In the fleeting dreams of my early childhood, I thought it would be cool to make my living as a writer. I didn't know what I wanted to write, though. In my tween years, I flitted between fantasies of being a movie critic, a TV columnist, a pop culture essayist and a comic book writer. And thanks in great part to the publication you now hold in your hands, I've gotten to try a little of all of these things (well, not comics — my brain just doesn't work that way). I still like to write, obviously, but I think I've gotten that pipe dream out of my system.
Unlike quite a few of my friends here, I didn't come to LA with the dream of being a TV writer. But if I had — if any part of my inner child still pined for that — it would be quashed now. Because being an aspiring writer in Hollywood sucks. Big time.
To be anything in Hollywood, really, you need two things above all others: complete faith in your abilities and absolute single-mindedness. You can't become a successful writer in your spare time when you really want to act. That's why so many aspiring writers and actors are waiters and baristas: those jobs require absolutely nothing from you (and the schedule is flexible). You need to be giving it your all, 24/7.
You need to network constantly, handing out business cards and screenplays, until you score an agent or manager. Then, you and your agent team up to pass your scripts to everyone else in town with the power to say yes including the execs I work for at my non-"HIMYM" internship, in comedy development at 20th Century Fox Studios.
My boss, Jonny, is the senior VP of comedy who, with his designer eyeglasses and pale Oxford shirts, could have been an extra in "American Psycho" (2000). He curses like a sailor at his assistant, drinks Diet Coke from mini cans,and says things like "Perrier me." And if you want to get a script produced by one of the six major studios, you have to go through guys like him. Actually, you first have to go through people like me, the intern — if Jonny asks me to read something and I don't like it, that's for the most part the end of it.
If you've been asked to pitch to Jonny and gotten the magical okay, it's his job to turn around and pitch your project to one of the networks. Jonny's department has sold shows to CBS ("HIMYM"), ABC ("Modern Family") and NBC ("My Name Is Earl") as well as Fox.
But because of the sheer number of projects in play, it's likely that all of the networks pass, a pilot never gets made and you have to start all over again next pitch season, unless someone likes you enough to make you a staff writer on another show.
In short, it's a punishing process with an astronomical rate of failure. You thought getting into Tufts was hard? Try competing against half of Los Angeles (at least) to get a pilot made, and then try getting that pilot picked up, and then try getting eight million people to watch your show. Try moving out west as a bright-eyed 22-year-old, only to face your sad future in the face of your 35-year-old Sketch Comedy 101 classmate.
No, I'm serious — try it. Because if, in the face of all this adversity, you still think you have something to offer the world of television, we need you. I mean, have you seen TV lately? Come west. We need you.
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Rebecca Goldberg is a junior majoring in American studies. She can be reached at Rebecca.Goldberg@tufts.edu
