for the most
part, I tried to paraphrase and offer an overview synopsis of the action. As dis-
cussed, I avoided specific camera movements and angles. Because I am opting
to use the device of Danny breaking the fourth wall and addressing the camera,
I make a special note of that so it will be clear to the reader. Later, I address
when I am having Danny speak his lines in voiceover. These two choices are
intrinsic to the scene so it’s important that I am clear when I am incorporating
them.
When I wanted to emphasize something, I did it by underlining rather than
using italics or bolding it. Lately, I have found a lot of students utilizing all-caps
in dialogue to signify shouting. My opinion is that this can be overdone. Ask
yourself if an exclamation point might do the job for you.
With your Cold Opens and Act Breaks, you want to strive to go out on a big
moment. It should either provide a big laugh or serve as a cliffhanger, keeping
us locked in for what happens in the next Act or (ideally) function as a com-
bination of both. In this case, I went with a bit of physical humor with Baby
Danny peeing that might also serve as foreshadowing to the future challenges
Father Joe is going to find with the tyke as he grows up. Always look for these
funny little “blows” or “buttons” to your Act Break scenes. They go a long way
towards keeping the story in motion and the reader invested.
Of course, what I’m presenting here is only an example of my style. Within
the framework of your outline’s mission to define your premise, story and char-
acters, it’s vital for you to imbue it with your own voice and point of view as
much as possible. When you’re creating a pilot, you’re selling us just as much
on your outlook and comic sensibility as you are your story and characters.
Don’t shy away from bringing it all to life with as much of your personality as
you can.
The beat sheet step

If at this point you are still wrestling with the basics of your story and do not
feel quite ready to tackle your outline, you may want to take the intermedi-
ate step of writing up a preliminary beat sheet before you move forward.
A beat sheet is simply a list of each of the major turns in your story sans the full
description/overview you’ll be providing in the formal outline. With multiple
stories, I sometimes find it’s helpful to work each of them out separately at
this point ensuring each has a compelling hook to kick it off—some escalating
obstacles and complications and finally, a satisfying resolution/ending. Once
individually worked out, it can be easier to achieve the overview to best figure
out how to mix and weave all of the various storyline beats together in your
more formal outline.
Notecards and the white board

Like many writers, I find that using a stack of multi-colored notecard at this
point can be quite helpful. First, I will make one card to label each Act. Then
86 Pilot outline
I’ll assign a different color for each of my stories (A, B, C, etc.). I will then
jot down a one-line summary of what happens in each scene. By the time I’m
done, I have separate colored stacks of beats for each storyline. Now I can sim-
ply divide up the individual “story stacks” and organize each beat under each
“Act Card,” laying them out just as they would transpire in the script (either by
tacking them up on a bulletin board or placing them on a table). Having the
beats on separate cards allows me to play with shuffling the scenes around and
playing with the structure before committing them to the outline. Of course,
you could also accomplish the same sort of story beat Act breakdown by simply
writing the beats with different colored magic markers on a white board. Find
what organizational method works best for you.
Brilliance of “therefore and but”

Another incredibly helpful tool I happened on to make sure I was on the right
track at this point in the story development process came from the brilliant
comic minds of the South Park creators, Trey Parker and Matt Stone. In a quick
video (it clocks in at just over two minutes), the writing duo address a NYU
university film class and offer a mini-lecture on their method for avoiding
constructing stories that lack the compelling beats needed to create tension
and strong momentum. They tell their student audience that often the culprit
in these instances is that when these story beats don’t work, it’s because they
happen arbitrarily rather than through genuine cause and effect. They then offer
a very simple exercise to see if you’re on the right track in your story to avoid
that fate.
First, they warn that if you are only connecting your story beats with the
words “and then” in between each, you’re in trouble. They argue that because
there’s no cause and effect to connect your beats, the story will feel arbitrary
and boring. However, if you are able to instead divide your beats with the
words “but” or “therefore” you have established a reason for everything that
is happening. You no longer have a series of random events but rather a real
plot connected by cause and effect with each event building and twisting off
the last. With “but” and “therefore” there’s always a reason everything in your
story is happening. “But and therefore” steers your characters and their actions
so you can achieve the tension and momentum your story will need to work.
Give it a try!
Finally, the outline stage can be the most challenging aspect of the entire
pilot creative process. It is daunting, but it is also essential. Remember, it’s okay
if you don’t quite have all of the answers to your outline at this point. Don’t
worry. You’ll get there. Just keep working!
13 Your plot device toolbox
You’ve nailed down the essentials: premise, characters, and tone . . . you even
have come up with the perfect pilot story to kick things off and thrust us into
this rich world you’ve created where your series will “live.” But even with all
of these key elements in place, you may still find yourself saying: “Something is
missing. How do I bring them all together in my pilot?”
This is the time when you might be considering layering in one or more
plot devices into your pilot to best convey the essence of your series and assist
in your storytelling. A plot device can be defined as any production choice
or narrative technique designed to move the plot forward. Plot devices may
include voiceover, breaking the fourth wall, cutaway “pops,” flashbacks or
flashforwards as well as fantasy or dream sequences. The best plot devices will
enhance your pilot by blending seamlessly in the storytelling. Utilized to their
best advantage, the right plot device may well be the missing magical ingredi-
ent in the “secret sauce” in shaping your pilot and perhaps even emerge as a
defining element of your entire future series.
The power (and pain) of plot devices

“Will this voiceover ever end?”
“Not another flashback?!”
“What a lame montage!”
Have you ever found yourself in front of the TV or movie screen muttering
these familiar gripes? You’re not alone. Handled carelessly, the usual array of
options can make any pilot (even yours!) feel familiar, cliched and worst of all,
lazy. However, when used the right way, plot devices can seamlessly weave in
exposition, reveal character, emphasize theme and do it all while delivering
big laughs. So how to make the right plot devices work for you and your pilot?
First, it’s important to again remember, your pilot script is your prototype
or test model for your entire series. Therefore, it’s essential that if you foresee
using certain plot devices in your projected series, then those elements need
to be in place in your pilot script. If you plan on using voiceover, flashbacks or
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-14
other plot devices regularly in your series, you then need to weave them into
your pilot as closely as you can to the degree and manner that you foresee them
being incorporated throughout typical future episodes.
In Fleabag, if Phoebe Waller-Bridge didn’t unveil her series signature
“Breaking-the-Fourth-Wall” asides until, say Episode 7, it would be strangely
jarring for the viewer. Instead, Waller-Bridge’s pilot script kicks off with the
title character turning squarely to the camera in her very first speech with
the character offering her jaundiced perspective (while the other character
onscreen remains oblivious). Right from the start, this integral plot device was
established and firmly entrenched in the formula of the series.
Notably, one of the most memorable and inventive Fleabag moments came
in the series’ second season when Waller-Bridge managed to turn this fourth
Wall convention on its head by having the show’s priest/love-interest char-
acter unnerve Fleabag when he had grown so close to the character that he
suddenly started noticing her little secret asides to the audience and stopped
being oblivious. Waller-Stone used this sort of “flip” of the plot device itself
as a means to advance the story and escalate the romantic relationship of the
characters.
Now that you know you need to reveal and establish your show’s signature
plot devices in your pilot, how do you decide which ones might be right for
you? Let’s examine your possible options (including using none at all!).
Voiceover
The voiceover is a plot device which features a voice outside of the narrative
(non-diegetic) used over the visuals as a means to narrate or comment on the
action. The voiceover is one of the most tried and true plot devices available
and it’s easy to understand why. In addition to easing exposition, when done
well the device can add layers and nuance to storytelling by allowing the viewer
instant access to a character’s internal thoughts and perspective. In comedy, it
can be a powerful humor and joke ally by subverting audience expectations as
well as providing irony and context.
Voiceover examples in television comedy abound. Try to imagine Sex and
the City without Carrie Bradshaw’s familiar laptop “I-couldn’t-help-but-wonder”
romantic ponderings? Currently, ABC’s ’80s period piece The Goldbergs con-
tinues in the tradition of The Wonder Years by exploiting the device for nos-
talgia and perspective with Patton Oswalt narrating as the adult-version of
the youngest son, Adam. The Black-ish signature voiceover featuring patriarch
“Dre” (Anthony Anderson) is a vital element in that show not only as a tool to
skillfully mine comedy, but also in the way it ingrains the character’s point of
view (literally his voice!) so powerfully to underline the show’s core themes on
family and race.
All in all, voiceovers sound pretty great, right? Still, if Carrie Bradshaw
was writing this book, this might be the part where she’d ponder in her
Carrie-like-word-play-kind-of-way:
Your plot device toolbox 89
CARRIE (V.O.)
“I couldn’t help but wonder, was there a
downside to voiceovers? Could my voice
over pull me under?”
Apologies to Carrie B. and S.A.T.C., but the answer would be an emphatic

“yes!” A clunky or misplaced voiceover can slow your action and make your
script feel repetitive.
How to tell if you’re on the right track with your voiceovers? With each
one, read the scene over and ask yourself if the voiceover is providing anything
we can’t glean from the visuals and dialogue. Again, your voiceover should always
provide an additional or even multiple layers to the scene. Is it giving us a glimpse of
a character’s internal thoughts and motivation? Revealing a crucial plot ele-
ment? Being used as counterpoint juxtaposition to the visuals as a joke pay-
off? Pointing up irony? Underlining an emotional moment? If so, then great!
Voiceover-away!
But if your voiceover is accomplishing none of those things and rather just
repeating information the audience is seeing in the scene, then you’re simply
overwriting and overexplaining. Your voiceover is not helping you or your
pilot. So, always ask yourself, what is this voiceover giving me that the dia-
logue, action and visuals don’t? Does this scene need this voiceover? If you’re
answer is “no” then rethink using it.
And even if finally, you do decide to incorporate voiceovers as a regular
feature in your pilot, you should still use them judiciously every single time and
make sure you’re not simply relying on it as an easy means to convey exposition
or reveal character. A little voiceover can go a long way and too much (even
when it’s interesting or funny) can stall your pace and undermine your entire
pilot. Use your best judgement. You never want your voiceover to feel lazy.
Breaking the fourth wall

While Fleabag made “breaking the fourth wall” its series hallmark, it was,
of course, hardly the first. It was first seen as a performance device, in which
actors on stages long ago addressed the audience ignoring the imagined “fourth
Wall,” dating back from ancient Greece, to Shakespeare all the way to post-
modern theater. Widely seen as well in both film and television, the device
allows an onscreen character to display an awareness that they are in a piece of
fiction and the opportunity to “step out” of it and address the audience directly.
In TV sitcoms, the plot device goes as far back as the medium’s beginnings,
including when it was featured as a regular component on CBS ’50s comedy
The Burns and Allen Show starring real-life married vaudeville team George
Burns and Gracie Allen. Memorably, on the Season 4 opener, George suddenly
stopped the action midway through a scene to address the audience just as a
supporting series regular was about to enter. George alerted the audience that
since the actor who had been playing the supporting role had just left the show
to take a job on Broadway, a new actor would now be playing the part. George
not only introduced the “new” performer (Larry Keating) to the studio audi-
ence but even double-downed on the meta-moment by then introducing him
to the actress playing his TV wife (Bea Benaderet). Once all of these breaking
the fourth Wall intros were done, the action of the scene and story resumed
with the audience fully in on the casting switch (as well as the joke!).
Breaking the fourth Wall has continued to be incorporated in TV comedy
through the years and even today. Fox’s Bernie Mac Show (created by Larry
Wilmore) emerged from the late comedian’s hugely successful stand-up Act so
it was understandable why Wilmore engineered the series to take advantage of
Mac’s natural rapport with the audience by incorporating a fourth Wall ele-
ment with Mac talking directly to them (sometimes even addressing them as
America).
Breaking the fourth Wall is not quite as widely used as a regular weekly
feature on comedy shows the way that other devices are so you may not be as
likely to incorporate it that way in your pilot script. Nevertheless, it has proven
on occasion to offer audiences wonderfully surprising moments during a series’
run. Other shows ranging from The Simpsons to ABC’s Moonlighting to NBC’s
Malcolm in the Middle and Fresh Prince of Bel-Air have all delighted their fans with
that little acknowledgment and “wink” the device can provide.
When done well, having a character talk directly to the audience can lend
the deepest degree of intimacy possible. What better way to make an audience
understand a character’s point of view and motivations than have her plead
her case directly to them? Breaking the fourth Wall can also be a great tool of
irreverence to demonstrate in no uncertain terms that a show isn’t taking itself
too seriously.
Still, as with all plot devices, utilizing the fourth Wall Break to best effect
can be a tricky affair. When not executed well it can feel tiresome: both overly
self-aware and referential. And as with the voiceover, when handled clumsily, it
can stall your action and paralyze your pace. Breaking the fourth Wall instantly
takes the audience out of the narrative and the reality of the world you’ve
worked so hard to create for them. Having your lead character talk directly
to the audience can be great fun, but it can also make it more difficult for the
audience to continue to suspend disbelief and thus reduce the overall tension
of your story. So, if you are going to opt to utilize breaking the fourth Wall as
a plot device for your pilot, proceed with caution.
Breaking the 4th meets the mockumentary

Breaking the fourth Wall figures prominently in the mockumentary, a nar-
rative form which has evolved into one of TV comedy’s most prolific and
successful series formats. The now familiar sitcom staple tells their series story
through the omnipresent documentary lens, often breaking the fourth wall
throughout with “talking head” interviews of the principles commenting on
the action and offering their perspective. The TV mockumentary came into
prominence with the British version of The Office followed by its U.S. counter-
part on NBC. Since then, the form has found notable success with shows rang-
ing from Modern Family, HBO’s The Comeback, NBC’s Parks and Rec, Netflix’s
teen-crime satire American Vandal all the way to current entries such as What
We Do in the Shadows as well as IFC’s documentary parody spoof anthology
Documentary Now.
This Is Spinal Tap, the groundbreaking 1984 feature which could be termed
a rock mockumentary, is often cited as an antecedent and inspiration for many
of the host of mockumentary movies and TV shows which followed it. The
satiric film, detailing the lives of a fictional English heavy metal band, is told
through the perspective of documentarian Marty Dibergi (played by movie’s
director, Rob Reiner). Unlike This Is Spinal Tap, the “director” and “crews” of
the “documentary” within most mockumentary shows remain largely unseen
and invisible throughout the series runs. The audience has grown so familiar
with the form that they’re very willing to simply accept the conceit of the
omnipresence of this “documentary” being shot as a constant backdrop and
storytelling device.
Part of the reason for the notable emergence of the mockumentary as a
vehicle for TV comedy may have to do with the parallel explosion of Real-
ity TV in recent decades. Shows dating back to MTV’s The Real World in the
’90s all the way to ABC’s The Bachelor and The Real Housewives franchise on
Bravo today have made viewers privy to a new level of supposed emotional and
even uncomfortably private moments portrayed as seemingly “real” (even if
many may have well in fact have been at least partially staged). With their faux
documentary feel and no laugh track, the mockumentary can come closer to
tapping into a version of that sort of uncomfortable intimacy to create a brand
of “cringe” comedy that might be more challenging for standard narrative
sitcoms.
Trailer Park Boys, created by Mike Clattenburg, was an early entry in the
mockumentary genre (it actually debuted just a few months before the U.K.
version of The Office in 2001). The long-running Canadian entry featuring
a funny trio of bumbling Nova Scotia petty criminals evading the police as a
documentary camera crew chased them with their handheld cameras, often
resembled an episode of Fox’s long-running “docu-series” COPS.
This heightened sense of “reality” can aid in mining the various comedic
elements mockumentaries lean on for laughs. For character comedy, what
could provide more direct and immediate access to a character’s eccentrici-
ties and flaws than breaking the fourth wall with the “talking head” interview
and allowing the character to speak directly to the camera/audience and bare
themselves? And if your comic sensibility runs toward dead pan humor, then
those interviews segments, with their sometimes long, painfully uncomfort-
able takes and pauses, can be the perfect vehicle. Mockumentaries also have
the unique ability to veer convincingly between their documentary “reality”
to the profound absurdity of a show’s situations and characters. The contrast
of the ho-hum, 9 to 5 dreariness backdrop of The Office set against the staff’s
varied eccentricities makes the collective comic oddness of the characters pop
even more.
And yet, even with that contrast and as exaggerated as these characters
may be, viewers may be more inclined to relate to them because seeing them
through the lens of the show’s “documentary cam” makes them feel somehow
more “real.” And all of this intimate reality that the mockumentary can muster
may also help make crucial emotional moments feel more authentic and reso-
nate with the viewer even more than they might on a more standard narrative
sitcom (when Pam and Jim finally tied the knot on The Office, for example).
With all of this going for it, it’s easy to see why so many fans have embraced
mockumentary shows and they continue to be popular. Still, as with any other
style, careful thought must be given to determine if the mockumentary is the
proper fit for your pilot. While it does provide a great opportunity for big
laughs and inspired character comedy, there have been a glut of these shows in
recent years. You run the risk of your new mockumentary pilot feeling deriva-
tive or even stale and that is the last thing you want.
But that certainly doesn’t mean it can’t be done. At least part of the reason a
hit show like vampire mockumentary What We Do in the Shadows manages to
nimbly dodge mockumentary fatigue is because its “vamp-com” hybrid genre
premise (an inside peek at a lair of vampires set in present-day Staten Island)
mines the comic contrast for a fresh absurdist take on the form in a way we
haven’t exactly seen before.
So, if you’re going to opt to make your pilot a mockumentary, it’s important
to make sure you’re doing it in a way that feels somehow new and different.
“Pop” goes your pilot!

As touched on in our “Single-Cam vs. Multi-Cam” chapter, “Pops” is the
collective umbrella term sometimes used for those quick little scenes which
“cutaway” from the present action of the narrative for a gag, punchline, flash-
back, flashforward or fantasy. Cutaway pops not only have the ability to pay big
dividends in terms of jokes, gags and comedy but can also be a potent means
for character and plot development.
Before the previously mentioned Scrubs, the pre-Friends writing team of
Marta Kaufman and David Crane created HBO’s Dream On around the device
by interjecting each story with a variety of quick little vintage black and white
movie and TV show clips edited in to comment on the story or punch-up the
comedy. NBC’s Superstore segues the action with little “interstitials” of ran-
dom shoppers on the store floor doing odd and funny things. And of course,
Fox’s Family Guy is legendary for its plethora of memorable (and often quite
extended!) cutaway gags which have become synonymous with the show.
In crafting your pilot, cutaway pops can not only deliver big laughs but also
help to handle exposition and establish your characters. In the Brooklyn Nine-
Nine pilot, when Lieutenant Jeffords (Terry Crews) briefs Captain Bolt (Andre
Braugher) on his first day at the precinct about new police crew, each member
is quickly defined by a fast, funny cutaway gag that showcases their individual
comic flaw. For instance, Jeffords explains to Holt that Officer Amy Santiago
(Melissa Fumero) has seven brothers so she’s always trying to prove she’s tough.
The action quickly moves to a cutaway pop showing Santiago at a lunch table
about to drizzle a little hot sauce on her sandwich. A co-worker casually warns
that she should be careful—the condiment is really spicy. Santiago, proving her
“toughness,” douses her sandwich with the hot sauce. She takes a confident
bite only to all but choke on the scorching sauce. In about ten seconds, the
little cutaway lays in vital character information and insight in a funny and
memorable way.
Clearly, cutaway “pops” can be a great tool in your plot device arsenal for
character, exposition and, of course, comedy. A few things to keep in mind in
incorporating them into your pilot:
1 BE BRIEF: As with the voiceover and breaking the fourth Wall, these
cutaways can take us out of the story. Again, Family Guy is famous for
sometimes featuring extended cutaway gags that were hilarious but might
not have always moved the story along. That is much more the exception.
For the most part, if you’re writing a gag cutaway, you should be quick
and direct about it. The aforementioned cutaways used to introduce each
of the Brooklyn Nine-Nine characters in the pilot took about ten seconds of
screen time each. Ideally, you want to keep these sorts of cutaways to one
simple gag or joke that you can get in and out of quickly so you can resume
the action of your story.
2 QUALITY CONTROL: If you are going to go to the trouble to veer
off from your central action, you must make sure the detour is worth it. If
you’re stopping for a joke or gag, make sure it’s a great one. If you’re insert-
ing a cutaway to illustrate character, make sure you’re doing it in the most
interesting even surprising way possible. This is an area where rewriting
is especially important. Don’t stop working on your cutaway pop until it’s
the funniest it can be.
3 VARY THE JOKE: If you’re incorporating a number of cutaways, you
should strive to keep the humor fresh by varying the joke. For instance,
say you do a cutaway that features a word-play joke. Strive to give the next
one a different feel. Perhaps opt for a bit of physical comedy to change it
up. If you do the same sort of joke over and over, audiences will tire of it
quickly.
4 TRANSITIONS: Cutaways and pops can feel disorienting to the viewer
and may require some extra effort in weaving them seamlessly into your
pilot. Some finessing of dialogue or visuals may be necessary in order to
make these transitional moments feel as natural as possible. Of course,
there are also times you want the transition to your cutaway to jar the
viewer. A common method to surprise the viewer and make the cuta-
way Act as a payoff to a joke or gag is to have the dialogue preceding the
cutaway to contrast or drastically understate what is about to be presented in
your cutaway. (For instance, a cutaway pop might feature a voiceover stat-
ing that a character was feeling “a tiny bit tense” then quickly flip to a shot
of the character tensely smashing a glass in his fist.) Always be mindful and
intentional of your intended purpose for the cutaway and let that inform
how you orchestrate the transition.
Flashbacks and flashforwards

The manner in which you lay out the timeline and chronology of the events
in your pilot is going to be one of your most important decisions. Flashbacks
and flashforwards can operate simply as quick funny cutaway pops to pay off
jokes or gags. But they can also serve your pilot in a more pronounced way
with extended scenes and even sequences which can lay in backstory, reveal
character and help set up your premise. Crafting them into your pilot will also
establish them for the audience and let them know to expect a similar flexible
timeline framework in your subsequent series.
How I Met Your Mother’s premise hinged on the timeline conceit that the
entire series was really taking place in the future year 2030 as dad, Ted Mosby
( Josh Radnor), recounts his courtship with his late wife to their two teenage
children via flashbacks. As if that wasn’t complicated enough, there were also
instances when the flashback would flashforward several years and then flashback
again. While the time moves could be a bit challenging to keep straight, the
device was used to great effect to lend the layered perspective time can provide
as well as add emotional weight to the more poignant moments. How I Met
Your Mother’s fluid timeline gave the show its initial “hook” and made it stand
apart from the usual sitcom fare.
Of course, How I Met Your Mother is only one of many shows which have
“bent” time for comic effect. Rick and Morty’s sci-fi adventures often involve
flashing back and forward between alternate timelines and galaxies. Created
by Jenji Kohan, Netflix’s Orange Is the New Black dramedy regularly used
extended flashback scenes and sequences to reveal the varied backstories of
its supporting cast of female inmates. The pilot of New Girl opens with Jess
interviewing with her prospective new roommates about renting the open
room in their loft. The bulk of the Cold Open is Jess’s flashback to two
weeks prior when she found her ex was cheating on her in their apartment.
The flashback not only reveals Jess’s backstory and current state of mind but
quickly endears her to a sympathetic audience so they’re rooting for her right
from the start.
Clearly, used judiciously juggling the chronology of your pilot can be a
great benefit in inventively setting up premise, revealing character and mining
comedy overall. Just be careful that you’re not delivering so much backstory
through flashbacks that you’re neglecting the “now” of your pilot. Your pilot
should always be more about your characters’ present, than their past.
Dream and fantasy sequences
Delving into a character’s subconscious psyche—the part of themselves they
don’t reveal to the world, or perhaps even themselves—can be a powerful way
both in explaining their motives as well as deepening audience understanding.
Dream and fantasy sequences are often used as a means to access those hidden
areas of the mind and heart that characters keep hidden. For instance, Bojack
Horseman has employed dreams as well as varied drug trips and hallucinations
to lend insight to the character’s inner emotional struggles and mental health
issues.
Dickinson, a dramedy created by Alena Smith and currently streaming on
Apple TV+, explores the early creative life of 19th Century American poet
Emily Dickinson. Smith imaginatively taps into Dickinson’s major theme of
death in the pilot with a cutaway fantasy scene delving into the title character’s
mind as she goes on a sort of seductive otherworldly carriage ride with the
personification of death (featuring the inspired casting of rapper Wiz Khal-
ifa as “Death”). The pair share a smoke as they discuss life and immortality
set dreamily against Billie Eilish’s “What Do You Want from Me” playing softly
behind them. Wiz Khalifa’s Death has continued to “pop” up on the series
in other of these sort of fantasy pops lyrically echoing the way the recurring
theme impacted the poet’s work and life.
Crazy Ex-Girlfriend is a particularly notable case study in the way its pilot
combines two major plot devices in its first moments: the flashback and the fan-
tasy sequence. Created by Rachel Bloom and Aline Brosh McKenna, the CW
series’ flashback opening kicks things off with an awkward goodbye scene ten
years earlier between series lead Rachel (Rachel Bloom) and her soon-to-be
summer camp ex-boyfriend Josh (Vincent Rodriguez III). It then moves to the
present-day NYC. Rachel has a random but fateful encounter with Josh on the
street. Josh says he’s soon moving back to his hometown of West Covina, Cali-
fornia. Unbeknownst to Josh, Rachel makes the snap decision to turn down
a partnership at her law firm to move to pursue Josh. Suddenly, we are smack
in a big, glossy, old Hollywood-style musical production number called “West
Covina” exuberantly extolling the virtues of the small suburban city set against
its dreary dusty strip mall-lined streets. The musical fantasy sequence is not
only essential because it makes us privy to what’s going on in Rachel’s mind as
she sunnily stalks Josh, but also memorably sets up the series’ defining musical
component by quickly establishing that this is a show where audiences should
expect its characters to regularly break into song and dance.
While it’s a bit rarer for these sorts of dream and fantasy sequences to emerge
as regular features in TV comedies, they may be the perfect means for your
pilot to provide your audience access to your character’s inner emotional life in
a bold, surprising and creative way. And besides, they can shake things up and
be great fun. Who doesn’t enjoy a song and dance in West Covina or a carriage
ride with Death?
Your plot device pilot plan
With all of the plot devices we’ve covered, the most important thing is that if
you’re going to incorporate them, do so strategically and intentionally. Remem-
ber, your pilot script is the blueprint for your series. Always ask yourself if
the plot devices you’re considering serve your overall ultimate vision for your
show? If the voiceover you’re thinking about is just there to make exposition
easier or if the dream sequence is just about giving you a big showy scene, then
you might want to rethink those choices.
One exercise that might be helpful is to study a pilot of a TV show you
admire. Note if the series creators are incorporating any plot devices. If so, see
if you can detect any noticeable strategy or patterns in the way the plot device
is being applied to the storytelling. For instance, does there tend to be a certain
number of pops per Act? Are voiceovers limited to the beginning and end as a
bookending device? Now think about your pilot and strategize your pilot plot
device plan. What’s the best means and method to make those elements work
for you and your series?
14 Your Cold Open
Grab us!
If you are feeling particularly confident about your pilot, you might be think-
ing that the only thing standing between you and all that sitcom success is get-
ting the right powerful people to read your work to deliver you to that magical
greenlight. Well, you are half right. But getting the “right people” to read your
pilot is only part of it. You also have to get them to keep reading it. If the first
few pages fail to kick things off in a big, bold, funny or memorable way, your
prospective readers may put it down long before the part in Act 3 when “it gets
really good.” That’s where your Cold Open comes in and why it’s absolutely
essential to write one that jumps off the page and hooks the reader right off
the bat.
What is a Cold Open?

Quite simply, the Cold Open (sometimes referred to as “Teaser”) is the first
few minutes that kicks off a series episode as sort of a “mini-act.” Usually seen
before the opening credits, it’s a narrative and structural choice employed often
both by comedies as well as dramas. In most TV comedy scripts today, they are
fairly short (typically around one and a half to four pages—but they can run
a bit longer). The main purpose of the Cold Open is to catch the audience’s
attention and get them invested to keep watching. But they can also serve to
lay in thematic groundwork for your series.
Cold Open options: freestanding vs. on-story

There are two basic types of Cold Opens you can opt for that I like to refer to
as the Freestanding Cold Open and the On-Story Cold Open.
Freestanding Cold Open

The Freestanding Cold Open operates completely independently outside of
your pilot story almost as a kind of little stand-alone sketch. While it’s not con-
tributing to your overall pilot story, it is providing the audience with its first
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-15
98 Your Cold Open
introduction to your series premise, setting and characters as well as setting the
tone for the show.
The brilliant “Give Me A Ring Sometime” pilot for Cheers (written by Glen
and Les Charles) opens with Sam Malone (Ted Danson) alone tending bar.
A teenage boy enters and strides up to the bar and orders a beer. Sam asks
for an I.D. The lad produces an obviously fake military I.D. that makes him
38 years old. Amused, Sam plays along and remarks that he must have served in
Viet Nam. Finally, Sam refuses to serve him and the boy gripes that this is the
thanks a vet like him gets for serving his country. At the top of Act 1, the boy
has a quick little funny exchange with Diane (Shelley Long) and her fiancé on
his way out but other than that, the Cold Open never figures into the episode
again.
But the Cheers Cold Open does accomplish several essential things in its brief
two pages. We are not only introduced to the setting of this particular neigh-
borhood Boston bar and our wry leading man, Sam Malone, but we also get
a feel for the smart, amiable tone of the series. The Cheers Cold Open works
because it’s sharply written and ends on a big joke. The audience is laughing
and hooked in to keep watching.
The Big Bang Theory started its long run with a pilot Cold Open (written by
Chuck Lorre and Bill Prady) that found Sheldon and Leonard making a visit to
a high I.Q. sperm bank. Sheldon changes his mind about the donation and the
boys are left to slink out sheepishly for a funny finish. The Cold Open doesn’t
figure into the main story of meeting their new neighbor, Penny, but the open-
ing does skillfully lay in vital character info by comically showing us both how
brilliant and equally socially awkward the physicist duo is.
Of course, if you opt for a Freestanding Cold Open, it’s absolutely crucial
that the joke/sketch premise that you’re using works with a strong finish. If
your Cold Open just lays there or simply peters out, you and your pilot are fin-
ished before you’ve begun. And while your Freestanding Cold Open may not
factor in the coming story beats of your pilot, you should still be using these
first few pages to lay in whatever vital information you can about your series
premise, setting and characters.
On-Story Cold Open

With the On-Story Cold Open, you’re introducing us to your series by get-
ting your story started right off the bat. Perhaps because pilots already require
so much in terms of set-up and exposition, the On-Story Cold Open seems
to be a more prevalent choice. With so much to accomplish, it can be more
difficult to justify a Freestanding Cold Open no matter how big that first laugh
might be.
The On-Story Cold Open can be a viable option for both premise and
non-premise pilots. In the Schitt’s Creek premise pilot, titled “Our Cup Runneth
Over” (written by Daniel Levy), we quickly meet the ridiculously rich Rose
family in all their former gaudy wealth glory. Because of some shady business
Your Cold Open 99
dealings, government officials bust in for a raid and strip their mansion of nearly
everything they own. We get a glimpse of each of the principal family members
and their reaction to the onslaught (including our first glimpse at an emotional
Moira as she struggles to retain her beloved wig collection!) The Cold Open
ends with the Roses’ lawyer informing them that their only viable option is
to retreat to their last remaining possession: the small hick town that patriarch
Johnny had purchased for his son years before as a joke, Schitt’s Creek.
The Cold Open sequence is shot with quick cuts in a very visceral way
that makes for an incredibly effective and arresting (so to speak) Cold Open.
It’s important to note that while this Cold Open is serving the overall prem-
ise pilot story of the Rose family’s inadvertent move to their new life, it also
stands on its own as a complete intrinsic narrative sequence structure with a
beginning (the government knocking at the door), middle (the raid) and end-
ing (the Roses getting the news that they’re going to have to move to Schitt’s
Creek). Even though your On-Story Cold Open may be serving your overall
pilot story, you still want to strive to give it this sense of completion as its own
fully realized beat.
“Ejaculation,” Big Mouth’s animated non-premise pilot, opens with the gang
in a darkened class watching an educational film on the wonders of puberty.
One of main student characters, Andrew, embarrassedly aroused by the movie,
gets an unwelcome visit from the Hormone Monster who urges him to go to
the boys’ room to relieve himself by masturbating. Andrew resists but eventu-
ally the Hormone Monster wins and Andrew flees to the bathroom. Again, the
Cold Open is operating to introduce a story element that will come into play
throughout the episode as Andrew’s Hormone Monster continues to push him
to masturbate in other inappropriate places while also standing on its own as
a complete section of the narrative with its own beginning, middle and end.
And, as with all of the other series Cold Opens we’ve examined, the opening
immediately starts to lay in character exposition and comic insight for each of
the principal characters as we meet them.
While there are differences between the Freestanding and On-Story Cold
Open options, there are some key elements you should keep in mind for both.
Establishing tone
Again, the Cold Open is an audience’s first peek at your series so it’s essential
to craft these initial pages to be as representative as possible of the overall tone
you have in mind for your show.
Series creators Maya Erskine and Anna Konkle open PEN15 with a Cold
Open featuring a split-screen phone conversation with each girl in their
respective tween bedrooms as they anticipate their first day of junior high.
Anna marks up her 6th Grade yearbook while Maya collages pics of teen idols
of the day as Mandy Moore’s 1999 teen pop anthem, “Candy” plays in the
background. This Cold Open is more than fitting for the series. PEN15 is a
series that trades heavily on the very specific nostalgia and emotions of 2000
100 Your Cold Open
era middle school. The series’ Cold Open very quickly establishes that reflec-
tive tone for the audience and instantly lets them know what they are in for.
In the “The Big Bang,” Donald Glover’s pilot for Atlanta, the very first image
we see is a car rear view mirror getting smashed in a mini-mart parking lot
while Georgia Hip-Hop trio Migos’s “One Time” can be heard faintly from the
car stereo. The smashed mirror belongs to rapper Alfred “Paper Boi” Miles.
Alfred jumps out of the car to confront the man. A trash-talking exchange
amusingly veers to the man critiquing Paper Boi’s last release but then quickly
escalates to an armed confrontation. Alfred’s cousin “Earn” (Glover) jumps out
of the car and tries to calm things down. The scene ends with an overhead view
of the parking lot and a mysterious gunshot. In this Cold Open, Glover estab-
lishes that Atlanta is a show that is absolutely fine with letting its audience be
on edge. With a gritty, uncompromising tone, he lets us know in no uncertain
terms that this is a show that will reflect his vision of these characters and their
city in a full and authentic way.
One good way to help get at determining tone in your pilot is to ask your-
self one key question: How do you want your audience to feel when they watch your
show? Are you going for a show that’s breezy and light or something with a lot
of grit and emotional depth? Whatever feeling you want to evoke in your series
should be felt in your Cold Open.
Be visual!
Screenwriting is a visual medium, so of course it’s always important to be envi-
sioning your entire pilot with a strong visual sense. However, the first visuals
you give the audience in your Cold Open (particularly the opening image of
your pilot) take on special significance. Your Cold Open visual choices have
the power to set the tone and capture the very essence of your series. Strive
to elevate your pilot by making the very most of what the audience sees with
your opening images.
Striking Cold Open visuals

• PEN15 starts fittingly with a shot of the 6th Grade yearbook immediately
giving us the backdrop of that show.
• Both Brooklyn Nine-Nine and New Girl open their pilots with tight shots of
their respective series leads (Andy Samberg as Jake and Zooey Deschanel as
Jess). While both shows are ensemble comedies, this initial close-up visual
is letting us know who is going to be the center of the series.
• The Schitt’s Creek pilot Cold Open ends with the visual of the family’s
huge portrait being hauled away behind them by government officials just
as they’re getting the shocking news of their suddenly dire financial situa-
tion. The image of the lavish portrait getting ripped from the Roses’ family
home just as they themselves are about to be visually underlines the out-
come of the Cold Open and set-up for the series premise.
Your Cold Open 101
• Derry Girls, the smart nostalgic U.K. coming-of-age sitcom created by Lisa
McGee, is set against the tumultuous backdrop of ’90s Northern Island.
The first shot of the series is a military tank cruising down a roadway as
a group of young locals deface a town sign for “Londonderry” by spray
painting over the “London” part of it leaving only “WELCOME TO
DERRY.” What better opening visual could there be to kick off the show
and quickly establish the political divisions and dynamics of the day?
• Hulu’s Shrill, created by Aidy Bryant, Alexandra Rushfield and Lindy
West, centers on Annie (Aidy Bryant), a young journalist who navigates
her career and love-life as she strives for self-acceptance in a body image-
obsessed society biased towards women perceived as overweight. The pilot
opens with a montage of a seemingly typical day for Annie. The second
shot of the montage is a matter-of-fact, full-body shot of Annie in her
underwear as she puts on a sweater. Next, she carefully studies her form
in the mirror and struggles to stretch out the sweater to accommodate her
body. Under it all, Kali Uchis’ upbeat synth-poppy “In My Dreams” plays
ironically in the background (featuring the lyric: “I’m feeling happy inside/I
got no reason to hide/I’m a dream girl”). The Cold Open visually fixes Annie’s
body front and center as it plainly makes clear that Annie’s weight and,
most importantly, her feelings about it are going to be a crucial element
and theme of the show.
Of course, these are only a few examples. Take a look at a pilot you admire.
I would bet the Cold Open features at least one or more potent and memorable
visuals that foreshadow the show’s central premise or themes. As you design
your own Cold Open, always ask yourself, are the visuals I’m offering the very
best means to introduce the audience to my show and what it’s about?
Be bold!
As I reiterated at the top of the chapter, TV writing is incredibly competi-
tive. Your work is going to need to stand out. I encourage you to be as bold
as you can with your pilot. And that pilot boldness should start right out of
the gate with a Cold Open that hooks the reader and audience. Often when
I encourage students to strive for boldness in their work, they think I’m simply
talking about pushing the envelope in terms of raciness, content or language.
Boldness can certainly sometimes mean that as it did with Comedy Central’s
long-running hit Workaholics.
The show featured a trio of office slacker/stoner pals (Blake Anderson,
Adam Devine and Anders Holm who were also the series creators along with
Kyle Newacheck, Connor Pritchard and Dominic Russo) who shamelessly
avoided work while embracing every possible hedonistic temptation with full-
throttle juvenile abandon. The pilot episode (aptly titled “Piss and Shit”) kicked
the series off with a story that centered on the boys’ quest to avert a positive
workplace drug test. The Cold Open begins with a pool party scene where
102 Your Cold Open
one of the guys gets tricked by another into sexting a “dick pic” that inadvert-
ently goes out to everyone’s phone at the party. While the pilot featured sharp
comedy and smartly conceived comic characters, it also sent an unmistakably
clear signal right from the start that this was a show that would not only be
going over the line but gleefully leaping over it. And that raucous mandate for
the series was made very clear right from the start with the Cold Open.
So yes, pushing the envelope the Workaholics way is one means to achiev-
ing boldness. But there are other ways to make your Cold Open stand out.
As detailed, the Cold Opens for PEN15, Shrill and similarly tonally themed
dramedies can offer a sort of “quiet boldness” in the level of emotional intimacy
they can attain.
Boldness in your stylistic choices can also make your Cold Open stand out
and capture an audience. Forever, an Amazon Prime dramedy created by Alan
Yang and Matt Hubbard, only enjoyed one season but opened quite memo-
rably with a completely dialogue-free montage which documented the back-
story of the central protagonist couple, Oscar (Fred Armisen) and June (Maya
Rudolph). With only the Miles Davis Quintet’s haunting “It Never Entered My
Mind” playing in the background, the sequence moves dreamily from the cou-
ple’s first meeting in a bar through their courtship all the way to the decidedly
staid and stale present state of their relationship. Without a word of dialogue,
the Cold Open montage masterfully imparts a bracing sense of melancholy and
kicks off the series with all we need to know about the sad state of Oscar and
June’s deteriorating relationship.
Cold Open music note

Forever, like many of the series we’ve examined in this chapter (including
Atlanta, PEN15 and Shrill), utilized specific music choices in their Cold Opens
as a means to help define tone, character and premise. You may be asking
yourself if you should include specific song cues in your spec script. This is an
understandable question and it is tricky to give a blanket answer.
On the one hand, some feel the move confirms the spec writer as an ama-
teur. Everyone knows the writer generally does not get to make these deci-
sions since music rights is a legal issue that’s usually decided by others such as
a studio’s licensing department. Fees for music rights can vary wildly and be
extremely cost-prohibitive so the song you feel like you absolutely must have
for your pilot may well be financially out of reach. Also, if it’s an obscure song
then there’s a chance the reader won’t even know it. So, in most cases a better
route would be rather to give a description of a genre or type of music you envi-
sion for a sequence. For example, in a case like the PEN15 pilot rather than
specifically stating that Mandy Moore’s “Candy” is playing, the writer might
have chosen to give the more open-ended option of “2000-era tween girl pop.”
However, there may be those rare times when you strongly feel a specific
song is really absolutely essential. In those cases, you can certainly opt to be
specific with your song choice. There is a school of thought that even if you
Your Cold Open 103
can’t ultimately get the rights to the song, at least having the suggestion gives
the reader a good idea of the mood you’re trying to evoke and will have them
hearing it in their heads as they read your scene. But if I were going to include
a song title, I would still do so very selectively and judiciously. You’re writing
a pilot, not loading a jukebox!
Your Cold Open: make it count!

Remember, your Cold Open is not just your opportunity to grab the reader
and hook them with your pilot but also may well be their first introduction to
you as a writer and your unique comedic voice. Take the time to craft a Cold
Open that will give this crucial introduction to you and your talent the atten-
tion it deserves. It could well be your first (or last!) impression.
15 Your pilot’s beginning
Setting up your series “world”
Perhaps by now you have already devised a Cold Open that’s grabbed our
attention to kick off your pilot with a bold, original and hopefully funny start.
Awesome! You’re already ahead of the game and have successfully launched this
first section of your pilot. Now you will continue into one of the most crucial
and challenging elements to a successful pilot: the set-up.
Here I am using the term the set-up to signify all of the essential expository
components you’re now tasked with weaving together to make for a well-
crafted, cohesive pilot. Your set-up marching orders are to introduce us to your
pilot “world.” In this context, the term “pilot world” is about much more than
simply presenting your series’ central location. It is about the whole world of
your pilot, meaning all of the essential elements needed to define your show,
including your main characters, premise, theme and tone. And since this is a
comedy pilot, you have to do all that and be funny!
The good news is that you’ve done much of the necessary groundwork
before you arrived at this point. You’ve devised a strong premise you’re con-
fident will sustain comic conflict and generate stories. You have also done the
extensive character work necessary to inhabit that premise with full and varied
principals to bring your vision to life. And you’re certainly not entering this
creative journey unarmed. Hopefully, you’ve created a solidly structured out-
line that maps out your pilot story and will serve as your trusty guide through
the process.
If you haven’t done so yet, this would be a good time to do one final check
on your outline. Does it operate as a blueprint for your script to effectively
convey your series premise clearly and lay out your story in the most com-
pelling way possible? If there’s a nagging voice in your head whispering that
something isn’t working, this is the time to revisit your outline and make any
final changes or revisions. One of the great benefits about the completed out-
line is the more comprehensive story perspective it can provide. Once you are
clearly able to see this full overview of your pilot story vision completely laid
out, you are much more equipped to make the necessary adjustments to ensure
your script’s success.
Still, much of the heavy lifting of all that world-building is going to have to
be accomplished in this first section of your script. So, the challenge remains.
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-16
Your pilot’s beginning 105
If your pilot is going to work, it’s imperative that your set-up is sound. Let’s
examine some key areas to reassess before you move forward.
Trust your outline

Look at all the elements of your outline. Will you be able to connect and
embellish the outline scenes you’ve laid out sufficiently in your script to make
your characters’ moves and motives make sense and be relatable? What about
pace? Perhaps an edit is in order. Can some of your scenes be shortened or even
eliminated? Are your Act Breaks compelling or should you consider restruc-
turing them for better comedic (or dramatic) effect? Again, this is the time to
tinker with changes big and small to make sure your outline is in the very best
place it can be for a strong start.
Having done this final check, as you move into your script pages, you may
still find yourself hitting a writing block where you feel nothing is working.
You quickly lose faith in this outline you worked so hard on and were so proud
of just days ago. You decide your only option is to simply rip up the blasted
thing and just start over. This is a moment that happens to almost all writers at
one time or another in the pilot process and especially to first-timers when they
“go to script.” If you’ve really put the proper time, energy and thought into
your outline, there’s a good chance that despite your doubts the outline you’ve
crafted actually is sound and can work.
I know, I’ve said this before, but pilot writing is hard. What you may be expe-
riencing could just be the usual growing pains of taking your outline to script.
So, before ripping up that outline in desperation, take a breath and see if you
can make it work. Now, if after a second or third try, you still find yourself run-
ning up against a writing wall, well, maybe you were right. Perhaps there are
major foundational issues that do need to be addressed. Then by all means, be
willing to revise or even completely start over. But I have seen more than a few
young writers who continually use imagined outline flaws and endless story
tinkering as a means to procrastinate on the actual hard work of scriptwriting.
Before you make that potentially counterproductive move, try first to have
faith in your outline (and yourself !). Give it a proper chance to work!
Chronology: your pilot’s timeline

Perhaps you’ve chosen to tell your pilot story in a completely linear chrono-
logic order. That may be absolutely fine, but you should still ask yourself if the
scene order and sequence you’re utilizing is really the best fit for your pilot
story. Upon further consideration, you might decide that tinkering with the
timeline via flashbacks or flashforwards might make for a more compelling or
surprising final effect. Then a scene rearrange or addition may well be in order.
This was true for me with the first scene of the Meet Danny Muffin pilot
I used earlier in our outline example. My initial drafts were written in straight
chronological order. A studio note I received requested adding the new “family
picnic” opening scene that would establish the newly formed family unit at the
top of the pilot episode then tell the rest of the story in flashback. The note
(and I believe, a very astute one) was that this would ensure the audience would
experience enough of what the future series situation would be rather than
focusing too heavily on the backstory of the set-up.
American Vandal’s pilot, “Hard Facts: Vandalism and Vulgarity,” jump-starts the
sharply satiric crime docu-comedy with sophomore Peter Maldonado’s inves-
tigative introductory interview with prime senior suspect Dylan Maxwell for
his alleged involvement in the high school’s phallic graffiti scandal. The pilot
writer and show creators, Tony Yacenda and Dan Perrault, might have simply
opted to tell the story from the very beginning but instead cannily take full
advantage of the show’s documentary form to play with the timeline to drop
us into the action at this much more compelling point with the investigation
already well underway.
Build your world and they will come!

You sit down and start to watch the pilot episode of a series. What are the first
questions you ask yourself ? Where is this taking place? Who are these char-
acters? What is this about? These are all basic and natural questions as you try
to take in the “lay of the land” and figure out the essence of the series (and if
you want to keep watching). As the creator of your series, it’s now your job to
weave in these elements in a way that’s clear and will hopefully build a “world”
the viewer will want to return to for future episodes. This beginning “set-up”
portion of your script needs to do much of the heavy lifting of establishing
all these elements and getting them in place. For your pilot to work and keep
the viewer engaged, it’s imperative that you establish the world of your show
quickly and with precision in these initial pages.
When you hear the phrase “world building,” you may first think of this as
more within the realm of more fantasy-based movies and TV shows like Harry
Potter, Black Panther or Game of Thrones wherein the viewer is immersed into a
fanciful and foreign universe that requires its own set of rules and explanation
to make sense. If the pilot you’re developing takes place in a unique fantasy
world all its own (The Good Place or Rick and Morty, for example), then you
have no doubt been giving serious thought to how you might present this new
“world” you’re conjuring up. However, even if you are creating a more seem-
ingly “normal” comedy pilot taking place in an apartment loft (New Girl) or
conventional workplace (the police precinct in Brooklyn Nine-Nine) with nary
a dragon or superhero in sight, you are still faced with the same essential ele-
ments of world building.
More conventional home and workplace comedies may present fewer chal-
lenges than those with sci-fi or fantasy elements since the viewer will come
into those pilots with an established sense of the standard norms of those worlds
and how they operate. For example, we arrive at the Brooklyn Nine-Nine pilot
with a basic understanding about how most police precincts work. However,
getting a grasp of the version of “Heaven” presented in The Good Place is obvi-
ously going to take a lot more time to fully lay out and explain. But the fact
remains, no matter how seemingly “normal and conventional” the setting is,
you still have to build and present the singularly unique world of your pilot.
The uninitiated might think the “worlds” of Girls and Sex and the City might
be quite similar. Both were HBO shows that shared fairly similar premises as
ensemble half-hours examining life in the Big Apple among a group of four
female friends, but somehow each feels quite different. SATC’s Carrie Brad-
shaw and Girls’ Hannah Horvath are both writers in New York yet the frothy,
fun and fashionable Manhattan where Carrie and her pals sip their pink Cos-
mos feels very different than the funkier bohemia of the Brooklyn that Hannah
and her crew inhabit. The contrast between the two “worlds” of the series is
not only limited to the location but also to the contrasting tones each series
employs, the types of stories each tells and how the friendships between the
women are portrayed.
While this prospect of world-building can be daunting in your pilot script, it
can also be powerful and creatively exciting. Conjuring up this new world and
the characters who inhabit it from scratch provides a uniquely potent means to
imbue your show with a point of view that’s yours and yours all alone. So, it’s
vital that you make the most of it!
Power of clarity
The most important key to translating your vision of the world you’re imagin-
ing is clarity. I often find with less experienced writers there is this frustrating
gap between their vision for their show and what they’re actually presenting
on the page. This is understandable. Sometimes if you have been working on
a project for a while and gone from idea to pitch to outline and finally to the
script stage, you might grow so familiar with your own vision that you lose
sight of the fact that others have absolutely no idea of your creative intentions.
You should look at each and every one of your scenes from the perspective
of someone reading it cold for the very first time and continually ask yourself
key questions:
• Have I provided enough information so the reader can envision the setting and
characters?
• Am I establishing my intended tone?
• Can the reader follow the action and story?
• Does all of this make sense?
I know these all sound like obvious, elemental questions but you’d be surprised
how many pilot scripts don’t achieve this basic level of competency and craft.
For instance, in this beginning/set-up section of your pilot you are going to
be introducing us to your main characters. I have seen more than a few pilot
scripts where the author gives little or even nothing in terms of description
when introducing a pivotal character. Remember, you may have a very clear
vision of your lead in your mind but if it’s not on the page, you’re leaving your
reader stranded.
Does this mean that you must necessarily provide an exhaustively detailed
description of each of your characters? No, not at all. As we have detailed,
being too unnecessarily specific with a description (hair color, for instance)
usually isn’t advisable, but you want to provide enough to provide the essence
of the character. In Phoebe Waller-Stone’s pilot script for Killing Eve, her dark
comedy/drama suspense thriller, when she first introduces her title character,
Eve Polastri (Sandra Oh), she describes her this way:
Eve (41, smart, sardonic, a touch of ennui)
It’s only a few words but still enough to potently provide us a great sense of
Eve and who she is. Always be asking yourself, have I judiciously constructed
a concise description of my main characters that powerfully provides the vital
information I want the reader to have about who this person is? It doesn’t help
you to create amazing characters if you’re keeping them to yourself. You must
make them live on the page—not just in your head.
Exposition: keep it organic

In TV writer room circles, the slang phrase “laying pipe” is all about exposi-
tion. The “pipe” is the information the audience needs for the story—or in the
case of a pilot, the entire series premise—to make sense. And again, with these
beginning set-up pages you will have your expositional work cut out for you
as you go about giving us all we need to know about the world of your series.
A big challenge comes not only in providing all this vital exposition but also
in artfully weaving it in a way that feels natural and not clunky. There’s nothing
worse than the “bald exposition” of characters telling each other information
that they already know.
To put it another way, think about parents with young children who are
picky eaters. You know how they might sneak some greens into their diets by
grinding down spinach or some other veggies into something like a brownie
batter or some other treat they like? The parent’s goal is to feed their kids
something that’s good for them . . . something they need without them even
knowing it. Well, your exposition is sort of like the spinach of your pilot. It’s
something your audience needs. It’s up to you to give it to them without them
being aware that they’re getting it.
To keep the vegetable analogy going (and maybe I shouldn’t?), I once wrote
on a show where a network exec in notes asked if a character’s entrance in a
scene could feel “more organic.” The showrunner peeved with the organic note
request snapped, “Fine. We’ll give him a box of granola.” To be fair to the exec, he
may well have had a point. One thing that will help your exposition feel natural
is if it is organic to your story.
The New Girl pilot opens with Jess’s interview with the boys to be their new
roommate. Since an interview is all about exchanging information, it feels per-
fectly natural for Jess to share her backstory. You might argue that she reveals
more than she might in terms of the intimate details she offers about the recent
break-up that led her to the apartment ad. But Jess’s wide-eyed openness is a
big part of who she is. It’s organic to her character, so we buy that she’d be okay
with pouring her heart out to these guys she’s just met.
In our plot device chapter, we examined the Brooklyn Nine-Nine 1st Act
scene wherein Lieutenant Jeffords briefs Captain Holt about each of the mem-
bers of his new crew. It’s Holt’s first day on the job, so this feels natural and
intrinsic to the story; the exposition blends in seamlessly. In the process, the
audience is learning all about these characters just as Holt does. Even better,
the information is delivered through those little cutaway “pops” so the stuff we
learn about each of their signature quirks and flaws is delivered through humor.
Again, comedy can be a great way to camouflage exposition. Always be looking for
opportunities to couch your exposition in jokes—physical or character comedy.
Kick your pilot story into gear

As discussed, it’s not enough for you to simply establish the “world” of your pilot,
you also still have to tell a well-structured pilot story. Within the beginning/
set-up, you have to firmly introduce whatever challenge, goal or problem your
main character is going to face as well as firmly establish what’s standing in their
way. Of course, you will want your pilot story to be compelling. Therefore,
both your character’s desire to achieve their want and the obstacle in their way
should be powerfully formidable. By the end of this beginning section (typi-
cally your 1st Act, if you are incorporating a multi-Act structure), we should
have a firm grasp of your main character’s dilemma and goal. If you are incor-
porating supporting storylines, you will need to introduce the problem/issue
facing your characters in those within this section as well.
Final check: style, tone and characters

In addition to your stories, if you are planning on employing any regular style
elements that we discussed in our style toolbox chapter (voiceover, cutaway
“pops,” breaking the fourth Wall, etc.) in your series, you will probably want to
establish them in this beginning section. There may be exceptions but again,
it’s usually best to establish these elements sooner rather than later since it may
be jarring if they pop up unexpectedly later in your story without being estab-
lished early on.
Now think about the tone of your pilot. Have you given us opening scenes
that convey the mood and feeling you want to achieve with your pilot? If
your intention is to do a very broad farcical comedy, are you giving us some
big laughs right from the start? Perhaps some physical comedy? Conversely, if
your goal is that of a more reflective thoughtful dramedy, are there places you
might be able to underline the pathos or shade scenes with more nuance? Do
everything you can to firmly establish the tone you want for your series as soon
as you can.
In terms of your main characters, we should have begun to gain an under-
standing not only of who your characters are but also their relationships with each
other. The ways in which they relate or conflict with each other is going to be
a major component of the comedy engine of your series. You should establish
these dynamics as soon as you can.
Additionally, it’s also not too early to ask yourself if you have given us enough
in terms of their motivations but even more ideally, do we care about them? Are
we rooting for them as an audience? In Save The Cat, the late Blake Snyder’s
seminal screenwriting how-to book, he wrote about this screenwriting axiom
of providing a key moment early on in a story where the hero does something
that makes us like them and want them to win.
In the New Girl pilot, we first encounter Jess through her pained reaction to
walking in on her boyfriend cheating on her, so we instantly are sympathetic
and feel for her. In Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Jake is not only charmingly funny and
wisecracking but in the Cold Open investigation scene, we see that he’s also
smart and quite good at his job. We not only like him for being fun but also
respect him for his expertise. Ask yourself if you’ve given your audience a rea-
son to care for your character and root for them?
Once you are satisfied that all the essential elements of your beginning/
set-up are in place, you can move on to the middle section of your pilot.
Remember, this is a 1st draft. Good writing means rewriting, so your goal is
not perfection at this point. You will have rewrite opportunities to hone your
work and shore up areas that need improvement. So, keep your momentum
going and keep writing!
16 Middle magic
Obstacles, complications and
escalation
“I have the beginning and the end. I just don’t know what happens in the middle.”
I don’t know how many times I have heard this familiar refrain from students
as they pitch out their pilots. Often, they’ll come armed with an incredibly
detailed, visual and vivid opening as well as a strong idea where they want the
story and their characters to end up. But this mysterious missing middle part
between can present a ton of creative anxiety.
With your beginning/set-up, you have hopefully introduced us to your main
characters, established your desired tone and immersed us into this brand-new
amazing pilot world you’ve concocted. You’ve no doubt also introduced a for-
midable goal or problem for your main character to face down. Excellent! Now
with this middle section you are ready to really lean into your characters as you
delve into the nuts and bolts of your pilot story to keep us locked into your vision.
Middle = rising action

In a 3-Act structure, this middle section will typically comprise your 2nd Act.
In a 4-Act structure, it would probably be your combined 2nd and 3rd Acts.
As detailed in our chapter on structure, under either Act structure, this middle
section will be all about rising action. In designing your rising action, it’s essen-
tial that the complications you lay out don’t feel like repeated beats. Rather, you
always want to strive for a build within your story to create momentum.
This rising action/middle section will usually find your main character faced
with a new challenge or goal, devising a plan of action. In implementing the
plan, your character encounters a new and (hopefully) surprising complication
or obstacle that will put them in an even worse position and even further from
their original goal, forcing them to take a different course of action. Quite sim-
ply, you want things to get worse for your hero before they get better.
The good news is that you’ve undoubtedly dealt with this issue by craft-
ing a strong outline powered with twists and turns provided by the surprising
complications and obstacles you’ve deftly placed in your protagonist’s path to
keep us guessing and engaged. This is your audience’s first introduction to your
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112 Middle magic
main character so the way he or she faces this problem or obstacle is going to
be crucial in defining them.
Character choices and complications

As you move from your outline to your script pages, you should reassess that
you have made the very best choices in determining the complications that
befall your hero. Remember, character is story. The complications should at least
in some way be tied to choices your character has made. And those choices should
come out of who your characters are and how they see the world.
During the middle section of the “First Day” pilot episode of PEN15, some
mean 7th graders trick Maya into believing that two popular boys named Dus-
tin and Brandt have dueling crushes on her. Maya is equally torn between the
two. But then a complication develops when Anna informs her that she’s
learned that Alex, the boy she pines for, thinks Dustin’s “a bitch.” Because Maya
is so devoted to her best friendship with Anna, her decision is now suddenly
quite simple: she chooses Brandt so they’ll all be able to double-date together
in the future.
Later, Maya is devastated to find out that this was all a prank and neither
boy likes her at all. The complications then quickly escalate when the popular
kids taunt Maya as the new “UGIS” (the acronym for “ugliest girl in school”).
Completely emotionally destroyed, Maya retreats with Anna to the Girls
Room. Sobbing in front of the mirror, Anna does her best to console her, but
Maya dejectedly contends that she’s been deemed UGIS which means “loving
her is the worst insult there could be.” Anna replies simply, “Then I guess, you know,
I’ve been insulted the greatest.”
The best friends hug and Maya finds the strength to pull herself together,
empowering her battle to fix the situation in the resolution. PEN15 is a buddy
show rooted in the central Maya/Anna deep friendship, so it makes sense that
the turns of the story are so directly dictated by this integral relationship which
constantly informs both of their characters and the choices they make.
The middle section of the Brooklyn Nine-Nine pilot finds Jake resisting new
precinct captain Holt’s orders for officers to dress appropriately on duty and
wear a tie. Because Jake is a bit of a wise guy, he trash-talks Captain Holt to
his peers, mocking him for his strict dress code rules. Holt overhears him and
responds by putting both Jake and Santiago on “door knocking duty” in their
investigation of the murder of a local luxury gourmet food importer to pursue
any remote leads. Jake is annoyed by the assignment since he feels it’s a waste of
time and his detective expertise.
In building this rising action, we can see how character has informed each
story turn. Jake’s rebel attitude made him speak out of turn in front of Holt
which escalated the already established conflict between the two of them. Since
Holt has been established as a by-the-book official who doesn’t easily suffer
fools, he opts to place Jake on this dreaded “door duty” which angers Jake even
more and further escalates their conflict.
Middle magic 113
Lean into your show’s comedy “formula”
With this middle section of your pilot, you should look at the specific formula
of your proposed series in terms of where you see your show’s central themes,
comedy and conflict as well as the manner and style in which you are choosing
to present it.
Much of PEN15’s appeal comes from its detailed and pitch-perfect exami-
nation of junior high life circa 2000. The middle section of the “First Day”
pilot goes to that premise with familiar middle-school tropes such as being
terrorized by the scary gym teacher as well as the ceremonial passing of folded
7th Grade crush notes. To that end, the 2nd Act of the episode also features a
teacher quizzing the class with the obligatory first day of school question about
what everyone did over the summer. In response, Maya entertains the class
with her full-throttle impersonation of Jim Carrey’s Ace Ventura, Pet Detective,
since the big summer highlight for her was watching the movie over and over
again. The pilot not only exploits the junior high element of the series but
also adroitly mines it as a means to provide a funny and memorable character-
revealing turn for Maya.
As discussed, a major component of Brooklyn Nine-Nine is the way the show
mines comedy through the police investigative work woven into their stories.
Captain Holt’s order for Jake and Santiago to handle door duty provides a com-
plication that not only heightens their conflict, but also leads us into the series
police procedure “fun and games” element with a quick-cut comic montage
of the pair banging on a variety of doors where they encounter a variety of
comical subjects.
Later in Brooklyn Nine-Nine’s pilot middle section, Captain Holt instructs his
officers that he wants to be briefed on any new developments in the investiga-
tion. Following a gut instinct, Jake makes a decision to follow a lead to check
out a gourmet deli that might lead him to the murderer (remember, it has been
established that while Jake might seem less than serious-minded, he actually
is a smart and capable detective who is good at his job). His colleague Boyle
reminds Jake that Holt had left instruction that he should be briefed on all new
developments. Jake, being the rebel that he is, advises Boyle that “we’ll brief him
after we catch the guy.” Again, Jake’s rebel character is dictating his action which in
turn is creating the story turn.
Jake and Boyle visit the gourmet shop and encounter an evasive and hostile
counterman who resists questioning. The interview quickly devolves into a
funny, in-store chase sequence that features random shoppers, evocative vintage
“cop-show” music and flying deli meats and culminates in poor Boyle getting
his face smashed into a big tub of gelato. Worse of all, the suspect gets away.
The sequence again returns to the Brooklyn Nine-Nine well of mining the com-
edy of police procedural work.
The complication of the suspect getting away is especially effective because
it serves to escalate both the dire state of the murder investigation as well as the
mounting tension between Jake and Holt since the young detective blatantly
114 Middle magic
disregarded his superior’s orders. Upon getting the update, Holt orders Jake
to a police task he loathes even more than door duty: research in the records
room (escalation). The end of this middle portion finds Jake at his lowest point.
Again, things get worse for our hero before they get better.
Support your supporting storylines!

It’s also important to remember that if you are creating a series that incorpo-
rates multiple storylines (which is usually going to be the case), then you would
need to apply the same essential elements of laying in complications and obsta-
cles in those supporting “B,” “C” or “D” stories.
For example, Brooklyn Nine-Nine is an ensemble series that utilizes multiple
storylines to service all its characters. In the pilot, there’s a supporting story that
features the Boyle character getting the nerve up to ask tough-talking fellow
detective Rosa out for a date. In this middle section/rising action portion of
their story, Boyle nervously asks Rosa to a revival theater to see Citizen Kane
and Rosa says yes. But a complication comes when Rosa says she hates Citi-
zen Kane and orders him to pick a “good movie” forcing Boyle to take another
course of action.
As with the “A” story, complications and obstacles are needed to create ris-
ing action to keep the momentum strong. The difference is the proportions.
These supporting storylines will garner less screen time and therefore will usu-
ally contain fewer story beats. However, they should still be crafted to feel as
satisfying as possible on their own terms with formidable obstacles and surpris-
ing complications leading to a satisfying conclusion. You’re simply constructing
them on a smaller scale.
If you are incorporating any runners (running gags), then you would want to
hit those at some point in this section as well. Again, you would want to strive
to find some way to vary the gag in some way, so none feel like repeated beats.
Keep up your style!

If part of the design of your pilot features any of the storytelling options dis-
cussed in the style toolbox chapter, you will probably want to thread them
through this middle section. This will all hinge on your original “style design”
for your show. For instance, if you’re creating a mockumentary style show (like
What We Do in the Shadows, for example), then you would probably want to
be sure to continue to incorporate talking head interviews throughout the
entire pilot including this middle section of rising action. But there may be
instances where you might use your style choices a bit more sporadically. For
example, Brooklyn Nine-Nine only uses its breakaway “pops” in its 1st and 3rd
Acts but skips them in the 2nd Act. Again, you might not opt to use certain
style elements throughout each section of your pilot, but you should always be
intentional and have a strong sense of how you want to incorporate them to best
effect in your storytelling.
Middle magic 115
As discussed, whatever way you foresee these options figuring into your
vision for your pilot, it is always advisable to try to look for ways that you can
vary the way you use these devices so they don’t feel redundant or like repeated
beats. If you’re doing a mockumentary style show, you obviously wouldn’t
want to feature only interviews with one character but rather change it up. As
discussed, if you’re utilizing “pops” then you would want to find ways to vary
the humor or joke so that each feels fresh, different and surprising.
The PEN15 pilot smartly mines a wide range of pop music of the day to
evoke its circa 2000 setting. The middle section of the pilot underscores Maya
swooning over two of her crushes with the NSYNC boy band ballad, “Think-
ing of You (I Drive Myself Crazy”). But later in the episode when Maya’s friend
Sam decides to defend her by angrily ripping down the mocking signs about
her the mean kids have posted on the lockers, we hear the edgier alt-rock of
“Hanging by a Moment” by Lifehouse. Both songs are 2000 era-appropriate yet
they’re quite different, so it never feels like the show is going to its “pop music
well” one too many times. Though different styles, both tunes immerse us in
the era, but each also uniquely manages to effectively underline the emotion of
the moment to keep the rising action momentum going.
“Tee-up” your resolution

Hopefully, you have powered the middle section of your script with formidable
obstacles and complications for your hero, creating compelling rising action to
keep your pilot story moving forward. The goal is for this section to leave your hero
at his or her lowest point so they can dig themselves out of it with a satisfying resolution.
This is a good time to again reexamine the various twists and turns of your
story. Are there areas where the conflict or stakes could be heightened? Have
you best utilized the “formula” of your show to best effect? Have you main-
tained your desired tone throughout? Do the same check for all your support-
ing stories as well. If you’re satisfied with all these elements at this point, you’re
ready to move on to your resolution!
17 Your pilot ending
Begin where you finish!
The pilot process is not the same for all writers. Personally, I almost always
struggle at the beginning but usually find that the deeper I get into the pages,
the easier it all becomes. It’s as if over time, the script almost takes on a life of
its own as these characters I’ve created suddenly start speaking to me, telling me
precisely what their next reaction or line will be. By the time I finally arrive
at this last section of the pilot—the resolution—this heady sort of energizing
momentum will usually kick in, taking the writing process to this new exhila-
rating level.
Hopefully, as you tackle your pilot resolution, you will experience some
degree of this wonderful sort of creative second wind. If you are still struggling,
do not despair. As I said, the process is different for everyone. You’ve come this
far, so keep going! You’ll get through it. But either way, this final section of
writing does present its own unique challenges and requirements in creating a
pilot that works.
Pilot ending = series beginning

Endings and new beginnings. The ending section of your pilot comes with
a pair of equally imperative dual intentions. You are charged with creating a
satisfying resolution to your pilot story, but that ending must also present a very
clear and compelling vision for what the rest of your series holds in store mov-
ing forward. Again, the viewer needs to understand your premise, the series
“world” you’ve created as well as your characters and how they all relate to
each other.
The resolution of the Schitt’s Creek pilot establishes that the Rose family are
(at least for the time being) stuck in this new life at the motel. In setting up that
series premise, the pilot weaves in individual stories about the family adjusting
to this new life. Johnny (Eugene Levy) clashes with Mayor/Handyman Roland
(Chris Elliott) who refuses to respect customary privacy boundaries. Moira
(Catherine O’Hara) suspects motel clerk Stevie (Emily Hampshire) of stealing
a pair of her diamond earrings. Alexis (Annie Murphy) is strangely sanguine
about this new life at the motel only for it later to be revealed that she believes
that Stavros, her Greek playboy beau of three months, is going to jet in shortly
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Your pilot ending 117
and whisk her away from all of this, the news of which especially angers her
brother, David (Daniel Levy).
By the end of the episode, each of these individual pilot stories gets resolved.
Roland accepts a sort of “non-apology” apology from Johnny, teeing up their
combative relationship. Johnny eventually informs Moira he had hidden her
earrings in his shoe for safekeeping, so they were never stolen. Before that,
David begrudgingly apologizes to Stevie for his mother’s accusation against
her, providing us this early sense of the banter the duo will share throughout
the series. Finally, a devastated Alexis gets word that Stavros is going to be a
no-show and she’s been unceremoniously dumped. Alexis must come to grips
that she’s as stuck in Schitt’s Creek as the rest of the family.
The pilot is successful in delivering well-conceived and constructed individ-
ual pilot stories that all comically conspire to set up the central series premise
of the Roses in their new reluctant life at the motel. By the end, each indi-
vidual pilot storyline is resolved in a satisfying way. Collectively, the multiple
storylines also introduce us to all of the main characters while convincingly
demonstrating the inherent sort of comic conflict we can expect from them in
the future series moving forward.
Schitt’s Creek is a premise pilot but even if you are writing a non-premise
“typical episode” pilot, your mission will still be to make that vision clear to
the viewers with this initial episode. Even if you are not devoting your pilot
to show how the series “world” of your pilot came to be, you still must firmly
define your desired tone, characters and premise. And, of course, your goal will
still be to accomplish all of that in a compelling and entertaining enough way
that the audience will want to return for future viewing. Additionally, as with
the premise pilot, you are still tasked with delivering a satisfying resolution for
the individual stories contained in your pilot.
As discussed, both the U.K. and U.S. versions of The Office began as non-
premise pilots. In the U.S. pilot (which generally follows the plot of the origi-
nal U.K. version), a documentary crew has arrived to observe the employees at
Dunder Mifflin. While the workplace “world” is already in place it still needs
to be explained to the audience. The U.S. pilot features an “A” story about a
looming possible downsize. Supporting storylines include amiable sales rep Jim
( John Krasinski) pranking his office nemesis, Dwight (Rainn Wilson), as we
also chart the arrival of new temp employee, Ryan (B.J. Novak). (Note: One
could make an argument that the storyline featuring Ryan’s first day on the job
might qualify this as a “soft” premise pilot, but I would argue that since Ryan
is much more of a supporting character, this would still be considered a non-
premise pilot.)
The stories all deftly combine to help with the expository “heavy lifting”
of establishing all of the characters’ respective jobs and how they relate to each
other in the workplace. The “downsize” story affects everyone in the office
while Ryan’s “first-day-on-the-job” story provides a natural opportunity for
introductions and info. The final resolution section of the pilot underlines key
elements of the premise. The stories dovetail when, because of his constant
need to be liked and considered a “fun” boss Michael (Steve Carell) “punks”
his secretary, Pam ( Jenna Fischer), by telling her he’s firing her in front of the
new temp. The practical joke goes horribly wrong when Pam takes him seri-
ously and starts sobbing. The painfully comic scene not only clearly establishes
the type of inept leadership these employees are going to have to endure in
Michael as their boss but also completely nails the series tonal brand of “cringe”
comedy.
A budding attraction between Pam and Jim had been earlier established and
threaded throughout the episode. After Michael reveals that it was all a joke,
Pam returns still shaken to her desk and asks Jim if he’s leaving and would like
to walk her out. The sweet moment gets ruined when the blare of Pam’s long-
time fiancé Roy’s car horn from the parking lot summons Pam. She excuses
herself from Jim and rushes out alone. Disappointed, Jim recovers by revealing
his latest prank on Dwight: He’s encased one of his beloved mugs in a massive
Jell-O mold and happily rushes to plant it on Dwight’s desk. This final sequence
climax in the episode is crucial because it so perfectly tees up these two key
character dynamics of the series: the tentative workplace romance between Jim
and Pam as well as the delightfully demented intense rivalry between Jim and
Dwight.
As with The Office and Schitt’s Creek, you want to devise and execute stories
in your pilot that will serve to launch the conflict and relationship dynamics
which you see as the “comedy engine” for your series.
Your pilot’s emotional through line: aim for the “heart”

You are writing a comedy pilot, so obviously scoring laughs matters. Big time.
Whatever your comedy style, your pilot script needs to execute the comic
brand and tone you’re going for and effectively mine the humor from it. But
for most comedy pilots to succeed, there is another core element that is also
essential to find and explore within your pilot: the emotional through line. And
usually, these crucial “heart” moments will happen in this final resolution sec-
tion of your pilot.
It has been said that there is a familiarity and intimacy that comes from series
television that is often not present in other media. TV fans who religiously
watch their favorite shows are inviting these familiar characters into their lives
on a regular basis. On a long-running show, these “relationships” viewers build
with these beloved characters can literally last for years . . . even decades (The
Simpsons is currently in its 32nd season!). Characters on these shows can almost
come to feel like friends and family members. Over the long haul, simply
providing laughs is usually not enough to hold audience interest. For viewers
to keep tuning in week after week (or keep binge watching, if they’re stream-
ing), it truly helps to have this sort of strong emotional connection to the
characters—to care about them.
Think about just about any of your favorite comedies. Chances are there was
a meaningful beat near the end of the pilot where the laughs let up and there
was a quiet moment where we gained a better understanding of the lead char-
acter and came to care more about them and the journey they were embarking
on in the series.
Near the conclusion of the classic multi-cam Mary Tyler Moore Show pilot
(written by James L. Brooks and Allan Burns), Mary Richard’s estranged long-
time doctor boyfriend shows up at her new Minneapolis apartment to try to
woo her back. Mary suddenly realizes for the first time that he struggles to say,
“I love you.” Mary makes the break permanent and bids him goodbye. He tells
her to take care of herself. Mary replies simply, “I think I just did.” Mary’s wist-
ful goodbye poignantly grounds the comedy while also revealing insight into
her strength and resilience. The audience leaves the pilot rooting for Mary as
she embarks on this brand-new independent life as a single professional woman
living in an unfamiliar city.
The pilot of ABC’s single-cam family comedy Black-ish (written by Kenya
Barris,) finds the father, Dre (Anthony Anderson), becoming increasingly
uncomfortable with his teen son’s embrace of white culture, fearing it is at the
expense of their own heritage. In the 3rd and final Act of the show, Dre, feel-
ing he’s doing a bad job as a dad, goes to his own father (Laurence Fishburne).
The senior “Pops” knowingly reassures Dre that raising kids is tough and he’s
doing just fine. The father/son heart to heart talk manages to be quite funny
yet doesn’t shy away from the depth of feelings and implicit fears discussed in
the exchange. Again, the emotional “realness” of the moment deepens our
connection to the family so we care enough to keep watching.
Apple TV+’s Ted Lasso premiered in August of 2020. For many (myself
included, I am a huge fan!), this funny, smart and kind-hearted streaming com-
edy offered desperately needed relief from the profound misery of COVID
quarantine as well as the savage political divisiveness of the times. The folksy,
fish-out-of-water comedy comes about when a good-natured midwestern
American football coach Ted Lasso ( Jason Sedeikis) takes a job in London
coaching a struggling team in the English Premier League (even though he
lacks any experience in the British version of the sport).
In the final scene of the pilot (written by Jason Sedeikis and Bill Lawrence),
Ted retreats to his Richmond flat and places a long-distance call to his wife and
young son in Kansas City. Though we only hear his side of the conversation,
we can glean from the tender but painful and halting exchange that Ted’s mar-
riage is in serious trouble and he may have mostly taken this new coaching job
to give his wife the “space” she needs in a desperate bid to save his family. The
writers do not shy away from the poignant heartbreak of the moment and in
doing so provide Ted with new previously unseen emotional depth and layers
that plant us squarely in his corner for the journey he faces in the series mov-
ing forward.
At this point, you might be protesting to yourself that the show you are
envisioning is considerably less good-natured than The Mary Tyler Moore Show,
Black-ish or Ted Lasso. Perhaps your comedic voice leans more to darker,
more cynical humor. You might be fearing that laying in all of this heart and
sentiment might be at odds with your more jaundiced comic vision. I defi-
nitely agree that one has to be cautious with the degree of these emotional
moments and the manner in which they are tonally woven into your pilot.
The last thing that you want is to end your pilot on a cloying saccharine “heart
scene” that feels false or treacly and only seems to be there to manipulate the
audience. However, I would still argue that when done well, laying in even
one of these authentic moments of humanity and emotion can elevate even
the darkest, most biting comedy to help connect your characters and story to
your audience.
Consider Fox’s Arrested Development. Few TV sitcom families are as damaged
and dysfunctional as the filthy rich Bluth clan. The pilot (written by Mitchell
Hurwitz) finds son Michael ( Jason Batemen) reacting to the family imploding
when his father, George Bluth Sr. ( Jeffrey Tambor), gets hauled off to prison
for shady business dealings. The pilot revels in mining the dark comedy of these
various deeply flawed and hedonistic family members. Yet, the final moments
of the pilot feature a sweet (if tenuous) reconciliation between Michael and his
estranged twin sister, Lindsay (Portia de Rossi). Michael then announces that
he will stay in California to try to repair his shattered family and make the best
life he can for his beloved son, George Michael (Michael Cera). As wonderfully
cynical and biting as the comedy of the pilot is, a moment of “heart” ends up
inciting and setting up the series’ central premise.
Even a show as viciously raucous and delightfully nihilistic as Canada’s long-
running mockumentary comedy Trailer Park Boys is not above laying in a bit
of emotion. In the series 2001 series pilot, childhood buddies Ricky (Robb
Wells) and Julian ( John Paul Tremblay) are released from prison after 18 months
only to find Sunnyvale, their beloved Nova Scotia trailer park home, has been
taken over by Cyrus (Bernard Robichaud), a bully drug dealer who has been
terrorizing the park and its residents. After their release from prison, Julian
wants to go straight and make a new life for himself which means vowing to no
longer associate with his former pal, Ricky.
The final Act of the pilot features a dramatic showdown in which Julian
sends Cyrus packing with the touching proclamation that the trailer park resi-
dents are “his family.” This is followed by a warm scene that ends the episode
with Julian and Ricky taking the first steps to repair their friendship. Ulti-
mately unable to turn away his old buddy, Julian allows Ricky to sleep outside
his trailer in his car for a couple of nights and even brings him some hot dogs
and a bottle of vodka for sustenance, setting up the series premise that the two
pals will once again be a team of sorts. Trailer Park Boys is hardly known for its
tenderness and sensitivity, yet the pilot resolution still manages to utilize the
authentic bond Julian has both with the park and Ricky to lock us into the
characters and series.
So, even if you’re sure your pilot and comedic voice are both so decidedly
edgy and dark that they don’t require one of these “heart” moments, I would
still implore that if you feel it is possible to weave in at least a thread of authentic
feeling and humanity into the resolution of your pilot, at least consider it. It
may well be exactly what will make your show resonate with the audience and
connect.
Keeping it real: modulate the sentiment

Of course, segueing to these moments of heart and feeling in a sitcom can be
tricky to pull off. In more broad comedy particularly, the last thing you want
is a jarring veer into something that suddenly feels like false melodrama and
empty emotion tacked on at the end to conjure up some kind of obligatory
“feeling” as if you’re merely checking off a pilot-writing process box. Explor-
ing the emotional core of your pilot story and characters in your resolution is
going to require skill and finesse in the writing. But I can tell you that final
moments of vulnerability and reflection for your characters can absolutely be
the most exhilarating and satisfying scenes to craft. This can often end up being
the point in your script where the themes you have set out to explore can truly
come into focus and crystalize.
With these key emotional scenes, you always want to strive for authenticity
and honesty. The good news in writing these final emotional moments is that
by the time you arrive at them in the writing process, you’ve been living with
your characters long enough that you probably know and understand them in a
much deeper way than when you began. Therefore, writing scenes where your
main character needs to speak from the heart can be far easier than when you
began. Here are a few tips to consider as you tackle these key scenes:
1 KEEP IT SIMPLE—We have discussed the “Less Is More” axiom in

screenwriting and I believe it is nowhere more essential than in crafting
these scenes of the heart. Consider your character and what they’re feeling.
In these moments where they reveal themselves try to allow them to do
it in the most simple, heartfelt type of way. This is not the time for extra
words. Strip away everything except what your character needs to say at this
moment. Don’t be afraid to step away from the comedy in these moments and lean
into the stillness. If what your character is expressing is heartfelt and honest,
the audience will stay with you.
2 STAY TRUE TO YOUR CHARACTER—For some comedy writ-
ers, the challenge of these more emotional scenes is the antithetical notion
that a comic character who they may feel they created strictly for laughs is
now expected to suddenly display all of these more vulnerable layers to their
personality. The key to writing these moments is never for your character
to veer in emotional territory in a way that ever feels even remotely false.
Think about who your character is and exactly how they would handle this
moment of vulnerability. Perhaps they’d burst out weeping but maybe they
hold everything in and can hardly speak at all. Either way can work and be
effective and touching. It all depends on who your character is. Again, the more
authentic and real you can make your character’s reaction feel to the audi-
ence, the more they will connect with what the character is going through.
3 ACT IT OUT—Every writer has their own process in handling these
scenes and finding the character’s truth in these moments. I’m hardly a
skilled actor, but I do find that simply getting up and stepping away from
my laptop to just sort of “Act out” these key moments can help me find
the character’s emotional core at these crucial points. For me, this act of
trying to embody the character and channel their physicality through me
can sometimes lead me to just the right words or even some piece of physi-
cal business that might make the moment work. Remember, you don’t
have to be a great actor for this to be helpful, so give it a try (no one’s
watching!).
4 UNDERCUT THE SENTIMENT—So now let’s say you’ve managed
to write a beautifully simple, honest and heartfelt moment for your main
character to open up and finally reveal something deeply meaningful about
themselves. Awesome! Now get the hell out of it! Remember, you’re writ-
ing a comedy, so while it’s wonderful that you’ve given us this amazingly
cathartic moment of emotional honesty and clarity, you don’t want to
wallow in it. The trick to these scenes is to get in and out of them fast.
You want to undercut the heart and sentiment with some joke or piece of
humor that restores the overall desired comic tone of the piece. All five of
the previous pilot examples we explored in crafting these “heart” scenes
“undercut the sentiment” in various ways to get the comedy element of
their stories back on track.
• In The Mary Tyler Moore Show pilot right after Mary breaks up with her
boyfriend for the final time, her boss, a drunk Lou Grant (Ed Asner) bursts
back into her apartment interrupting the sorrowful moment.
• At the end of the Black-ish pilot scene where Dre and his Pops have their
heartfelt talk about raising children, Dre declares that he has decided that
he will throw his son a Bar-Mitzvah. The scene immediately cuts to a
comic montage of the young man strutting into his “Bro-Mitzvah” as Ush-
er’s thumping “Yeah” blares.
• In Ted Lasso, Ted’s heartbreaking long-distance phone call is followed by
a shot of him in bed alone. Ted turns off the lamp then wistfully mutters
to himself in the dark, “Shoot. Now I can’t sleep.” The poignancy of the
moment is cut even further as the sound of Biz Markie’s decidedly more
upbeat, “Make the Music with Your Mouth, Biz” blasts on the soundtrack
leading into end credits.
• Right after Michael and his twin sister, Lindsay, make up in their Arrested
Development pilot scene, there is a call-back joke of Lindsay unsuccessfully
trying to make herself cry solely for effect. The moment not only serves to
get the comedy back on track but also demonstrates that while Lindsay has
had a vulnerable moment, she hasn’t changed that much. Remember, you
always want to get back to your central premise status quo and restore the
desired comic tone of your series.
• After Julian and Ricky make up at the end of the Trailer Park Boys pilot,
Julian tells his pal that he can only stay in his car two days. There’s an awk-
ward hug, Julian reminds Ricky he can only stay in the car for two days.
Without missing a beat, Ricky promises he’ll be gone in two weeks then
gets in the car and takes a chug of vodka. As with Arrested Development,
the moment not only undercuts the sentiment but also re-establishes the
comedic conflict and character dynamics that will engine the series.
A Tag about Tags

A Tag is a mini-scene at the end of a sitcom (usually just a page or two) that
delivers one final laugh or gag, often running just before or even over closing
credits. It might call back to an earlier joke, character or plot point. It could
also point to a possible unexpected future development that might come out
of the story or even tease a possible future series story arc. If you decide that
incorporating a regular Tag into the overall structure of your show works for
your series and the manner in which you want to tell your stories, you should
just be careful not to use it to resolve any of your stories since Tags often end
up getting cut when shows go into syndication. While ending on a Tag is
optional, when utilized and executed well, it can be a great means to leave the
audience with one final reminder of the tone and brand of comedy they can
expect from your show.
18 Your 2nd draft
Making a good thing better
So, you have made it through the 1st draft of your comedy pilot. Congratula-
tions. Correction: Huge congratulations! Kudos! Standing ovation! This is a major
accomplishment that you must acknowledge and appreciate. You would be sur-
prised at how many self-proclaimed “coffee shop writers” in Hollywood can
talk a great game about all the big ideas they’re “developing” yet never seem to
have any completed work to show. You finished your first pilot draft so already,
you’re way ahead of those countless keyboard poseurs! That’s a very big deal and
should be celebrated.
Does this mean that your pilot is finished, polished and ready to show? Of
course not. If you’re anything like me, there’s probably even a good chance
there might just be that pesky voice in your head right now telling you that
what you just wrote is all just a bunch of crap and not funny at all. Do me a favor?
For now, ignore the voice. Just let yourself have this moment. Order that des-
sert; buy yourself a new outfit; kiss your spouse; hug your dog—do some-
thing . . . anything to let yourself acknowledge the accomplishment and feel as
great about it as you should.
Done? Good! Hope that was fun! You deserved it! Now take a deep breath
because your work is far from over. In fact, it’s really just begun. This chapter
as well the three that follow (on notes, punch-up and your polish draft) will
focus on the crucial element of the rewrite process to ensure that your pilot is
in the very best shape it can be before you send it out into the world. Let’s start
with that 2nd draft.
Step away
Hopefully, you wrote the 1st draft of your pilot from your heart. In order
to realize your core creative vision, I absolutely believe that it’s essential to
allow yourself the freedom for your ideas to flow out and take shape. Your
first pass is all about channeling your passion and getting this burning crea-
tive vision of yours—what you need to say with your pilot—out there and
on the page.
Your 2nd draft is different. This pass will be more about your method and fig-
uring out the optimal (and funniest) way to deliver what your pilot is all about.
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Your 2nd draft 125
Therefore, your goal now is to maintain your initial passion but also begin to
approach your writing in a more analytic way. Up until now, in your quest
to realize your comic vision, you may have been writing your pilot mostly to
please yourself. That’s fine and an essential first part of the creative process. But
this is the time for you to honestly examine if all of the elements within your
vision are also working as well as they can for your audience.
This requires a degree of objectivity that may be difficult for you to achieve
when you are still so fresh from your 1st draft. Therefore, the very best thing
you can do at this point is to take a little break away from your work. That’s
right. Step away from the laptop! You might find this incredibly hard and coun-
terproductive. You might even be asking yourself, why would I want to stop
now when I’m finally achieving some momentum and am so close to having
something worthwhile to go out with and show? But at this point, just taking
a little bit of time away from your script—even just a week or two—can pay
big dividends in giving you the proper objective perspective to do your best
rewrite on the material.
You would be surprised by just how much of a difference this short amount
of time away from your script can help you to see your work with a set of
renewed “fresh eyes” (more on that later!) that is so crucial to a successful 2nd
draft. So, bury your script in a drawer or hide it on your computer for a lit-
tle while. You might even consider taking on a new little writing project to
clear your writing “palate” and sort of help with this “re-set” process. Writing
a short story, poem or even a song (if you’re a musician) can go a long way
towards providing some much-needed creative process distance between you
and your pilot before you dive into the 2nd draft.
Friends’ feedback: find your writing “network”

If you do decide to take a little “perspective break,” this would be a good time
to consider sending your 1st draft out to some trusted friends and peers to
request a read for feedback and notes. Of course, this will be your call. Some
writers are not quite ready to share their work at this tender stage and prefer to
get through the 2nd draft before soliciting notes. However, getting informed
and insightful feedback from others at this point in the process can be quite
helpful. If you’re a young writer or simply new to it, it’s a good idea to start
developing these reciprocatively creative relationships with people whose taste
and talent you respect and admire to aid you through the development/rewrite
process.
I’m lucky enough to still have friends from college and my early professional
TV writing days that all of these years later, I still am able to hit up for a read
of my new material. The great thing about these relationships (and why you
should try to build them) is that when they endure and are longstanding, you
have secured invaluable writing allies who thoroughly know you and your
work. After reading your stuff over the years, they know your strengths and
weaknesses. They can assess your work in a creative shorthand that can lend the
126 Your 2nd draft
type of nuanced notes someone less familiar with your work would be hard-
pressed to deliver. Having this small circle of trusted friends and colleagues who
you can turn to before you plunge into fully sending your script out to the
whole world is an incredible gift.
In our next chapter, we will more fully examine notes and how best to
approach them. But for now, it’s most important to remember that if you’re
asking someone to assess your script, it makes no sense not to at least listen to
their thoughts and be open to them. And, of course, all being fair, if someone
is kind and generous enough to put in the time to read your script, you owe
it to them to make every effort to avail yourself to read their work in return,
if they ask.
The power of “fresh eyes”

I mentioned the crucial importance of stepping away from your script so you
can look at it with “fresh eyes” in your 2nd draft. Why is this “fresh eyes”
approach so crucial? Well, by now, you’ve probably been hard at work on your
pilot for quite a while. You know your characters, story and situation inside
out. It can become quite easy to take some elements for granted. But remem-
ber, the key people who are going to read and judge your material know noth-
ing about what you’re trying to convey.
It’s imperative that you approach reading and reviewing your 1st draft from the pro-
spective of someone who is reading your work for the very first time and then ask yourself
if it’s all still working.
Your 2nd draft strategy

TV writers approach their 2nd drafts in a variety of ways. I know some writ-
ers who abandon the idea of a linear rewrite in favor of attacking scenes in a
less ordered way. I have one friend who always starts his edit with his most
problematic scene, even if it’s in the middle of the script. I know others who,
rather than simply doing another complete draft, will sub-divide the 2nd draft
rewrite to several “mini-drafts” focused on issues she’s particularly concerned
about. For example, this writer might do a pass devoted solely to reworking
the structure then follow that with another dedicated to editing to improve the
pace, and so on.
Personally, I’m not that adept at that much rewrite compartmentaliza-
tion. I prefer a more conventional, straightforward approach where I just
strive to improve everything all at once in the pass. Although, I usually will
also follow up this general rewrite with a “punch-up” pass (more on that
in an upcoming chapter) dedicated solely to mining the humor and finding
more laughs. At this point, while you may find it hard to resist tinkering
with lines and gags, I would suggest that for now, you try to keep your
focus more on the other essential elements of structure, character, story and
Your 2nd draft 127
premise. You’ll have a chance to punch-up later. I also wouldn’t worry as
much about typos and presentation at this point since it’s not yet going out
to the public. However, when you get to your pilot “polish” it’s absolutely
essential that you go through your script with a fine-tooth comb and elimi-
nate every last typo.
Kill your darlings

You have probably heard various refrains of this familiar murderous literary
guidance. Any number of variously worded versions of the axiom have been
attributed to writers ranging from the likes of Oscar Wilde to Chekov to Ste-
phen King. And for good reason. It’s still exemplary advice.
Remember, the point of rewriting is to make your script the very best it can
be. Therefore, it’s imperative for you not to be too attached or precious about
what you’ve done so far. You must be willing to make changes both small and
big. Always be focusing on the greater good and overall effect you want your
script to achieve. Cutting a beloved joke (or even a whole scene) may be exactly
what your script needs to fix a pace problem and really shine. If so, then cut
away and don’t look back.
When I was a young emotional writer and struggling with even the notion
of making one of these painful cuts, an older more experienced writer sagely
advised me to just make the cut, stating simply: “You never miss what you cut once
it’s gone.” That seemingly harsh advice has always stuck with me largely because
I have always found it to be true. So, go ahead. Kill your darlings. A little murder
may be just what you need to do to make your pilot come alive.
2nd draft basics

As you approach your 2nd draft, you again want to examine all of your basic
series elements and make sure that you’ve done everything you can to strengthen
each area. Unfortunately, sometimes there are weaknesses that weren’t quite as
obvious in the outline stage as they are once you get through your 1st draft. But
that’s okay because you are still fully able to make any and all necessary fixes in
your rewrite. Again, look over and examine each of the following areas with
the fresh eyes of someone who knows nothing about your pilot. And start asking
yourself questions.
Character
As previously discussed, everything starts with character. Do you feel your
intentions for your main character are coming through? Do we understand
what’s motivating them? Quite simply, do we know what the character wants?
If you’re writing a premise pilot, are we rooting for your main character as they
embark on this new series “world” you’ve created? Have you created a main
128 Your 2nd draft
character we actually like and will care about? If not, are there ways you can
look to strengthen our understanding and sympathy for your main character
and plant us squarely in their corner?
In terms of your overall ensemble, do you have the right number of charac-
ters? You need enough to be able to generate conflict and stories, but too many
feels unwieldy and hard for the reader to keep straight. I wouldn’t say there’s a
magic “right” number of characters, but you can get some idea by looking at
shows that might be somewhat similar to what you’re conceiving and compare
how the number of characters you’re devising stacks up to your genre predeces-
sor’s. A family comedy like Black-ish had eight core family members in its pilot
while workplace comedy Brooklyn Nine-Nine had nine principals. Do your best
to determine what the exact right number is for your show. It may make for a
larger scale rewrite than you were anticipating at this point but be open to both
eliminating and even adding characters.
With your supporting characters, do we understand not only the role each
plays in your series concept but also how they each relate to your lead character
and each other? Do we have a clear idea of where future conflict and comedy
will emerge from these core relationships you’re establishing? Is there a power
hierarchy at play?
Be on the lookout for redundancy among your supporting players. Do they
each feel different in terms of the conflict dynamics you’re setting up for the
audience to expect in your future series? Do they provide different styles of
comedy? If all of your characters seem more suited for physical comedy but
there seems to be little potential for any sharp verbal banter, you might want
to rethink your mix. Now look at the dialogue. Does each character talk dif-
ferently? Remember, you should be able to remove the character’s name at the
top of each speech and be able to tell whose line it is simply from the way the
character talks.
Overall structure
Even though you’ve done the hard preliminary work of your outline, there
may still be those instances where you end up detecting some defects in your
overall structure after you’ve scripted your 1st draft. If that is the case, then reas-
sess and do your restructure now. If you’re incorporating Act Breaks, do they
feel like they’re placed correctly? Could a rearrange help heighten the stakes
and create more tension? If so, then make the change.
Do you start your pilot in a compelling way with a bold opening that
makes the audience want to stick around? Are you featuring a middle sec-
tion with escalating complications and obstacles to sufficiently challenge
your protagonist? Are there twists that surprise us and take the story in a
new unexpected direction? As with your “A” story, each of your supporting
storylines should also ideally feature its own compelling opening, escalat-
ing complications/obstacles and finally a satisfying resolution. You may be
Your 2nd draft 129
executing these stories on a smaller scale, but they should still feel whole and
completed.
Pace: keep it moving!

Is your pilot a “fun” read? Do you grab our attention right from your opening
and keep things moving from there? If you’re writing a premise pilot, are you
getting us into your series central premise quickly or does your pilot feel mired
in backstory? Examine each of your scenes individually. Is each one advancing
the story? If not, then consider cutting it.
Look at how you’re constructing your story. Are you doing long scenes that
might work better if you broke them up and intercut them with other scenes?
Be on the lookout for scenes with big internal plot points where it might be
easy and beneficial pace-wise to cut to another scene then return to finish the
scene in progress later.
Are you entering each scene as late as you can and getting out as soon as you can?
If not, compress them for better pace. Do you have big blocks of action lines
that could be cut down? Same with dialogue. Are there wordy speeches that
could benefit from an edit? Remember, less really is more!
Theme, tone and premise

By the end of your pilot, the viewer should not only understand your series’
premise and what your show is going to be all about but also want to come
back for future viewings. Do we have a handle on what a typical episode will
feel like? Where your show lives? Are you incorporating any stylistic devices in
your show (voiceover, breaking-the-fourth-wall)? If so, are you using them to
best effect and consistently with your overall vision for your series? Now is the
time to make those necessary adjustments.
What about tone? Do we have a sense of the mood or feeling we can expect
from your show? If not, are there ways you might be able strengthen those
elements? Have you grounded your pilot in some sort of emotional moment
near the end that might give us some new insight into your show’s characters
and themes? Remember, even though you’re writing a comedy, it’s okay to not
always go for the joke. But, then again. . .
Is it funny?
Whatever the comedic style you’re going for (broad comedy, dramedy or
something in between), ask yourself if you’ve met your own specific goals for
generating the type and degree of laughs you envisioned. Just about any script
can benefit from a punch-up pass to mine more comedy. Again, we will be
examining some specific strategies and techniques on how best to mine for
more comedy in your 2nd draft in our upcoming punch-up chapter.
130 Your 2nd draft
Check your rewrite attitude!
Finally, it’s important to properly attack the rewrite process in the right frame
of mind. It should never feel like a chore but rather a positive and powerful
opportunity to make your vision really shine! So, embrace it. The late great
legendary comic playwright and screenwriter Neil “Doc” Simon summed it up
nicely with the following quote:
Rewriting is when writing really gets to be fun. . . . In baseball you only get three
swings and you’re out. In rewriting, you get almost as many swings as you want
and you know, sooner or later, you’ll hit the ball.
You heard the good “Doc.” Batter’s up! Happy rewriting!

19 A note about notes
I wrote on a sitcom for several seasons for a tremendously talented showrunner

who loved her job except for one thing: taking notes. She complained that she
simply didn’t have the “face” for it. Try as she might to hide it, when an exec
was giving a note that she didn’t agree with or rubbed her the wrong way, her
distaste would show in her expression. She would sometimes delegate the task
to me of taking the studio or network notes and then report back to her. I was
grateful for the opportunity and my “poker note face” definitely improved
from the experience.
The process of script notes can be challenging for the most seasoned of
writers (especially when they might be taking them from less experienced yet
empowered executives). But TV is all about collaboration. When you’re start-
ing out and crafting the initial scripts that are going to define you as a writer, it’s
all the more important to get the feedback you need. Smart notes can tip you
to script and story problems you might not even have suspected and help you
fix them. The trick is to become adept not only in taking notes but interpreting
and implementing them to power your pilot to the next level and take it to the
top of the pile.
Taking notes like a pro

Writers can be a sensitive lot and the prospect of having someone (especially
someone they know and like) dissect their work can be incredibly tough and
stressful. But the saying “No pain, no gain” can apply to the note process. The
first rule of taking notes is that if you’re soliciting notes from a friend or col-
league, then you have to be open to hearing them. Yes, that means even the
bad, stupid, and most hackneyed moronic ones. The crucial thing to remember
to remove the stress from the situation is that while you have to hear the note
you do not have to take it.
If someone is taking the time and mental energy to read your script and give
you their thoughts on it, it’s important to remember they are doing you a real
favor. Even if they’re a close friend (or maybe especially if they’re a close friend),
you owe it them and yourself to treat the note session in a professional manner.
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-20
Be intentional
“What are you looking for in the read?”
In my pilot workshopping classes, before we start reading someone’s pages in

class, I will always ask the writer this question right before the read-through.
Writers usually have an idea (or at least they think they have an idea) of what they
sense is and isn’t working in their scripts. It can be equally beneficial for you to
let your reader know the elements in your pilot (character, pace, jokes, etc.) that
you’re particularly concerned about so they can be on the look-out for them.
Of course, it’s also perfectly fine if you are really just looking for a general
objective read with some fresh eyes. In fact, an argument can be made that
sometimes, getting notes cold that way without giving any sort of pre-read
instructions or disclosure from the writer can be even more valuable since
you’ll get someone else’s take on what’s jumping out at them as a problem. They
may end up confirming your fears or point out some issue you had absolutely
no idea about.
If you’re lucky enough to have a network of other writers to seek notes from
you may have the luxury of picking some of your readers based on the weak-
nesses you’re sensing in your pilot. For instance, maybe you feel like the story
isn’t quite working, so you send it to one who is great at structure or your 2nd
Act feels really flat, so you shoot it to another writer pal because you know
she’s also a stand-up and great at jokes. If you have enough writer friends, you
can design your readers’ list to harness their respective talents to lend exactly
the aid you need.
Be open (usually)
It’s important in taking notes to try to not take things personally or be too
precious about your work. I know it can be challenging but it can be truly
helpful if you can try to come to your note session in an objective way. If you
can sort of separate yourself enough from your pilot to look at it as a product
that can be honed and improved, you will end up getting much more out of
the process.
In my classes, I always urge students to be in a receiving/listening mode
when getting notes. There’s nothing worse than trying to give notes to some-
one who interrupts smack in the middle of every single note before you’ve even
finished with some instant knee-jerk argument on why you’re wrong. Again,
you do not have to take every note. You don’t have to take any notes. But you
are almost always shortchanging yourself if you don’t give the person out who
is giving you the note the courtesy of hearing their complete thought on it.
In the past, I used to advise students that they must always allow others to
complete giving a note without interruption. That was an actual class rule.
However, I have evolved in my thinking on this to say that there may be
A note about notes 133
instances in the note process where you do not feel the need to give someone
the courtesy of completing their notes. I firmly believe that if someone is offer-
ing a note that displays an ignorance or (even worse) a racial, ethnic, cultural,
gender or sexual preference bias that you feel negates their note and/or renders
it offensive, then it would be up to you to consider interrupting the session to
discuss that specific point before moving forward. Ignorance and hate do not
have to be tolerated. But again, this would be your call in any given situation.
Note unto others

It’s also important to remember that the person who is giving you the notes has
an ego and feelings of their own too. In a way, the note they’re giving is show-
ing you their voice and creativity so always show them the same consideration
in your reaction and response that you would want for yourself in the process.
And, if someone gives you a note that you really love, by all means, let them
know. Be enthusiastic! Thank them profusely! Note sessions aren’t always fun,
so whenever any kind of happiness and joy can be had, embrace it!
And again, if someone has taken the time to provide notes to you, always do
everything you can to return the favor if they ask you. It’s the Writers’ Way.
The note under the note

Not all of the notes you receive are going to be great. Some may even end up
seriously damaging your script. The last thing you want to be is the writer who
yearns so much to please everyone that they second-guess everything in their
script and change it to suit the whims of whoever the last person was who gave
them a note.
When you’re getting notes, it’s imperative to always keep your overall vision
of your pilot front and center in mind. Does the note you’re getting serve your
vision or is it more of a reflection of how the person giving the note would
write your script? That’s never what you want. The best notes are always the
ones that come from those who want to help you realize your vision.
There may be those times when you might not agree with a note but you
continually get some similar version of it from several readers. Pay special atten-
tion to those notes. That’s not to say that just because several people are all
pointing something out, they’re all necessarily right and you’re wrong. You
may still disagree with the note and all of the possible fixes suggested even if
the whole world gives it to you. That’s absolutely your right. But if something
is bumping several readers, there’s a good chance that there is some sort of
issue—structure, character, tone—that should be addressed.
No one knows more about your script than you do. Become even more of
a detective about your own work. Dig deep. Unravel the mystery of what’s not
working. Once you really solve the puzzle, you’ll be much better able to come
up with the perfect fix.
Time is on your side
This is where taking the time to reflect on notes can be really beneficial. I feel
like when I was a young writer, I was a bit more sensitive and impatient about
my work. I felt the need much more to respond in the moment in notes. If
there was a problem, I wanted to get it fixed NOW right in the middle of the
session. That seldom served me.
That’s not to say that you can’t sometimes get to a great fix right away in the
moment. You certainly can, and it’s awesome when that happens. But there are
times you need to give yourself time to mull things over. There were also many
times when I first would hear a note and I would completely disagree with it
and just dismiss it out of hand. But then, after I lived with it for a bit, I could
start to see the reader’s reasoning and logic. It’s always important to remember
note sessions are less about fixing the script in the moment than getting the
notes to help you improve it later.
Everyone has an opinion (and a note)

“Nobody knows anything.”
—William Goldman, screenwriter
Yes, there I go again with that W.G. quote but it really does bear repeating here.
When you start sending your pilot out and getting notes, you may well end up
getting many completely conflicting views and ideas about it. The supporting
character one person loves rings shallow and fake to another reader. Or one
reader tells you to cut a joke that another gave a check mark on the page to
and absolutely loved. It can be daunting and confusing especially for a novice
writer just starting out.
Remember, your job is not to somehow smash everyone else’s notes together
and write their collective pilot. That pilot is going to be a mish-mash with no
center or real point of view. No. Your job is to analyze all the notes and use
them in service of your vision for your pilot and your voice.
At the end of the day, none of their names are going to be on that title page.
The only one there will be yours. Give us your pilot. That’s the only one that
matters.
20 The power of punch-up
Mining the laughs
You have done the hard work of at least getting through the 1st and 2nd draft
of your pilot (and perhaps even your 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th—remember, great
writing means rewriting!). Overall, you’re feeling pretty good about your story,
premise, structure, characters, tone and emotional moments. Still, you find
yourself asking the nagging question: Is it funny enough? This is an under-
standable and crucial concern. Taking a pass on your script devoted exclusively
to “punch-up” can pay huge dividends in making the comedy in your pilot pop
dramatically. So, let’s get to it!
A little help from my friends: the punch-up tradition

With its long history of sitcoms churned out over long shared hours in count-
less writers’ rooms throughout the history of the medium, TV comedy has
always been all about collaboration. The same holds true for the punch-up
process.
Previously, we discussed the great value of developing your own network of
collaborative comedy writers. To that end, during my TV writing career, it was
the norm for sitcom scribes who were in development with a network or stu-
dio on a pilot to assemble a “table” of their comedy friends and colleagues near
the end of the writing process to do a round of punch-up on their pilot. It’s an
understandable move. Once on a TV staff, you become accustomed to writing
scripts in this sort of communal way. Why wouldn’t you want to continue to
get the benefit of trusted creative peers you respect and admire for feedback
and help with jokes and amping up the laughs?
If you are one of the prospective punch-up writers being asked to give up
your time to help out, you might not only be motivated by the idea of helping
out your friend but also (a little more selfishly) the possibility that if your pal’s
pilot gets picks up and goes into production, you could have a chance to prove
your comedy mettle as a good fit for the project and get a better shot at land-
ing a coveted staff position for your good deed. So, it can most definitely be a
win-win for all involved.
Incorporating this communal take on this part of the process may feel at
odds with the idea of this pilot strictly reflecting your personal comedic voice.
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-21
Whether or not you want to bring others on at this point to hear their thoughts
and even take some of their pitches may even smack to you as a kind of pla-
giarism. This is understandable to the uninitiated, but again, TV comedy is
all about collaboration. If your pilot is successful and becomes a series (and
I certainly hope it does!) your episodes will probably be communally created in
writing rooms where a group of talented people may contribute to all elements
of a given episode yet only one name (or writing team unit) will receive the
“written by” credit.
Whether or not you opt to utilize others for your own punch-up network
is, of course, absolutely your decision. But (at least in my opinion) it is a viable
and accepted part of the pilot process. Of course, if you do enlist your friends’
time for your project, you should always do everything you can to reciprocate
and be available for theirs.
Does your pilot need a punch-up?

The simple answer is probably “yes” but it can be a little trickier than that. For
starters, you have probably been working on your pilot for quite some time
now. If you’ve gone through multiple drafts your perspective may be skewed.
Jokes that you previously always deemed strong and sure-fire, now feel tired
and familiar. At this point, it may be tough to assess if anything is funny. Don’t
despair. This happens to just about everyone. It’s also why enlisting the “fresh
eyes” of others at this time can be so invaluable.
It’s also obviously important to consider your overall vision for your pilot. If
you’re going more for the measured seriocomic tone of a dramedy than that
of a very broad multi-cam sitcom, then perhaps you don’t really even require
a punch-up at this point. Suddenly planting punch-up jokes and gags (even
very funny ones) to your soulful dramedy pilot at this point may even be
counter-productive and undermine the nuanced tone you’ve worked so hard
to achieve.
However, if your goal is a pilot loaded with big jokes and broad comedy, and
yet when you read over your latest draft, you’re still finding some distressingly
laugh-free sections? Or perhaps, you have created a great central character but
have failed to service them properly with enough big funny moments and
jokes? Then a stab at punch-up is going to be in order.
Here are some specific suggestions for pumping up the jokes and finding the
funny in your pilot.
Ask your characters

One huge advantage you have now in your pilot process is time. You have been
living with these characters you have created for a while now and have gotten
to know them much more deeply than when you first envisioned them. You
not only know what they want but perhaps even more importantly why they
want it. You understand the impact and subtleties of their comic flaws in a way
The power of punch-up 137
that you didn’t when you began. You even have a better grasp on how they talk
and how to shape their specific dialogue to feel authentic and true to them.
Now as you mine for more humor on this draft, examine the situations you’ve
put them in and the lines you’ve given them to say. Are there places where you
might lean into this more informed take you now have on your characters to
find even more laughs? Are there spots where you’re seeing opportunities to
mine their comic flaws that you may have missed before? Now that you have a
better handle on each of your characters’ manner of speech, are there speeches
that can be reworked to play up their individual comic rhythm?
Perhaps you are even lucky enough to have come to the point where your
characters actually feel like they’re talking to you and telling you exactly what
they would say in any given moment. If so, they may well be opening you up to
even funnier things that might come out of their mouth and ways they would
react. Listen to what your characters are telling you. Be open to them. They
can be your greatest punch-up ally!
Conflict in comedy: don’t fight it!

As crucial as character is to comedy, there is another big “C” element that is
equally important in delivering laughs: conflict.
As discussed, on a very elemental level, without conflict you don’t have a
story. Strong conflict is essential in driving plot and creating tension. But con-
flict also works hand in hand in defining your characters and their comic flaws.
Conflict (both internal and external) will force your characters to make choices
that tell us who they are. Heightening conflict in your scenes can amplify the
comedy as it underlines the absurdist comic extremes in the situations you’re
constructing.
Examine each and every piece of conflict in your pilot. Perhaps you have a scene
where a character is outraged and needs to defend himself. Would making him
or her even just a little bit more crazed and unhinged up the comedy payoff?
Look for places where escalating the conflict within a scene might make for big-
ger laughs. If you’re having two characters argue in a restaurant, would adding
a piece of physical comedy increase the tension (say splashing a glass of wine in
the opposing character’s face) and make the scene funnier?
Perhaps it might not always be the most constructive advice in life but when
it comes to comedy, embrace conflict!
Surprise and incongruity: crucial tools of comedy

“The secret to humor is surprise.”
—Aristotle
Our old and dear philosophical friend Aristotle clearly understood the critical
role the element of surprise played in creating humor. Immanuel Kant, the
18th Century German philosopher who also pondered the nature of humor,
espoused that laughter was created by the incongruity of what an audience
expects to happen with what actually happens. As a comedy writer, it’s your
job to build up expectations (your set-up) in one direction and then surprise
us with the incongruity of a completely different, unexpected outcome (your
punchline).
As you approach your punch-up draft and look to improve jokes and gags,
ask yourself if there might be opportunities to heighten this element of sur-
prise? Can you make the gulf you create between our expectations and the
outcome you deliver even more extreme? The bigger you can make the gap
between the expectations you set up for the audience and the outcome you
deliver, the bigger the laugh you’ll deliver in the payoff. As you work your way
through your punch-up draft, examine each line, joke, physical gag and comic
situation. Is there a way to possibly mine more humor by upping the surprise
and incongruity as well as some other humor elements we’ll soon discuss? You
can almost always sharpen your comedy and make it pop more.
Big reveals, and visual and sound gags

Remember, television is a visual medium. As you pore over your dialogue to
make sure it’s as funny and sharp as it can be, it can become easy to overlook
that. Look at your current pilot draft. Are there spots where a great, surprising
(there’s that word, again!) visual gag or reveal might work better than a verbal
punchline? A well-placed visual gag can provide a great way to open or close
a scene with a huge laugh. Wardrobe and costume can also be a great vehicle
for visual humor.
We usually think of the word “reveal” as a verb, but in comedy it’s often used
as a noun to signify the thing that had been previously kept from the audience.
Utilizing reveals to parse out information can enhance your storytelling to sur-
prise and keep the audience engaged. Done well, a “big reveal” can not only
provide plot twists and escalation but also deliver huge laughs. While most of
the time you should be steering clear of including camera angles and move-
ments in your action lines, there may those instances where a gag hinges on
the audience getting a visual piece of information or cue at a very specific time
when you might have to include a movement cue such as: “Angle widens to
reveal” to execute the reveal.
A clever, well-placed sound gag can be another means to mine comedy
by playing off an audience’s imagination to score big laughs. All in the Family
famously used the sound of the upstairs toilet flushing to occasionally punctu-
ate jokes and provide a punchline.
If you already are utilizing reveals or visual or sound gags in your pilot, make
sure that you’re taking full advantage of them. Is there a way to heighten the
surprise of your reveal or make the visual gag even bigger? And, of course, as
with any of the comedy tools we have discussed, it’s important to use visual
gags and reveals judiciously in your pilot. If you’re incorporating these elements,
be sure that you’re doing it in a way that meshes stylistically with the rest of
your pilot. Overuse of them can lessen their impact and imperil the comedy in
your pilot by making it start to feel repetitive and familiar.
Location! Location! Location!

This is not only an apt slogan for realtors but also speaks to the important role
location plays in creating comedy. If you have a scene that’s not working or feels
flatter than you’d like, consider doing it in another location. It’s not enough
to consider what happens in a comic scene. You also must think about where
it happens.
Let’s say that you have a scene featuring a comic argument between a boss
and an employee that escalates over the employee’s request for a raise. You have
set it in the boss’s office. You have strong conflict and dialogue, yet the comedy
simply isn’t quite popping. Consider re-imagining the same scene in a new and
perhaps more unexpected location.
What if you do the same scene in the office parking lot? Perhaps, now at the
top of the scene, instead of the employee just entering the boss’s office, we see
the boss emerging from her brand-new shiny Mercedes convertible just as the
employee rolls up in a beaten down heap.
Suddenly this new location gives us the possibility for this strong comic
visual showing the disparity in their incomes and status. Now when the boss
tells the employee she can’t possibly afford to give the employee the raise, the
employee will have the status play of the pricey car to help escalate his comic
rage. See how a seemingly small change like this can suddenly up the conflict
and open up the scene to all sorts of new comic possibilities? Always be imagi-
native with where you locate your scenes and ask yourself, is this the best loca-
tion for the conflict and comedy?
Finding the funny in the frame

Your chosen location is only a part of your scene’s overall mise en scène. Trans-
lated from the French, the term means “placing on stage.” In the case of your
pilot, it’s referring to everything which the camera is seeing: the actors, props,
costumes and set design. Mise en scène encompasses the overall visual presenta-
tion and look of the scene. Just as the location component can heighten the
comic impact of a scene so too can the various other mise en scène elements.
If you have a scene that isn’t quite working as is, visualize the scene. What
else could we be seeing in the frame that might give you something new,
different or unexpected to play? Think about what logically and organically
might be present in a scene? Perhaps you’re writing a scene around an anxious
hypochondriac character in a doctor’s waiting room. Think about what the
camera might be seeing that could heighten the comic tension. Maybe there’s
a staggering display of brochures detailing harrowing various diseases? Or, a
patient sitting close by who won’t stop coughing and hacking, to pile on your
character’s anxiety? Or maybe you’re doing an exterior scene? Does changing
the scene from day to night change things for you and possibly open up some
comic options? What if it’s raining? Even the weather can work as a comedy
accomplice for you in making laughs happen.
To illustrate the power of this mise en scène awareness in constructing comedy
scenes, in my classes I will sometimes screen the infamous deli orgasm scene
from Rob Reiner’s (from Nora Ephron’s screenplay) 1989 rom-com classic,
When Harry Met Sally. Not only does the location of NYC’s legendary Katz’s
Deli make Sally’s (Meg Ryan’s) vivid demo of her convincing fake orgasm
technique even funnier since it’s in this very public place but goes further to
mine the mise en scène of a neighboring diner (played by Estelle Reiner, Rob’s
mom!) in the frame to deliver the killer reaction line “I’ll have what she’s having.”
By imaginatively incorporating the mise en scène of the scene, the filmmakers
deliver the biggest laugh in the entire movie.
As you create your scenes be mindful and inventive as you envision everything
the audience is seeing (and the comic possibility of what they could be seeing).
There may well be some funny fodder in the frame that’s ripe for big comedy.
Get physical!
Elaine Benes doing her wretchedly painful “little kicks” dance on Seinfeld. Ted
Lasso breaking out his joyful signature “Running Man.” And of course, Lucy
Ricardo doing just about anything on I Love Lucy. All three are prime examples
of inspired and memorable TV physical comedy. While there are many writers
who tend to lean more towards the verbal it’s always important to remember that
physical comedy can be a tremendously potent source of humor in your pilot.
Placing a funny, clever physical bit that also manages to feel organic to your
character and story can work to not only advance your plot but also vary and
heighten the comedy quotient of your entire pilot. Another means to mine
comedy is to layer some physical “business” or task for a character to perform
through a speech or even an entire scene to provide another comic element to
play. If you have a section in your script that isn’t quite working, ask yourself
if there might be a way to infuse some sort of physicality into the mix to mine
laughs in a more unexpected way.
Get rhythm!
Have you ever known someone who is so funny, they don’t even have to say
something funny and yet you laugh because they say it in a funny way? This
friend is no doubt someone who is blessed with natural comic rhythm. Verbal
comedy has a sort of musicality of its own and can truly hinge on this elusive
ability to capture just the right rhythm. While not everyone is born with an ear
for this comic gift, there are steps everyone can take to hone the rhythm in joke
construction for the best effect possible.
The first thing to consider is your character’s individual manner of speaking and
rhythm. A fast-talking New York cabbie and a monosyllabic Maine fisherman
could both have very funny comic rhythms, but they will probably be undoubt-
edly quite different. I once worked with an exceptionally talented and hilarious
stand-up comic on a sitcom writing staff who struggled at times because, while
he was able to write really funny lines, he had trouble doing it in the rhythm of
the character he was writing for rather than in the manner he would deliver his
own stand-up. Always be very aware of each character’s individual rhythm and
look for ways to mine the way they speak for best comic effect.
Joke construction: don’t bury the lead!

Proper construction can make all the difference between a joke that kills and
one that dies. Even just an extra word can derail a joke’s rhythm and spell disas-
ter. Take a hard look at all of your jokes and dialogue. Are they all as strong as
possible? If not, remember the three most powerful words in joke construction:
edit, edit, edit!
Look at your speeches. Be wary of long stretches of uninterrupted dialogue.
In comedy, you usually want to strive for a lively sort of back-and-forth rhythm
that will energize your scenes and make your comedy pop. Consider breaking
up longer speeches. Do you have words and even whole sentences or speeches
you could lift to make your dialogue crisper and jump off the page more?
Again, less is more!
One thing that I constantly come across in my students’ comedy scripts is
that they’ll often offer a very funny line or joke. But then they bury it by having
the character just continue to talk. The funny bit gets lost in the middle of a
speech. When you come up with something really great and funny, make sure
that you’re showcasing it in your script for its best effect. Usually, this means
putting the funny part at the end of the speech.
That way, you’re giving the audience a chance to really hear the line so they
can appreciate it and laugh. Look at your scene endings as well. If you have a
really funny beat near the end but then then the rest of the scene just peters out,
look for ways to go out on that big laugh and make it the “blow” or “button”
of your scene. Get rid of the rest. Remember, you always want to set off your
best and funniest bits so they’ll shine. Don’t bury them!
Call backs
A funny “call back” can be a great way to bookend action or button the end
of a scene. But you usually want to avoid “long call backs” (placing the call
back too far away from what you’re calling back to). If you’re doing a call back
in your 3rd Act to something that happened in your Cold Open, make sure the
thing you’re calling back to is memorable enough for the audience to recall it.
Otherwise, the joke won’t pop.
Rule of 3
I am sure you have probably heard this age-old axiom of comedy. And for good
reason. It works. Basically, the idea is that things that come in groups of 3’s are
inherently funnier and more satisfying. Three seems to be the magic number
for punchiness and rhythm. The number 3 also reflects the familiar and com-
forting framework of a kind of beginning, middle and end.
In joke construction, the Rule of 3 comes into play with the classic comedy
device of the Comic Triple. In a Comic Triple, the idea is to build tension and
then release it in the punchline or pay-off. Three is the minimal number needed
to create and establish an expected pattern with the first two entries then sub-
vert that expectation with a third that veers from the pattern in a surprising dif-
ferent direction to pay off the joke. “Coffee, tea or me?” More than two items in
the set-up and you will mess up the rhythm and overload the joke. The Three
Stooges, Amigos and Bears were all on to something. Good things come in 3’s!
The “K” sound

In Neil Simon’s 1972 play, The Sunshine Boys, a veteran comedian convinc-
ingly extols the power of using words featuring the “K” sound in comedy. It’s
another comedy rule that has endured and there does seem to still be a lot of
truth to it.
Some speculate that it might be that the “K” or hard “C” sound tends to
somehow feel more aggressive and make for more comic conflict. Others con-
tend that it’s more of an acting thing—the “K” sound is simply easier to pro-
ject. Who really knows why? Like most things about comedy, not everything
is completely explainable. But for whatever reason, words featuring the “K”
sound do just somehow pop better. So, if you’re writing a restaurant scene and
your character has a choice between ordering salmon or cod, go with the cod.
It’s just funnier. ’Kay?
Puns and word play

If your comedic voice and the tone of your pilot lean towards puns and word-
play, then there may be flat places in your script where a funny turn of a
phrase may be just what you need to liven things up. Countless shows ranging
from Frasier to Bojack Horseman to The Good Place and even the musical num-
bers in Crazy Ex-Girlfriend have all benefited memorably from smart puns,
word play and phrases with double-meanings as a potent part of their humor
mix. I would again just caution as with all of these comedy tools to use them
judiciously. Leaning on them too much can make the humor feel repetitive.
As always, make sure your wordplay is funny and up to par. Remember, as
you may have heard in grade school: “Two-thirds of a pun is “p.u!” (Sorry,
I couldn’t help myself !)
Pop culture can “pop”

If you’re stuck for a joke, using a current pop culture reference from topics
ranging from news, politics, entertainment or sports can be a great source for
laughs. In determining if the show you’re creating should lean on pop culture
for humor, it’s important to consider a few factors and tread carefully. Pop cul-
ture references can age faster and worse than a bad tweet.
On the ’60s Dick Van Dyke Show, Carl Reiner made a point of not includ-
ing pop culture references because he feared they would age the show’s humor.
Indeed, the series’ enduring appeal and status as a television classic are evidence
his instincts were right. On the other hand, Murphy Brown was tremendously
successful and quite deservedly acclaimed during its network run, yet I suspect
some of the many topical political jokes/figures of the day (Dan Quayle, any-
one . . . anyone?) the show leaned on may have not aged quite as well with
younger audiences as some of the many other wonderful aspects of the series.
You also want to make sure that if you’re dropping a reference that it’s fairly
well known and not so obscure that only a few people are going to get the joke.
In any case, be careful not to overload your script with too many pop culture
references. They can quickly become tired and repetitive.
Take action!
Pay special attention to your action lines and stage directions. Are they as
tight and economic as they can be? Are you conveying your physical bits and
reveals as effectively as possible? Witty asides and observations strategically
woven into your action lines can also be a place for you to infuse your script
with even more of your comedic voice and personality. The trick is to not be
too heavy-handed. Too much of this can result in a sort of writerly “editorial-
izing” that can slow your pace. You could also perhaps run the risk of being
a little too self-aware and precious in your writing in a way that might turn
some readers off.
Set a goal!
For some, structure can be beneficial in the punch-up process. For those writ-
ers, it may be helpful to actually set a goal. You can tell yourself that you’re
going to add a certain number of jokes per page or, say, an additional joke per
scene. Process is personal. Find what works for you.
Aim high (but know when to stop!)

You always want to do your very best work and strive for the biggest laughs you
can. You never want to settle for less than your very best. But at some point,
you have to make peace with what you have on the page and go with it. It’s
also important to remember that sometimes the very first thing you came up
with may well be your best and funniest option. You don’t have to punch up
everything. Don’t overthink it!
Final punch-up disclaimer

WARNING: Punching up is important but not a cure-all for a weak script. No
amount of punching up will fix a faulty story or premise or create great, funny
characters we care about!
Always make your script as strong as you can before you even think about
punching it up!
21 Your polished pilot draft
Is it ready to show?
You have been typing tirelessly through multiple drafts of your pilot and are feel-
ing justifiably happy with all that you’ve accomplished. You are confident that
you have created a pilot that reflects your unique comedic sensibility and voice.
Awesome! Now all that remains is for you to ensure that you are presenting all of
your hard and inspired work in the very best light possible: your polish draft.
In my classes, I sometimes encounter talented students who turn in scripts
that are funny, smart and filled with great promise but also riddled with count-
less mistakes and typos. I always offer the same advice: never sabotage yourself
with careless presentation that undermines your talent! I know it may sound
like I’m just being picky but if your goal is to break through with your writing
and do it professionally. It matters. While there are some creative gatekeepers
who aren’t bumped by a few mistakes or an occasional typo, there are also those
who have zero patience for that sort of sloppiness. Why give them a needless
reason to stop reading your pilot?
Again, the entertainment industry is incredibly competitive. As you try to
break in, there are so many things you cannot control. Humor is subjective.
There are going to be those who simply do not share your comic sensibility.
Or perhaps, your script has simply had the misfortune of landing on an exec’s
desk on a particularly dark day when they’re in absolutely no mood to laugh at
anything. They just got a speeding ticket or their spouse left them or their dog
died. Not your fault! You can’t control those things. But what you can control is
making sure that the work you are turning in to represent you is free of needless
mistakes, misspellings, format errors and other typos.
Protecting your work

A lot of new writers understandably worry that in the marketing process of their
pilot, their work may be stolen or plagiarized. While certainly not an absolute
means of legal protection, the Writers Guild of America (WGA) does offer an
online script registration service which will provide writers with proof of the date
of completion of their script and authorship. The cost is currently $10 for WGA
members and $20 for non-guild members. The registration is valid for a term of
five years and is renewable. Once you have registered your script, you will receive a
numbered certificate, which can serve as the official documentation of registration.
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-22
Your polished pilot draft 145
You also have the option of copyrighting your material with the Library of
Congress which may provide some additional protection. The WGA website
at www.wga.org details the differentiation this way:
Registering your work with the WGAW Registry documents the claim of
authorship of a written work and does NOT take the place of registering
the Library of Congress, U.S. Copyright Office which primarily docu-
ments the ownership or rights of written work.
For more information, you should consult the United States Copyright website
at www.copyright.gov.
Personally, in the past I have opted with simply registering my work with
WGA, but I would recommend you do your own due diligence and research
to assess the best decision for you in terms of protecting your work.
Your title page

Your title page is essential since it gives the reader the most basic information
about your pilot: the title, your name and contact info. It also provides the very
first impression of you and your work so it is imperative that it’s professionally
presented. Happily, crafting a correct and winning title page is perhaps the
simplest part of the entire pilot writing process. A basic pilot title page will be
centered on the page to look like this:
SERIES TITLE
“Pilot”
Written by
Name of Writer(s)
Contact Name (your name or your representation)

Email
Phone number
146 Your polished pilot draft
As you can see, you will put your series title in all caps. “Pilot” will
appear in upper and lower case with quotation marks followed by Written by
above your name. Again, this information will be centered on the page. In
the lower left-hand corner, you will put your contact info. If you have secured
the representation of an agent and/or manager, you can use their contact info.
Otherwise, you would put in your own.
That’s it! Pretty simple, right? Here’s what not to include:
• WGA REGISTRATION OR COPYRIGHT NUMBERS: I know

you may understandably feel like since you went to all the trouble to pro-
tect your pilot, that you should include it on the title page but it really isn’t
necessary. It is not necessary and will tip off prospective readers that you
are a newcomer.
• HOME ADDRESS INFO: Of course, in our current email world, this
is completely unnecessary. Worse, an out-of-state address might deter LA-
based industry readers.
• DATE: There’s no need to put a date on your script. Pilot (and movies as
well) could take years to market successfully. There’s no need to alert read-
ers that your script has been kicking around for a year or more and is still
on the market. Keep your pilot current and leave the date out of it.
• DRAFT INFO: Even though you may have (and should have!) com-
pleted many drafts of your script, there’s no need for any of that informa-
tion on your spec pilot title page.
• ART WORK/PHOTOS/IMAGES: I realize that there may be a temp-
tation to set your script off with an eye-catching title page that shows off
your creative and artistic style. But my feeling is that your comedic voice
and vision should come through the words. Having said that, if you want
to experiment with different fonts to add a little something to your pres-
entation, you can certainly do that. I would just make sure that whatever
you’re choosing is clear and easily discernible. The last thing you want in a
title page is a title people have trouble reading!
Final print and proof

When I was on various TV writing staffs, one of the final duties of a rewrite
night was proofing the script. At least one writer (but as I recall on some shows
it was sometimes even two or more) would stay after the rewrite was finished
and proofread a printed version of the script. We would go through the printed
draft with a fine-tooth comb and would almost always come across mistakes and
typos both big and small that had previously escaped everyone’s notice.
I do recognize that this extra step certainly isn’t the “greenest” or tree-
friendly approach so I completely understand if you would rather not rely on it
or squander your printer ink and skip this part of the process. However (and it
may just be that I’m old school), I do feel that finding mistakes on a hard copy
of a page is just somehow easier. And again, the more eyes you can have on
Your polished pilot draft 147
your final polish before it goes out, the better. So, I would recommend having
at least one other person you trust give it a thorough proof-read.
Finally, if you do decide to print your script, there’s also just something amaz-
ingly satisfying about holding up a hard copy of your pilot script as proof posi-
tive of your accomplishment. Nothing beats leafing through your finished script
and celebrating just how far you have come. Enjoy the moment! You earned it.
22 Pilot pitch prep!
“We love this. We want to do your show!”
Of course, these are the magical words that every TV writer with an original
pilot dreams of hearing from a prospective buyer. Now that you’ve done the
hard work of creating your show, your focus needs to shift to the business of
selling it and in TV selling means pitching.
Pilot pitch evolution

Pitching a series (and all content in general) has changed significantly since
I first started doing it in the ’80s. Traditionally, the broadcast pilot season would
kick off in January when the networks would begin announcing which of
their pilots would be greenlit for production. Pilot season was preceded by the
frenzy of “pitch season” wherein TV writers and their reps would scramble to
sell their shows first to various producers, production companies and studio and
then hopefully to one of the major networks. In today’s much more diversi-
fied world of SVOD, cable and other varied broadcast platforms, the idea of an
exclusive pitching season is getting more and more outmoded as pitching and
selling shows can now happen every day of the year.
Back then, pitching was much more of a strictly verbal enterprise where you
would simply get in a room, be given your complimentary bottle of water and
just start selling your show to whichever exec was tasked with hearing your
idea. You might have a “leave behind” at the ready which would serve as a sort
of a bare-bones “one-sheet” simply outlining the main points covered in your
pitch. This was helpful when the person you were pitching to might want to
have something to refer to later when sharing your idea with a higher up who
wasn’t at the meeting.
Today with the increased proliferation of so much more content being
bought and sold, pitching will usually also encompass some combination of
other, more current selling tools such as a “pitch document,” a digital “pitch
deck” or even a produced sample or teaser to serve as “proof of concept”
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-23
Pilot pitch prep! 149
(more in a moment on each of those). However, at the core and no matter the
vehicle, your mission remains the same: selling your show.
Crafting your pilot pitch

The good news is that you have already written your pilot. That means you
have done the very heavy lifting of developing your concept, character and
series world. You’ve even perfected your logline! By now, you absolutely know
exactly what your series is all about and are probably way readier to pitch it
than you even realize. Now your big challenge is to curate and arrange all of
these elements you’ve come to know so well in the most effective way possible
to sell your show.
Whether your pitch is strictly verbal or presented on paper as the pitch doc-
ument or as a pitch deck presentation (or in a combination of those methods),
there will be several common essential components that you will need to cover.
This is the format I use; you can play with the order to fit your show and your
vision, but you should include the following:
1 GET PERSONAL: your connection to the material, how you came to

the idea, why it matters to you
2 BIG PICTURE: overview of your premise and logline
3 MAIN CHARACTERS: brief breakdown
4 BRING IT TO LIFE: deeper dive into the world, tone and themes your
show is presenting; how your premise will provide a variety of compelling
conflict to serve as a powerful story and comedy engine for the series
5 THE PILOT STORY: a brief overview of your pilot episode.
6 THE FUTURE: teaser/overview for what’s ahead after the pilot and in
future seasons
7 WRAP UP: why now is the perfect time your show
Everyone has their own individual method for constructing their pitches, but
almost every writer I know uses a combination that is at least fairly similar to
this. Let’s examine each component.
Get personal
When you’re pitching your pilot, your mission is to not only sell your show but
also to convince your buyer that you are the perfect—if not the only—writer
who should tell it. The quickest way to claim that sort of rightful authorship is
to establish a personal history with the subject matter.
For example, let’s say you’re pitching a workplace comedy about a circus.
If you can mention at the top of the pitch that the idea came about because
you spent two years traveling around as a trapeze artist with Ringling Brothers,
well right away, you are going to get everyone’s attention in the room. Your
personal experience makes you an instant authority on the subject matter. We
are primed and intrigued for all of your crazy Big Top stories and anecdotes.
Now, your prospective buyers may still ultimately decide that there’s not a
show there and pass. A personal connection does, by no means, guarantee a
sale. But, when you come armed to a meeting with a pitch steeped in personal
authenticity, your audience is much more primed and likely to at least want to
hear more.
Of course, this is not to say that every idea you pitch must be directly
autobiographical. No doubt, there have been countless successful shows that
originated without that real-life element. However, I would argue that even if
your pilot hasn’t sprung from actual events in your life, you probably still can
make a personal case for your connection to the material and how you came to
the idea. A great origin story that charts your pilot’s inception can also point
to why you’re so passionate about the subject matter even if you haven’t per-
sonally experienced the precise premise the show is presenting. Remember,
your passion can be your most powerful selling tool. And passion comes from
the personal.
Big picture/logline
The folks who are assessing your pitch may well be sifting through a ton of
other writers’ ideas all day long. You don’t want to try their patience by making
them wait too long to get a grasp on what your show is all about. Establishing
the basic overview elements of your show succinctly right off the bat works to
quickly differentiate and ground your idea. It will also save everyone a lot of
time if, unbeknownst to you, they just greenlit a pilot the day before that is a
bit too close to your idea.
Knowing key elements such as your format (single, multi-cam or animated)
and genre (ensemble workplace, family, dramedy, mockumentary, etc.) is going
to help the person who is receiving the pitch start to picture your idea and
what you’re going for right from the start. This is when you would state your
logline. We’ve devoted a previous chapter to the vital importance of a strong
logline, so I’m sure you’ve already crafted yours to perfection. Even if you have,
take another look at it before your pitch. Your vision and perception of your
show may well have evolved since you first composed it. Again, your logline is
a crucial selling tool so take the time to make sure yours will pop and be the
most vivid representation of your show it can be.
Main characters
You can easily segue from the overview and logline section to defining your
main characters. The order should go from most important to least. The more
important the character, the more time and detail you want to give in your
written description or pitch. But be careful not to bog down the pitch with
too much information we don’t need. Reveal what makes each character tick,
what makes each of them funny or captivating and most importantly what
they want.
With your supporting characters, it’s important for you to convey not only
who they are but how they relate to each other. Your comedy is going to come out
these relationships. In pitching your ensemble of regular players, we need to be
able to envision where the conflict and comedy is going to come from when
we throw these people together in this series world you’ve created.
Do you have a strong antagonist? Bring that character to life and show how
they are going to be a worthy foe for your hero.
But again, be careful not to get too mired down in this section by getting
overly detailed or delving into superfluous characters you don’t really need to
bring up in presenting your premise. Keep it to your core group of players and
what each will add to the mix of your comedy. For the most part, be succinct.
Think “thumb-nail.”
Bring it to life!
Now that you’ve given us the basics, prove your case by showing us how all
of these ingredients will conspire to create compelling conflict, comedy and
endless stories. You may be thinking of this as just an extended version of your
logline but it’s really much more than that. This is the part of the pitch where
you can really start to dig deeper into your idea to define the unique series
world you’ve created and the themes your show will explore.
If you’re doing a verbal room pitch that’s going well, this will often be the
part where it might actually start to be really fun. You can actually feel the
energy of the room kick into high-gear as folks get on board with your idea
and start seeing your show right along with you.
The pilot story

One common mistake I see with students when they pitch their pilot ideas is
that they lean far too much on their pilot story in the pitch, making that front
and center. If you were pitching to write a freelance episode of an existing
series, then it makes sense to focus more on the plot of your episode. But with
a pilot pitch, it’s much more about pitching the series. Your pilot story is simply
your means of entry into the world of your series. While very important, it’s
not your whole show.
Therefore, provide the bare bones of the story (beginning, middle and end).
Give us the highlights of your story and what we need to know. Of course, there
are exceptions and some other considerations. If you have a particularly great
opening scene or sequence in mind that’s particularly funny or bold, then by
all means go into that in more detail. If you’re pitching a very high-concept
premise pilot idea, then your pilot story could warrant more time in your pitch.
But for the most part, with your pilot story, think broad strokes. Don’t get too
bogged down in your pilot story plot. Focus more on your series.
The future
This is where you can start to address where the series might go for the rest of
the first season and beyond. If you’re doing a serialized comedy, you can talk
about some of the possible story and character arcs you’re envisioning. Is there
a surprising unlikely romantic relationship you see for two of your characters
on the horizon? How might things get more complicated and escalate for the
characters as the season progresses?
If your show is more episodic, describe a few really funny ideas for episodes.
It’s good to intentionally and meaningfully utilize several of your main players
in these examples to demonstrate how you have crafted your show’s charac-
ter dynamics to Act as a potent story and comedy engine for tons of future
episodes.
The wrap-up: bring it home!

If your pitch is really about selling (and it is), then this is where you close the
deal. You want to pull everything together at the end by not only convincing
us that your idea is amazing but why now is the perfect time for your show.
Are there topical social, cultural or political elements brewing in the world that
make your idea especially timely and ripe to be explored through a comedic
lens? Tell us about it!
Remind us about the potent comedy of your premise and characters. This is
the part where you would again revisit the themes your show will explore and
why you’re so passionate about incorporating them. Make your case for why
these themes would also be compelling and relatable to a mass audience. It’s
also smart at this point to personalize the pitch to your prospective buyer with
why your show would be the perfect fit for their particular broadcast platform
or production brand.
Pitching pointers
Pitching does not come naturally for all writers. There are those more intro-
spective writers (yes, even TV comedy writers) who prefer the cozy solitude of
being parked alone in front of their laptop screen than being out and about
selling and schmoozing with producers and industry execs. If that feels like you,
don’t despair. While pitching is selling, it’s also just talking and communicating.
With effort, you can get better at it and even much more comfortable doing
it. Here are a few tips:
It’s a conversation
If you are prone to nerves, one thing that can be really helpful is to move away
from the idea of pitching as performance but rather as conversation. Think of
the folks you’re pitching to as your friends who you’re simply sharing this great
idea you have for a show. I know that can sound easier said than done, but the
truth is that the people you are pitching to really are on your side. They would
like nothing better than for you to come in and blow them away with your
brilliant, funny and awesome idea.
Since it’s a conversation, try to be conversational. That means rather than
reading or memorizing your pitch and reciting it robotically, you instead do
the work to internalize it so well that you can simply talk through it with an
ease that feels enthusiastic and authentic. That doesn’t mean that you can’t have
notes or a pad at the ready in case you need them. Just try to use them sparingly.
Your goal is to stay engaged with the person you’re pitching to.
And what is the best way to attain this level of natural ease to make your
pitch feel like a conversation? Three simple words:
Practice, practice, practice!

Go over your pitch over and over again. Do it in the mirror. Do it in your car.
Do it while you walk your dog (mine usually had some good notes for me!)
Most importantly, annoy your friends by making them listen to it (especially
if they’re other writers!). They will not only be able to give you feedback, but
you’ll know right away the parts of the pitch where you sense you’re losing
them or they’re getting bored. Ask them to come up with questions for you.
There’s a good chance the execs you’ll soon be pitching to will have similar
thoughts and concerns.
Practice breeds confidence. The more you do your pitch, the more internalized
it will become and the more comfortable you’ll feel doing it when the real time
comes. So, pitch away to whoever will listen!
Personalize your pitch

Just as important as knowing your pitch is know who you are pitching to. Do your
research. Know your buyer. It’s your job to understand the brand of the buyer
you’re meeting with and their needs. ABC is probably going to be looking for
a different sort of comedy than Netflix or Comedy Central or HBO. The same
goes for producers you may be pitching to. Each has their own specific taste in
the projects they tend to pursue. If you’re working with an agent or manager,
they will help you with this. But do your own research as well.
Armed with your research, perhaps you can make an argument that your
show would be a great new series companion piece to a recent network hit.
Or maybe you just read that a certain actress has signed a development deal
with the streaming service you’re pitching to and you think she would be an
absolutely perfect fit for your show.
There may even be instances where you might be open to more radically
reworking your concept to suit a buyer’s needs. Perhaps your research tells you
that CBS is currently hot for multi-cams. Might there be a way the stream-
ing dramedy pilot you were planning to pitch could also work as a multi-cam
sitcom for your CBS pitch? You may well opt to stick to your original vision.
It’s your decision. But it’s important to be cognizant of career and commercial
opportunities when they arise. You may deem the payoff of rethinking your
idea for the opportunity to get into business with the network well worth the
revamp. Either way, having the knowledge of your buyer’s brand and needs will
help you make a more informed decision.
Come ready to collaborate

Television is all about collaboration. Even though you’re arriving to your meet-
ing with a firm vision of your show in mind, it’s crucial to demonstrate not
only that you’re open to collaboration but that you welcome it.
Does that mean that you will ultimately have to take every single note or
idea that gets bandied about in this initial pitch meeting? No. But when pro-
ducers and executives are meeting you for the first time for a pitch, they are not
only assessing your idea but what it would be like to work with you on it. If
your pilot sells and becomes a series, they’re going to be spending a whole lot
of time with you. If you balk and scowl at every suggestion, you’re sending a
disheartening message to the very folks you need most at this juncture to make
your show happen.
And the truth is that while you may not agree with a note you’re getting on
your script, the person you’re pitching to may have insight and knowledge that
will ultimately improve your show and up its chances to sell. It’s in your best
interest to let them do their job and keep an open creative mind.
Anticipate questions
While you can’t possibly foresee every possible issue that someone might come
up with about your idea, it’s important for you to be well versed enough to at
least be aware of the more obvious ones that might arise and have answers for
them. For instance, if you’re creating a series about a group of werewolves who
share a lair, you are likely to draw some comparisons to the vampire world of
What We Do in the Shadows. You would need to come armed to that meeting
with a convincing explanation about how your series isn’t going to be the same
at all.
Be authentic
“Just be yourself.” How many times have you heard this folksy bit of advice?
Well, I would argue that it endures because it’s true. People appreciate authen-
ticity. They can feel it. You’re not just selling your show, you’re selling yourself.
And people want to work with people they like. Do your best to just relax and
be yourself. If this is the first time that you’re meeting the person you’re pitch-
ing to, think of it not only in terms of the sale but more as a chance to make a
valuable contact or even a friend.
Sorry to say, the hard reality is the odds of selling a spec pilot are really
stacked against you. But that’s okay. Getting the pitch meeting is already such a big
win. Why? Because even if it doesn’t end in the way you hoped with a pilot
deal, the meeting might just provide an incredibly powerful long-term career
introduction and opportunity. Your project may not be exactly the right for
them at the moment, but, if you make a great impression, the person you’re
pitching to may well think of you for some future project. So, relax and enjoy
the meeting. Just be yourself (there I said it again!).
Be passionate
As I’ve stated before, passion sells. Bring all of your enthusiasm about your idea
to your meeting. Now I’m not telling you to act crazy or scare the folks you’re
pitching to. Having to be escorted out by security is never the ideal way to
end a meeting. But the fact is no one is going to get excited about your idea if
you aren’t.
It’s important to center yourself before your meeting and get in the right
state of mind. That can mean different things for different people. For you, it
might mean a bit of meditation or a pep talk in the mirror. I used to pick out
specific upbeat songs to listen to in my car on route to meetings to get myself
psyched up and ready to pitch. Find what works for you. But the goal is to get
yourself grounded before your meeting and know in no uncertain terms why
your idea is great and why now is absolutely the right time for it. Bring your
passion to the pitch and show them why they should love it to.
Pitching tools
As detailed earlier, beyond the more traditional verbal pitch meeting, selling
your pilot may encompass other selling tools including the pitch document,
pitch deck or proof of concept material.
Pitch document
A pitch document is a written breakdown overview of your show and pilot cov-
ering all of the seven previously detailed core elements we covered earlier in
the chapter. You may be asked to present a pitch document as a preliminary
step before getting a pitch meeting. If a prospective buyer likes what they’re
reading, they are likely to want to meet with you to hear more. A crucial sell-
ing tool, it’s essential to have a polished pitch document prepared and at your
ready to show.
Again, the document is a selling tool and therefore needs to be fairly concise
and easily digestible. You want to cover each section of your pitch within a
total of roughly five to ten pages. It should be long enough to provide sufficient
detail to make your series vision clear and compelling without overwhelming
the reader. Done well, the pitch document can not only serve to sell your show
but also as a powerful means to directly imbue your own unique comedic voice
in the narration of your show’s vision.
There are various pitch documents for existing shows that can be found
online. I recommend checking some examples out to get a feel for how others
have done it as you craft your own.
Pilot pitch deck

A pitch deck is a digital representation of your pilot and series created through a
presentation program such as PowerPoint or Keynote. The concept of the pitch
deck initially came out of Silicon Valley as a corporate selling tool to build sales
presentations to lure investors for start-ups. Pitch decks are now widely used
in Hollywood and beyond internationally as a prime selling device to pitch
your pilot in a very focused and engaging way. In today’s hyper-busy world of
increasing work hours and decreasing attention spans, many execs prefer to get
the gist of your pilot from looking over the succession of slides in your pitch
deck rather than reading your entire pilot script or even poring over your pitch
document.
A well-crafted pitch deck can make for an incredibly compelling sales tool
to market your show. It’s important to remember the medium and manner in
which the information in your presentation will play on the computer screen.
Therefore, try to avoid overly dense text and make it reader friendly. Strive
for bold graphics and photos to convey your pilot and series world. If you are
artistically gifted or have some graphic design ability, you should definitely
consider building a pitch deck to convey the vision for your show. If you’re not
lucky enough to so skilled (like myself !) perhaps you have a friend who might
be able to help you create one. There are also creative agencies and companies
you could hire and contract to work with you to put one together.
However, you get there, a polished pitch deck can be an incredibly clear,
visceral and even fun means to sell your pilot. You should definitely consider
incorporating one into your pilot pitch strategy.
Proof of concept
Sometimes even a great pitch doc, pitch deck and fully written pilot are not
enough to get people on board with your idea. That’s when bringing some sort
of proof of concept to the table can be an incredibly effective tool. Proof of con-
cept could be any sort of film or digital representation of your pilot concept.
If you have the time, talent and funds you might consider powering your pitch
with a proof of concept component.
You could produce your own mini-homemade version of your pilot. If that’s
too ambitious, another option might be to put together a trailer or even a short
“sizzle reel” offering highlights of your proposed series and characters where
we could get a glimpse of the fun to come your series offers. Or perhaps your
series was inspired by a short film you did in high school, college or beyond?
That film might well serve as your proof of concept. You could even simply
shoot a sample scene from your proposed pilot to serve as proof of concept. If
you’re doing a pitch deck, you can insert the link to your proof of concept on
its own slide so viewers can see it precisely where you want them to experience
it in your presentation.
As discussed previously, Abbi Jacobson and Illana Glazer’s Broad City started
out as a self-produced web series for the duo before it got picked up and green-
lit to series for Comedy Central. The web series episodes served as proof of
concept in that instance as they potently demonstrated the show’s undeniable
breakout comic potential.
While there definitely can be a formidable cost to proof of concept in
terms of time, money and production skill set requirements, the payoff can
be huge in providing a means to share the essence of your series in a manner
that may come closest to your vision for the final produced product. Making
it easy for the buyer to see your idea can make it that much easier to sell them
on your idea.
23 Breaking in
Marketing your comedy pilot (and
yourself !)
“Take Fountain.”
—Bette Davis, actress
Legend has it that this was the Silver Screen giant’s response to Johnny Carson
when asked if she had advice for aspiring newcomers starting out on how
best to get into Hollywood. Fountain Avenue is widely known to locals as a
quicker shortcut to cut through heavy LA traffic faster than more widely used
streets like Sunset or Santa Monica. Davis’s droll answer was decidedly tongue-
in-cheek, but it does speak to the mysteries of making it in the industry and
everyone’s desire to succeed as quickly as possible.
While you may have your own idea of a particular timeline for things to
start “clicking” professionally in your TV comedy writing career, sometimes
the world and life have other plans for you. You may encounter a host of
“character-building” challenges that block your path and derail you with dis-
couraging detours.
• You completely mangle a pitch meeting you felt sure was your “big break.”
• Your dream manager who initially showed interest ends up passing on
signing you.
• You’re down to your last $1.72 and the teller at the bank totally smirks at
you when you ask for your balance (okay, that last one definitely happened
to me!).
You may experience this and more as you find yourself mercilessly tested
with your dreams feeling increasingly out of reach. It’s true that this can be
heartbreaking and ultimately, no one’s industry success is ever guaranteed. But
while there are those “overnight” success stories, it’s important to remember
that just about anyone who has ever accomplished anything in the industry (or
really just about any field) has had some of these moments and endured some
low points on their journey.
Most successful people will tell you they ended up learning more from their
failures than successes. The trick is to not let individual defeats defeat you.
DOI: 10.4324/9781003108788-24
Breaking in 159
Writers who succeed, persevere. When they get knocked down, they get right
back up (well, actually, they may stay seated but they keep writing!).
While breaking in can be incredibly challenging, the good news is that there
are many ways to do it. The more people you know who have had any degree
of success in TV and film, the more you will see that everyone has their own
unique story. One size most definitely does not fit all.
Just jump in!

This was the somewhat reckless and haphazard method I chose. I had never set
foot in Los Angeles when I moved there in the ’80s to pursue a sitcom career
so I really couldn’t have been any greener or more clueless. But I was somehow
smart enough in a couple of crucial ways that ended up serving me well.
First of all, as you’re doing now, I did the work ahead of time to at least have
some completed samples (one of which was a sitcom pilot) that I felt were
ready to show. I may have been a novice, but I was determined to arrive ready
to present myself as a new writer who took comedy seriously.
Second, I came to LA with very realistic expectations. I knew I was taking
on a great challenge that would probably not always be easy. I was not wrong.
Use your contacts (even if you don’t know

you have them!)
As I have previously mentioned, another key element for me was Emerson
College. I had just graduated from the school which is known for its very
formidable footprint in television comedy as well as its loyal and powerful
alumni network (often referred to as the “Emerson Mafia”). I came to town
armed with a hardbound alumni directory (remember this was long before the
internet!) and set about contacting any available alumni who might be willing
to meet me for a “coffee and advice” meeting. I wasn’t lucky with everyone,
but there were quite a few who were kind enough to offer their time to lend
some guidance.
I would always end each of these meetings asking the person I was meeting
to please keep me in mind for any entry-level opportunities in the future or if
there might be anyone else they might be willing to refer me to who they think
might be helpful. This led to several of my first jobs in the business. There was
nothing too glamourous about these low-paying gigs, but I was beyond thrilled
to have gotten my foot in the door. I felt like I was at least in the game.
Eventually, I landed a job through a key (and very kind!) Emerson friend
which led me to a gopher/assistant job for the president of a major TV studio.
It took a couple of years in the job but eventually the position led to my first
script sale and staff job. It is my belief that you’re better off when you’re start-
ing out to take a lower level job that’s in your desired industry than a “civil-
ian” position even if it pays more and is more prestigious. Even if you’re in a
160 Breaking in
more low-rung position on a production or at a studio, you’re going to have
the opportunity to interact and bond with the folks who can lend a hand to
help you get that first big break. And while I may have been doing a lot of
grunt work in those early jobs and not getting paid a cent to write anything,
I was learning and absorbing so much more of the business simply by being
part of it.
You might be saying to yourself that may have worked for me but you didn’t
go to Emerson or spend your under-grad years at any number of other fine
select colleges with especially strong reputations in film and TV (UCLA, USC,
NYU or AFI, for example). Maybe you haven’t even been to college at all.
You don’t have any kind of alumni network to lean on. What then? Do not
despair. Instead, turn yourself into a “contact investigator.” Make your writing
intentions known and ask everyone you know—friends, family, your dentist,
I mean everyone—and see if they might know anyone you could reach out to.
Chances are someone you know knows someone who can help you. And having
a contact (even a decidedly remote one) is going to be a more effective entry
for you than a cold call or blind cover letter.
If you are lucky enough to get a response and someone is willing to give you
their time to meet, then use the same tact of branching off of that contact to
see if they might suggest someone else you could reach out to. And of course,
always be polite and gracious. Following up with a “thank-you” note or email
is always essential.
Writer’s assistant: the most direct route?

Perhaps the most coveted entry-level job for the aspiring TV writer is that of
the Writer’s Assistant. Competition for these positions is decidedly fierce, and
they can be incredibly hard to come by. It’s easy to see why. As an aspiring TV
writer, you are instantly plunked right smack exactly where you long to be in
the room where it all happens. You’re a crucial part of the process as you help
deliver the collective verbal writing work of the room onto the script page and
into production.
If you are lucky enough to land a writer’s assistant job, you will learn a tre-
mendous amount both about writing as well as the nuances of how to navigate
the “room.” Best of all, you may even have the opportunity to offer a pitch here
and there and begin to prove your mettle as a writer. On almost every series
I’ve written on, one of the writer’s assistants ended up landing their first script
assignment.
However, I would warn that if you do become a writer’s assistant (or really
any kind of producer or production assistant) and have ambitions to use it as
a stepping stone to get your writing career started, it’s important to go about
it with a bit of strategy. Before you ask for help in advancing, you must prove
yourself in the position you were actually hired for. Be the best writer’s assistant
(or P.A.) you can be. Come early. Stay late. Make yourself invaluable. Build
good will. Then when the time is right and you make your big ask for one of
Breaking in 161
the producers to read your spec pilot, they’ll be much more willing to want to
help you and have a look.
Graduate school: the MFA route

For many, getting a Master of Fine Arts degree (MFA) in screenwriting can be
a powerful means to launch your writing career. There are a number of stellar
institutions which offer amazing programs for students in learning the craft of
screenwriting. Depending on the school and what you put into the experience,
you can hone your craft and elevate your work. You’ll also gain the invaluable
experience of learning to write fast to meet deadlines. Best of all, you also may
meet that network of fellow writers with whom you will forge deep friend-
ships as you help each other through your respective professional journeys.
There are a variety of graduate screenwriting programs, and they can vary
tremendously in value and prestige. The admissions process tends to be steeply
competitive among the top schools. Do your research as you seek out the very
best one you can get into and afford. Take great care with each application to
ensure you’re submitting your very best samples and presenting yourself in the
very best light.
The “low-res” model

Of course, pursuing an MFA in screenwriting is not always a viable option
for everyone. First of all, it can be quite expensive, and second, you may be
at a point in your life where you simply can’t allocate the time necessary to
make the commitment. However, in recent years, there has been an increase in
MFA screenwriting programs which utilize a “low-residency” model wherein
students only meet in person occasionally and complete the bulk of their work
and lessons remotely.
At the risk of plugging Emerson yet again (not that they need me to do it!)
the college offers one of the best and most innovative low-residency programs
as it meets in person only twice a year, once at our home campus in Boston
and once at our satellite campus in Los Angeles. Again, if you are considering a
low-residency MFA, do your due diligence to find the right fit for you. There’s
a number of very strong programs out there that offer a level of freedom and
flexibility, sometimes at a lower cost than the traditional on-campus route.
Do I have to move to LA?

I am often asked this question from my east-coast-based writing students with
TV comedy writing dreams. In the past, my answer would be an immediate
resounding “yes.” While there is TV work in New York and other locations,
Los Angeles is still the epicenter for the television.
As we’ve detailed before, television is all about collaboration and meetings.
You’re entering an extremely competitive field. It’s going to be hard enough
162 Breaking in
to succeed. Why would you want to hinder your chances by making yourself
geographically undesirable? Besides, if you’re passionate about screenwriting,
why wouldn’t you want to live where it all happens and be in the center of it all?
By living in LA, you will be affording yourself of opportunities and meeting
the very people you need to get to know to get started. So, if they were really
serious, then by all means, I would advise them to pack their car (and make sure
it’s a dependable one!) and make the move.
However, of course, in recent times, the pandemic has altered the way the
entire business works. Currently, more TV writers’ rooms take place over
Zoom than in physical spaces. The business has most definitely had to evolve
in this new challenging era. Since it’s been quite a while since I was a young
aspiring TV scribe, I consulted the younger working writers I know to get
their take on whether the LA move was still a strict TV writer requirement.
The consensus of the answers I received back seemed to indicate that it can
be a bit easier now (at least for the time being) to get read from a wider range
of places outside of LA. But ultimately, the thinking seems to remain that at
some point, living in Los Angeles will still be the best move you can make to
up your chances of success. The other crucial thing to consider (especially if
you’re young and don’t have a lot of responsibilities weighing you down) is that
if you don’t give LA a shot now, when will you do it? And more importantly,
if you don’t, will you regret it? Let the answer to those questions inform your
decision.
Pilot writing competitions

Getting your work exposed through winning (or even placing) in a well-
respected competition can also be a powerful means to kick-start your career
and introduce the industry to you as a writer. There’s a host of TV contests
devoted to discovering the next great pilot script which can be especially help-
ful. Some even offer (usually for an added fee) written feedback from their
judges which can also sometimes be useful.
It is imperative to remember that when exploring all of these various com-
petitions (and there are a lot of them), you must do your due diligence. While
there are a lot of fine ones that offer the fledgling writer opportunities that
they might not normally have, there are those that have been created mostly as
purely for-profit operations simply to make cash for the folks running them.
Thoroughly research each contest you consider. Examine who is running it
as well as who the judges are. If you are seeing major industry companies and
figures in the mix, it may be worth considering. If not, it may be a scam just
out to get your entrance fee. Tread carefully, but here are three to consider as
you start your research:
• AUSTIN FILM FESTIVAL SCREENPLAY AND TELEPLAY

COMPETITION
https://austinfilmfestival.com/submit/screenplay-and-teleplay-submissions-2/
Breaking in 163
• NEW YORK TELEVISION FESTIVAL (NYTVF)
www.nytvf.com
• SCRIPTAPALOOZA TELEVISION WRITING COMPETITION
https://scriptapaloozatv.com
Diverse voices: fellowships and opportunities

A major issue that has long been plaguing the TV industry is the distressing
lack of diverse representation and difficulty in bringing those deserving voices
to the forefront. The 2020 WGAW Inclusion and Equity Group Report found
that despite some recent gains for women and people of color, systemic dis-
crimination against writers from underrepresented groups remains pervasive in
the entertainment industry.
While there clearly is still much work that urgently must be done in this area,
it is heartening that at least there are an increasing number of TV fellowships
and opportunities to showcase underrepresented groups. If you identify as a
diverse writer, you should consider those that may be right for you and apply.
Again, always do your due diligence but here are three that read and judge
original pilots as you begin exploring:
• NBC WRITERS ON THE VERGE

www.universaltalentdevelopment.com/writers
• NEW WARNERMEDIA ACCESS WRITERS PROGRAM (formerly
HBO ACCESSS)
www.hbo.com/hboaccess/writing/
• WESCREENPLAY DIVERSE VOICES SCREENWRITING LAB
www.wescreenplay.com/diverse-voices/
Getting repped: finding your team

One of the biggest challenges and hurdles you may face in launching your writ-
ing career is securing representation. It’s the age-old newbie writer dilemma.
The very people you covet most for your representative team often aren’t inter-
ested until you sell something. Yet, since no one will consider you without
representation, how do you make that first sale? Landing your first agent or
manager can feel daunting and may take some time. The good news is that
with determination and persistence, genuine talent will prevail. If a manager,
agent or entertainment lawyer believes in you and your talent strongly enough,
they will take a chance and represent you. The cream really does rise to the top.
Agents, managers and entertainment lawyers

Your “team” may eventually include an agent, a manager and an entertainment
lawyer. While all function to represent you and your best interests, there are
some key differences in their roles.
164 Breaking in
Reputable agents are licensed and regulated by law which is one of the rea-
sons production companies look to them as a means for vetting submissions.
Your agent’s job is to sell you and your work to the industry. The best ones will
work tirelessly behind the scenes to cannily use every “in” and connection they
have to land you that great deal and then negotiate the hell out of it for you.
For their effort, they will receive a 10% commission.
When I was starting out, every writer I knew had an agent but not nearly as
many had managers. Now it’s quite different as the manager role has elevated
dramatically in importance for the new writer and may well be the first key
member you secure for your representative team. Once you have a manager in
place, he or she may be able to assist you in signing with an agent.
Your manager will often take more of a long-haul sort of broader overview
perspective of your career trajectory and goals than your agent might. A good
manager will devote more time to helping you develop your projects through
rewrites before taking them into the marketplace. Another key difference is
that managers are not licensed to make deals or negotiate them. Even if you
have a manager, you will still require an agent or entertainment lawyer to
secure your deal and negotiate it. They will usually take a 10–15% commission.
Finally, because a manager isn’t licensed the way an agent is, it is possible for
a management company to try to negotiate a producing credit and fee in lieu
of their commission.
Like agents, entertainment lawyers are legally able to negotiate deals for you.
Because they are attorneys, their focus will be to scrutinize and closely pore
over all the finite details of your deals and contracts to ensure that you are as
fully legally protected both now and in the future. Entertainment lawyers will
usually only get involved with your deal or contract when there is a deal in
place and take a 5% commission.
If you’ve been doing all of the math on these respective commissions, you
may have noticed that you could be collectively giving up as much as 30% right
off the top of any deals you land. I realize that can sound steep. You’re the one
doing all the writing! But the truth is, a great agent, manager or entertainment
attorney will more than earn their commission. It’s all really an investment in
yourself and your future as a writer to have the very best team you can behind
you. One positive is that you will not have to pay commissions on your future
residuals. Those are all yours!
Embrace rejection!
I know this sounds like a crazy notion, but I sincerely believe that this is one
of the very best tips I can offer for success. As we have thoroughly detailed, the
entertainment industry is savagely competitive and certainly not a place for the
faint-hearted. One of the most crucial indicators between success and failure
lies in rejection: how you view it and how you handle it.
If you are contemplating a career as a TV comedy writer, you are going to
encounter rejection. You may encounter a lot of rejection. Tons of rejection.
Just know, that it is normal and part of the process.
Breaking in 165
What matters is how you deal with that rejection. Comedy and writing are
both subjective. You are not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. That’s okay.
Don’t take it personally. Ever. Try to take every “no” as getting you one step
closer to getting to that “yes.” And with each “no,” there is only one thing to
do. Shake it off and keep writing.
Always keep writing.
Index
ABC 10, 16, 17, 23, 25, 32, 44 – 46, 62, 88, Atypical 26
90, 91, 119, 153 Austin Film Festival Screenplay and
Act Break 69, 71 Teleplay Competition 162
action lines 143
action logline element 75 Bachelor, The 91
active vs. passive voice, pilot outline 79 – 80 Bacon, Kevin 29
acts, story structure and 69 bald exposition 108
act-structure, applying 70 – 71 Barbera, Joseph 32
Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet, The 17 Barkin, Ellen 29
agents 163 – 164 Barney Miller 23
Allen, Gracie 89 Barr, Rosanne 24
All in the Family 1, 2, 17, 138 Barris, Kenya 62, 119
Altschuler, John 10 Barry 27, 30, 60
Amazon 5, 30 Baskets 48
Amazon Prime 48, 49, 68, 102 Bateman, Jason 120
Amazon Studio 41 BBC One 30
American Vandal 49, 91, 106 beat sheet 85
Anderson, Anthony 62, 88, 119 Beavis and Butthead 33
Anderson, Blake 101 beginning (set-up) structure 70, 104; see
Andi Mack 40, 43 also pilot world
animated comedy pilot 32 – 37; history Benaderet, Bea 90
of 32 – 34; introduction to 32; premise Berg, Alec 30
and 35 – 36; prime-time 33; structure Bernie Mac Show 90
and format 36 – 37; visual thinking and Better Call Saul 31
34 – 35; your personal relationship and 36 Better Things 48
Aniston, Jennifer 61 Bewitched 23
antagonists/obstacles logline element 76 Big Bang Theory, The 6, 45, 69, 98
Apatow, Judd 47 Big Mouth 9, 32, 35, 99
Apple TV 25, 48 big reveals 138 – 139
Apple TV+ 95, 119 Big Three Networks 44 – 46
Archer 25 binge watching 49
Aristotle 68, 137 biography, character 56 – 57
Armisen, Fred 102 Black, Roger 36
Arrested Development 25, 120 Black-ish 25, 62, 88, 119, 128
Ash, Lauren 61 Bloom, Rachel 95
aspirational premise, tween shows and blow of scene 141
40 – 41 Bob Newhart Show, The 1, 2, 23 – 24
Atlanta 5, 6, 18, 27, 28, 30 – 31, 48, 100 Bob’s Burgers 32
Index 167
Bob-Waksberg, Raphael 33 – 34 to 51; punch-up and 136 – 137; real-life
Bojack Horseman 6, 33 – 34, 35, 49, 95, 142 inspirations for 51 – 53; rivalries and
Bojack The Depressed Horse 33 55 – 56; 2nd drafts and 127 – 128; secrets
boldness, Cold Open and 101 – 102 of 58
Bosom Buddies 3 character secrets, power of 58
B-Positive 60 Charles, Glen 98
Braugher, Andre 55, 92 – 93 Charles, Les 98
Bravo 91 Chávez, Paulina 41
breaking in 158 – 165; agents, managers Cheers 25, 44, 45, 98
and entertainment lawyers 163 – 164; Chewing Gum 30
competitions, pilot writing 162 – 163; clarity, pilot world and 107 – 108
diverse representation for 163; embracing Clattenburg, Mike 91, 120
rejection and 164 – 165; geographic Cleese, John 9 – 10
location and 161 – 162; introduction Clements, Jermaine 23
to 158 – 159; just jump in 159; low- Coel, Michaela 30, 47
residency model 161; master of fine arts Cold Open 36 – 37, 68, 83 – 85, 94, 97 – 103;
degree (MFA) 161; representative team boldness and 101 – 102; defined 97;
163; use contacts 159 – 160; as writer’s Freestanding 97 – 98; introduction to 97;
assistant 160 – 161 music note 102 – 103; On-Story 98 – 99;
“breaking the fourth wall” 88, 89 – 90 tone of 99 – 100; visual sense of 100 – 101
British LGBT Award 43 collaboration, punch-up and 135 – 136
Broad City 5, 47, 157 Comeback, The 47, 91
Brooklyn Nine-Nine 12, 24, 25, 55 – 56, 64, comedy, serious business of 1 – 3
65, 92 – 93, 100, 109, 112, 113, 114, 128 Comedy Central 37, 47, 101, 153
Brooks, James L. 2, 28, 32, 119 comedy engine 25, 60, 61, 110, 118, 149,
Brosh McKenna, Aline 95 152
Brown, Blair 28 comedy pilot: animated (see animated
Bryant, Aidy 50, 101 comedy pilot); defined 4; financial
Burnett, Carol 2 incentives and 5 – 6; getting started with
Burns, Allan 2, 119 (see comedy pilot, creating your own);
Burns, George 89 – 90 introduction to 1 – 3; reasons for writing
Burns and Allen Show, The 89 – 90 4 – 6; script, function of 4; spec scripts
business, physical 140 and 4 – 5; tween (see tween comedy pilot)
Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid 14 comedy pilot, creating your own 7 – 14;
Butler, Brett 24 assessing ideas for 11 – 12; childhood
button of scene 141 memories and 9; comic sensibility
and 26; current life experiences and
cable platforms 46 – 48 9 – 10; inspiration and 7 – 8; laughs
call backs 141 and 13; longevity and 12 – 13; non-
Carell, Steve 118 autobiographical ideas for 10 – 11;
Carol Burnett Show, The 1 overview of 7; passion and 14; questions
Cartoon Network 11 to ponder 15 – 26 (see also family
Cash, Aya 48 comedies; shooting style; workplace
CBS 1, 9, 11, 25, 27 – 28, 44 – 46, 60, 64, comedies); representation and 13 – 14;
89, 153 – 154 research and 12; world events/news as
Cera, Michael 120 material source 10; writing what you
character-based shows 24 know 8 – 9
character biography 56 – 57 comic characters see characters
character development 53 – 54 comic sensibility 26
characters 51 – 58; character biography and Comic Triple 142
56 – 57; conflict and 54 – 55; development competitive character conflict 55 – 56
of 53 – 54; diversity and 55; “Getting-to- complications, character choices and 112,
Know-You” scene 57 – 58; introduction 114
168 Index
conflict: comic characters 54 – 55; punch-up episodic pilot 62; non-premise pilot story
and 137 62 – 63; vs. serialized pilot 65 – 66
COPS 91 Erskine, Maya 99
Correll, Rich 38 Everybody Hates Chris 9, 46
Cosby Show, The 15, 45 Everybody Loves Raymond 9, 45
Crane, David 46, 92 exaggeration, comedy and 53
Crazy Ex-Girlfriend 95, 142 Expanding Universe of Ashley Garcia,
Crews, Terry 92 The 41
cringe comedy 47 exposition: pilot story and 63; pilot world
Critic, The 33 and 108 – 109
Cross, David 46 extra sets 16
Curb Your Enthusiasm 47, 62
CW Television Network 46, 95 Falk, Stephen 48
Cyrus, Miley 38 family comedies 25 – 26
Family Guy 25, 33, 46, 92
Danson, Ted 98 Family Matters 17, 45
Daria 33 fantasy sequences 95
David, Larry 62 Fawlty Towers 10
Days and Nights of Molly Dodd, The 28 Feldman, Ben 61
demographics, tween comedy pilot and 42 Ferrera, America 61
de Rossi, Portia 120 Ferris, Anna 26
Derry Girls 101 film ideas 11
Deschanel, Zooey 100 Finney, Sara V. 17
Devine, Adam 101 First Run Syndication 44
Dickinson 95 Fischer, Jenna 118
Dick Van Dyke Show, The 15, 24, 143 F Is for Family 32
Diner 29 Fishburne, Laurence 119
Disney+ 48 fixed sets 16
Disney Channel 38, 40, 41, 43 Flackett, Jennifer 9
diverse representation 163 flashbacks 94
diversity, characters and 55 flashforwards 94
Documentary Now 91 Fleabag 5 – 6, 11, 18, 28, 49, 88, 89
Drake and Josh 38, 39 Flintstones, The 32
dramedies 17, 27 – 31; choosing, as Flying Nun, The 23
best vision form 31; hour form 31; Forever 102
inspiration for 29; introduction to formatting 18 – 22
27 – 29; personal stories as 30 – 31 formula, middle structure and series
Dream On 46, 92 113 – 114
dream sequences 95 4-Act structure 70 – 71
Dunham, Lena 5, 47 Fox 25, 32, 37, 90, 91, 92, 120
Fox Broadcasting Company (FBC) 46
eavesdropping, character creation and 53 Fox Broadcasting Network 3
Elliott, Chris 116 Foxx, Redd 24
Emerson Comedy Workshop 2 Frasier 24, 45, 142
emotional scenes 121 – 123 Freestanding Cold Open 97 – 98
emotional through line 118 – 121 fresh eyes, 2nd draft and 126
end (resolution/new beginnings) structure Fresh Prince of Belair 90
70, 116 – 123; emotional scenes 121 – 123; Friends 16, 45, 61, 92
emotional through line 118 – 121; Fuller House 45, 63
introduction to 116; series beginning Full House 45
and 116 – 118; Tags and 123 Fumero, Melissa 93
entertainment lawyers 163 – 164 Futurama 33, 35, 46
episodes, number of 12 – 13 FX 18, 23, 47, 48
Index 169
Garcia, Greg 23 iCarly 42
Geere, Chris 48 ideas, assessing 11 – 12
Gelbart, Larry 28 I Dream of Jeannie 23
Gervais, Ricky 8 – 9 IFC 91
Get Smart 25 I Love Lucy 15, 140
“Getting-to-Know-You” character scene I May Destroy You 30, 47
57 – 58 inciting incident logline element 75
Girlfriends 46 In Living Color 46
Girls 5, 47, 107 Insecure 17, 24, 27, 47, 54, 63, 65
GLAAD Media Award 43 inspiration, writing and 7 – 8
Glazer, Ilana 5, 47, 157 Instagram 43
Gleason, Jackie 32 I.T. Crowd 25
Glee 31 It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia 25, 48,
Glover, Donald 5, 18, 30 – 31, 100 51, 62
GLOW 31
goal logline element 75 Jacobson, Abbi 5, 47, 157
Goldberg, Andrew 9 Jamie Foxx Show, The 46
Goldbergs, The 25, 62, 88 Jane the Virgin 31
Golden Girls 14 Janney, Alison 26
Goldman, William 13, 14 Jetsons, The 32
Good Place, The 10, 11, 23, 65, 106, 107, 142 Johnny Quest 32
Gordon, Andy 41 joke construction 141
Grace and Frankie 49 Judge, Mike 10, 33
Grace Under Fire 24 Just Add Magic 41
Gracie Films 32
Groening, Matt 32, 33 Kant, Immanuel 137 – 138
Kauffman, Marta 46, 92
Hader, Bill 30, 60 Keating, Larry 90
Hampshire, Emily 116 Khalifa, Wiz 95
Hanks, Tom 3, 27 Killing Eve 31, 108
Hanna, William 32 King of Queens 45
Hanna-Barbera Studios 32 King of the Hill 33, 46
Hannah Montana 38, 41 Klein, Dennis 46
Happy Days 16 – 17, 45 Klein, Jessi 35
Harmon, Dan 11 Klugman, Jack 16
Harris, Susan 14 Kohan, Jenji 94
HBO Max 48 Konkle, Anna 99
Healing Powers of Dude, The 43 Krasinski, John 117
Henry, Brian Tyree 31 Krinsky, David 10
Henry Danger 41 Kroll, Nick 9, 35
His Girl Friday 2 “K” sound 142
Hollywood Reporter, The 12, 49 Kudrow, Lisa 47
Holm, Anders 101 Kurland, Seth 41
Home Box Office (HBO) 10, 30, 46, 68,
91, 92, 107, 153 Larry Sanders Show, The 46 – 47
Hometown Blues 29, 53, 57 laugh track 28
Honeymooners, The 15, 32 Laverne and Shirley 45
Hooker, Richard 12 Lawrence, Bill 119
House of Cards 49 Lawrence, Martin 24
How I Met Your Mother 45, 64, 94 lead, shooting style and 23 – 24
Hubbard, Matt 102 Lear, Norman 2
Hulu 5, 48, 49, 50, 101 LeRoy, Ali 9
Hurwitz, Mitchell 120 Levin, Mark 9
170 Index
Levinson, Barry 29 Modern Family 10, 17, 91
Levitan, Steven 10 Moesha 46
Levy, Daniel 98 – 99, 117 Mom 15, 25 – 26
Levy, Eugene 116 Monty Python troupe 9 – 10
Library of Congress 145 Moonlighting 90
Lifetime 28 Mork and Mindy 24, 45
Littenberg-Weisberg, Sam 43 movie ideas 11
Living Single 46 Mr. Show 46
Lloyd, Christopher 10 MTV 91
location for series, pilot story and 64 Mulaney, John 35
logline 73 – 77; anatomy of 74; defined multi-camera (multi-cam) comedies 15 – 17;
73; elements of 74 – 76; exercise 77; formatting 18, 20 – 22
formula 76 – 77; importance of 73 – 74; Murphy, Annie 116
introduction to 73; as marketing tool Murphy Brown 44, 143
73 – 74 music note, Cold Open 102 – 103
Long, Shelley 98 “Must-See TV” slogan 45
Lopez, Mario 41 My Name Is Earl 23
Lorre, Chuck 6, 45, 98 Mythic Quest 25
low-residency model 161
name, pilot title page 145
MacFarlane, Seth 33 NBC 10, 14, 23, 28, 44 – 46, 61, 90, 91, 92
Mad About You 45 NBC Writers on the Verge 163
Malcolm in the Middle 90 Netflix 5, 9, 26, 33, 35, 36, 37, 41, 43,
Male Pattern 18 45, 48, 49, 68, 91, 94, 153; niche
managers 163 – 164 programming and 49 – 50
Marathon Man 14 network platforms 44 – 46
marketing tool, logline as 73 – 74 Newacheck, Kyle 101
Married with Children 46 New Girl 9, 17, 64, 65, 69, 94, 100, 109
Marshall, Garry 16, 45 Newhart 24
Martin 24, 46 Newhart, Bob 23 – 24
Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, The 31, 49, 68, 69 New WarnerMedia Access Writers
Mary Tyler Moore Show, The 1, 2, 119 Program 163
M*A*S*H 1, 2, 11 – 12, 13, 27 New York Television Festival (NYTVF)
MASH: A Novel About Three Army Doctors 163
(Hooker) 12 niche programming 49 – 50
master of fine arts degree (MFA) 161 Nickelodeon 41
Master of None 24, 49 no-act structure 71
Mazursky, Paul 28 non-premise pilot story 62 – 63
McCartney, Paul 8 notecards 85 – 86
McCrae, Joel 1 notes 131 – 134; enthusiastic about 133;
McElhenney, Rob 48 intentional about 132; introduction to
McGee, Lisa 101 131; open about 132 – 133; opinions and
Meet Danny Muffin 52, 83 – 84 134; taking 131; time and 134; your
Meriwether, Elizabeth 9 overall vision and 133
middle (obstacles/complications) structure Novak, B. J. 117
70, 111 – 115; complications, character novel ideas 11
choices and 112; resolution and 115;
rising action 111 – 112; series formula O’Brien, Barry 38
and 113 – 114; storylines and 114; style Odd Couple, The 16
and 114 – 115 Odenkirk, Bob 46
Minsky, Terri 40 Office, The 6, 17, 24, 47, 62, 91, 92, 117
mise en scène elements 139 – 140 O’Guin, Waco 36
mockumentary series 17, 90 – 92 Oh, Sandra 108
Index 171
O’Hara, Catherine 116 step 149, 150; bring to life step 149, 151;
On-Story Cold Open 98 – 99 crafting your format 149 – 152; evolution
Orange Is the New Black 31, 49, 94 of 148 – 149; future step 149, 152; get
original pilot: defined 4; script, function of personal step 149 – 150; introduction to
4; writing, vs. writing spec 5 148; main characters step 149, 150 – 151;
Oswalt, Patton 88 pilot story step 149, 151; pitch deck
OTT (“over-the-top”) 48 156; pitch document 155 – 156; pointers
outline see pilot outline 152 – 155; proof of concept 156 – 157;
tools 155 – 157; wrap-up step 149, 152
pace, 2nd drafts and 129 pitching pointers 152 – 155; authenticity
Paley, William S. 44 154 – 155; collaboration 154;
Palmer, Kiki 41 conversation, not performance 152 – 153;
Paradise PD 36 passion 155; personalize pitch 153 – 154;
Parker, Trey 33, 47, 80 practice 153; questions 154
Parks and Rec 91 platforms 44 – 50; cable 46 – 48; network
passion 6, 14, 50 44 – 46; streaming 48 – 50
passive voice 80 play ideas 11
PEN15 24, 49, 69, 76 – 77, 99 – 100, 112, plot, story structure and 68 – 69
113, 115 plot devices 87 – 96; advantages/
physical bits, punch-up and 140 disadvantages of 87 – 88; “breaking
pilot ending see end (resolution/new the fourth wall” 89 – 90; defined 87;
beginnings) structure dream/fantasy sequences 95; flashbacks/
pilot outline 78 – 86; active vs. passive flashforwards 94; introduction to 87;
voice in 79 – 80; basics 79; beat sheet mockumentary 90 – 92; pops 92 – 94;
85; connecting story beats in 86; voiceover 88 – 89; your, pilot plan 96
introduction to 78 – 79; length of 81 – 82; Poetics (Aristotle) 67 – 68
notecards 85 – 86; proofreading 82 – 83; polished pilot draft 144 – 147; final print
sample 83 – 85; slowing down “the read” 146 – 147; overview of 144; proofing
and 80 – 81; story emphasis and 82; trust 146 – 147; protecting 144 – 145; title page
in 105; white board 86; writing vs. 145 – 146
directing 80 pop culture references 142 – 143
pilot story 59 – 66; exposition and 63; pops 92 – 94
introduction to 59; location for series Poryes, Michael 38
and 64; non-premise 62 – 63; open- Prady, Bill 98
ended 74; pilot world and 109; premise premise 4; see also pilot story; animated
59 – 62; premise vs. non-premise 59 – 63; comedy pilot and 35 – 36; aspirational,
serialized vs. episodic 65 – 66; series tween shows and 40 – 41; dramedies and
details conveyed in 63 – 64; soft premise 30 – 31; family comedies and 25 – 26;
61 – 62; supporting characters, service shooting style and 23; single-cams and
64 – 65 17 – 18, 23; turning your idea into 7 – 14;
pilot world 104 – 110; building your workplace settings and 24 – 25
106 – 107; clarity and 107 – 108; premise pilot story 59 – 62; soft 61 – 62
described 104; exposition and 108 – 109; Princess Bride, The 14
introduction to 104 – 105; outline, Pritchard, Connor 101
trust in 105; pilot story and 109; proof of concept 148, 156 – 157
style elements and 109 – 110; timeline proofreading pilot outline 82 – 83
105 – 106 protagonist logline element 74 – 75
pilot writing competitions 162 – 163 protecting work 144 – 145
Pinky and the Brain 33 punch-up 135 – 143; action lines/stage
pitch deck 148, 156 directions 143; call backs and 141;
pitch document 148, 155 – 156 characters and 136 – 137; collaboration
pitching pilot series 148 – 157; see also and 135 – 136; conflict and 137;
pitching pointers; big picture/logline introduction to 135; joke construction
172 Index
and 141; “K” sound 142; location and Save The Cat 110
139; mise en scène elements and 139 – 140; Schitt’s Creek 6, 17, 54, 60, 76, 98 – 99, 100,
need for 136; overthinking and 143; 116 – 117
physical bits and 140; pop culture Schur, Michael 10, 23
references 142 – 143; puns and wordplay screwball comedies 2
142; rhythm and 140 – 141; Rule of 3 Scriptapalooza Television Writing
141 – 142; structure and 143; surprise Competition 163
element and 137 – 138; visual gag/reveal scripted comedy, cable and 47
and 138 – 139 Scrubs 92
puns and wordplay 142 2nd drafts 124–130; attitude and 130; basics
127; character and 127–128; comedic style
Radnor, Josh 94 and 129; feedback from friends 125–126;
Rae, Issa 47, 54 fresh eyes approach to 126; introduction
Randall, Tony 16 to 124; making cuts 127; pace and 129;
Real Housewives, The 91 step away and refresh 124–125; strategy for
Reality TV 91 126–127; structure and 128–129; theme,
real-life character inspirations 51 – 53 tone, and premise of 129
Real World, The 91 Second Chance 3
Reiner, Carl 143 secrets, power of 58
Reiner, Estelle 140 Seinfeld 15, 24, 45, 62, 140
Reiner, Rob 91, 140 Seinfeld, Jerry 24
Reiser, Paul 29 serialized vs. episodic pilot story 65 – 66
rejection, embracing 164 – 165 series formula, middle structure and
representation 13 – 14 113 – 114
representative team 163 series title, pilot title page 145
Rescue Me 48 Sex and the City 47, 88, 107
resolution 115 Shameless 31
reveals 138 – 139 Shandling, Garry 46
rhythm, punch-up and 140 – 141 Shield, The 48
Rick and Morty 11, 32, 35, 94 shooting style 15 – 24; formatting 18 – 22;
Righteous Gemstones, The 68 lead and 23 – 24; multi-camera (multi-
rising action 111 – 112; see also middle cam) 15 – 17; premise and 23; single-
(obstacles/complications) structure camera (single-cam) 15, 17 – 18; visual/
Robichaud, Bernard 120 special effects and 23
Rock, Chris 9 Showtime 68
Rodriguez, Vincent, II 95 Shrill 27, 49, 50, 101
Roiland, Justin 11 Silicon Valley 10, 25
Romano, Ray 9 Simon, Neil 16, 130, 142
Roseanne 24, 62 Simpsons, The 25, 32, 33, 46, 62, 90
Rosenthal, Phil 9 Sinclair, Donald 10
Ross, Tracey Ellis 62 single-camera (single-cam) 15, 17 – 18;
Rourke, Mickey 29 formatting 18 – 20
Rudolph, Maya 102 6 Days to Air (tv documentary) 33
Ruegger, Tom 33 Six Elements of Drama 68
Rule of 3 141 – 142 slowing down “the read” 80 – 81
Rushfield, Alexandra 101 Smith, Alena 95
Russian Doll 49 Snapchat 42
Russo, Dominic 101 Snyder, Blake 110
Ryan, Meg 140 Soap 45
soft premise pilot 61 – 62
Samberg, Andy 55, 100 Soloway, Joey 30
Sanford and Son 24 sound gags 138 – 139
Saturday Night Live 27 South Park 33, 47, 86
Index 173
Spates, Erica 43 Top Cat 32
Spears, Vida 17 Tracey Ullman Show, The 32 – 33, 46
special effects, shooting style and 23 Trailer Park Boys 91, 120
spec scripts 3, 4 – 5 Transparent 30, 49
staff writing 3 Tremblay, John Paul 120
stage directions 143 True Jackson, V.P. 41
standards and practices (S&P) procedures 42 tween comedy pilot 38 – 43; aspirational
standing sets 16, 17 premise of 40 – 41; audience respect and
Stern, Daniel 29 42; demographics and 42; inclusiveness
Steve Harvey Show, The 46 and diversity in 43; introduction to
Stone, Matt 33, 47, 80 38 – 39; magical premise of 41; relatability
story beats, connecting 86 and aspiration 40; research and 42 – 43;
storylines, middle structure and multiple 114 slang and 43; spec, sample 39 – 40
Strangers with Candy 47 20th Century Fox Television 32
streaming platforms 48 – 50; binge watching 2-Act structure 69, 70
and 49 Two and a Half Men 6, 45
structure 67 – 72; acts and 69; act-structure,
applying 70 – 71; beginning (set-up) 70; United Paramount Network (UPN) 46
end (resolution/new beginnings) 70; United States Copyright website 145
introduction to 67; middle (obstacles/ UPN/CW 9
complications) 70; pilot, exercise 71 – 72;
plot and 68 – 69; Poetics and 67 – 68; 2nd VARIETY 12
drafts and 128 – 129 Veep 25, 47
Sturge, Preston 1, 3 visual effects, shooting style and 23
style, middle structure and 114 – 115 visual gags 138 – 139
Sudeikis, Jason 119 visuals of Cold Open 100 – 101
Sullivan’s Travels 1, 3 visual thinking: animated comedy pilot and
Sunshine Boys, The 142 34 – 35; dramedies and 31; shooting style
Superstore 12, 24, 25, 61, 92 and 23
supporting characters, service 64 – 65 voiceover 88 – 89
surprise element, punch-up and 137 – 138
SVOD (subscription-based video on Wait Till Your Father Gets Home 32
demand) platform 48, 68 Waller-Bridge, Phoebe 5 – 6, 11, 18, 88, 108
sweetening 15 Warner Brothers 46
swing sets 16 Wayans Brothers, The 46
syndication 12 – 13 WB Network 46
Wells, Robb 120
Tags: defined 123; end structure and 123 WeScreenplay Diverse Voices Screenwriting
Tambor, Jeffrey 120 Lab 163
Tarses, Jay 28 West, Lindy 50, 101
Taxi 25 WGAW Inclusion and Equity Group
teaser 97; see also Cold Open Report 163
Ted Lasso 119 What We Do in The Shadows 23, 48, 64, 91,
“T.G.I.F.” slogan 45 92, 154
“The Tiffany Network” 44 – 45 When Harry Met Sally 140
30 Rock 25, 57 white board 86
This Is Spinal Tap 91 Who’s the Boss 44
3-Act Structure 70 Williams, Robin 24
Three’s Company 45 Wilmore, Larry 47, 90
TikTok 42 Wilson, Rainn 117
timeline, pilot 105 – 106 Winkler, Henry 16
title page, polish draft 145 – 146 Wizards of Waverly Place 38, 41
tone, Cold Open and 99 – 100 Wonder Years, The 88
174 Index
wordplay 142 writing vs. directing pilot outline 80
Workaholics 25, 47, 101 – 102 Written by, pilot title page 145
workplace comedies 12, 24 – 25
writer’s assistant 160 – 161 Yang, Alan 102
Writers Guild of America (WGA) 144 – 145 Young Sheldon 46
writing: inspiration and 7 – 8; what you You’re the Worst 48
know 8 – 9 YouTube 47

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Navigating through the challenging process of writing a comedy pilot, this

Manny Basanese is an Associate Professor at Emerson College in Boston and

Introduction: the serious business of comedy: why

1 What is a pilot and why write one? 4

2 Getting started: turning your idea into a comic pilot premise 7

3 Single or multi-cam? Workplace or family comedy?

4 Rise of the dramedy 27

5 The animated comedy pilot 32

6 The “tween” comedy pilot 38

7 Choose your platform: network, cable or streaming? 44

8 Comic characters: finding the funny 51

9 Finding your pilot story 59

10 Sitcom story structure: it’s no joke! 67

11 Crafting your pilot logline 73

12 Pilot outline: blueprint for success 78

14 Your Cold Open: grab us! 97

15 Your pilot’s beginning: setting up your series “world” 104

16 Middle magic: obstacles, complications and escalation 111

17 Your pilot ending: begin where you finish! 116

18 Your 2nd draft: making a good thing better 124

19 A note about notes 131

20 The power of punch-up: mining the laughs 135

21 Your polished pilot draft: is it ready to show? 144

22 Pilot pitch prep! 148

Many thanks to Claire Margerison, Sarah Pickles, Katie Armstrong, Sathish

In Preston Sturge’s 1941 classic big-screen satire on Hollywood, Joel McCrae

It’s okay. Take a breath. We are going to work on that now.

Write what you know

But also, be in the now

Use the world

But what if my idea is “out of this world”?

Assessing your idea

Does your idea have “legs”?

Can you find the funny?

Writing for the marketplace: “Nobody knows anything”

The multi-cam comedy

The single-cam comedy

1 In multi-cam, the dialogue is double-spaced. Therefore, the page count

INT. DR. MICHAEL BARTEK’S EXAMINATION ROOM -- DAY

Now here is the same scene simply converted to a multi-cam format:

INT. DR. MICHAEL BARTEK’S EXAMINATION ROOM -- DAY

thing they never taught me about at

the Actors’ Studio. Glad I dropped out

Valley Village.” She has your poster

all mean without your health? How’s it

the sebaceous glands. It’s caused some

pore clogging and appears to have

spread to the buttocks.

like six nude scenes. My butt’s on

screen more than my face.

press finds out, it’ll wreck everything.

discretion and confidentiality.

So, which is better?

Visual and special effects

Workplace vs. family comedy

Cubicle comedy: making the workplace work for you

1 What is a pilot and why write one? 4

2 Getting started: turning your idea into a comic pilot premise 7

4 Rise of the dramedy 27

5 The animated comedy pilot 32

6 The “tween” comedy pilot 38

7 Choose your platform: network, cable or streaming? 44

8 Comic characters: finding the funny 51

9 Finding your pilot story 59

10 Sitcom story structure: it’s no joke! 67

11 Crafting your pilot logline 73

12 Pilot outline: blueprint for success 78

14 Your Cold Open: grab us! 97

15 Your pilot’s beginning: setting up your series “world” 104

16 Middle magic: obstacles, complications and escalation 111

17 Your pilot ending: begin where you finish! 116

18 Your 2nd draft: making a good thing better 124

19 A note about notes 131

20 The power of punch-up: mining the laughs 135

21 Your polished pilot draft: is it ready to show? 144

22 Pilot pitch prep! 148