What happens at a General

I just did a whirlwind of general meetings, so I thought it might help others if gave a vague description of how they go down for people who haven't gotten there yet.

Note these are GENERALS. Generals are meetings that happen when someone reads your script, likes it, and wants to meet you. The idea is to develop a relationship with a producer you may get to work with in the future. It's your grand introduction to the town.

Pitch meetings are different. This is not about pitch meetings.

So you go on the studio lot or into the building, depending on where you are, and the assistant will shake your hand and ask you if you'd like something to drink. Of course you take a water. I've never tried asking for anything else.

Some studios will offer an ice cold bottle, some a glass with water from some mysterious source. Sometimes it will be room temperature. Sometimes it will be in a plastic cup. Sometimes nobody will remember to offer you anything, but most of the time they'll hand you a bottle. Either way, if there's water, take it. You'll be talking a lot. But, especially if you live in the valley like I do and will be in traffic for an hour after this meeting, clock the bathrooms as soon as you walk in. Otherwise you'll be peeing in a Ralph's on the way home.


So after the assistant hands you a water, they will call the boss who will bring you into his office or a conference room of some kind. I've noticed that usually the couch is for you, the chair is for them, but not always.

They will tell you they read your script and thought it was great. Sometimes that's all they'll say; sometimes they'll lavish you with praise. Drink that shit in. I like the ego boost, so I just let them tell me all the reasons I'm awesome and then say thank you.

Sometimes they'll ask you about yourself. They'll ask about your job, how you got to LA, how long you've been writing, what made you think of this idea, how you got your rep... If you have an interesting job like, say, teaching public high school, sometimes they'll ask about that too.

Then they'll get to what kind of projects you want to write. I usually throw out a couple of examples of the kind of my favorite films in my genre so they know where to point their ideas. This usually leads to a discussion of how awesome those particular movies are.

This is my favorite part of the conversation, because it gives us both a chance to be the film nerds we truly are. I've had some really great discussions with execs about why certain great movies work, and what I'd like to see in movies of the future.

Sometimes, that's the meeting. We met, we wooed, and then I went home with my half empty bottle of water.

Sometimes they'll pitch you something. They have a list of ideas they're working on, and after they've met you they'll give you a project they've been thinking about so you can go home and ponder it.

Sometimes they'll let you pitch an idea. They'll tell you what they're looking for, and if you've got anything like that in your script stable, bust it out. Initially I had this one awesome idea I'd pitch to everyone, but it became pretty clear that each studio is looking for something different. Some are more broad comedy guys, some are looking for the unusual and creative, some want you to do more of what you just did. So I now have a few ideas ready to throw out depending on the tenor of the room.

Often they want to know what you're working on now, so be working on something. Sometimes they'll ask to read it when you're finished.

They'll wind it all up, give you a business card, and shake your hand. And that's the meeting.

Sometimes they'll go for 15 minutes, sometimes an hour; it just depends on the purpose of the meeting and what kind of exec you're dealing with.

And that's how general meetings work.

Meetings, part 2

I had a lull in meeting activity last week, but I'm back on. This is fun. These people made movies I love - some of them movies I've loved since I was a little sapling - and here I am going into their offices, surrounded by posters of these films, talking about myself and writing and awesome movies for an hour.

That's my favorite part of the meetings: when we start talking about why movies are great. There's a reason I became an English teacher. I get to talk about how awesome stories are all day long and children are forced to listen to me. At these meetings I get to do that with people who actually want to be there. It's terrific.

I've settled into my pre-meeting planning to help me relax a bit before I go into the office. I wear an outfit that makes me feel cool - usually a leather motorcycle jacket, jeans, boots or sandals with kitten heels, and some laid back style top (long sweater and a tank top, sheer shirt over a tank top, something else over a tank top). I put on the good makeup and usually put my hair in a ponytail because I look younger with my hair up, and my goal is to try to look as close to 18 as possible so everyone thinks I'm a prodigy.

Today my hair is down, though, because I'm having a great hair day and you don't want to blow one of those with a ponytail. They come along so rarely.

Usually in the car I listen to NPR, but on the way to the meeting I CRANK whatever song will give me the most joy. Today I'm going to blast the Meatloaf Bat Out of Hell album. That way, by the time I get where I'm going, I'm not mad about traffic or parking or politics, I'm just overjoyed at belting lyrics at the top of my lungs.

So far, that method has paid off. I feel happy and full of sparky energy when I go into the office. Because nobody wants to spend an hour talking to Debbie Downer, or that sweaty guy who wears a track suit every day.

On the walk to the office, I've been overwhelmed with nervous butterflies, but I use that walk to remind myself of how awesome I am. Because doggone it, these people are going to like me.

And that's how I walk into that office with perfect posture, a smile on my face and a wink in my eye.

Next time, I'll talk about parking, the receptionist, and how to find the bathroom.

Meetings: Part 1

Now is the time when I go to meetings. I haven't done too many yet; I hope to fill my calendar with them in the coming year. These are great meetings because I'm just going in to chat with people, make sure we like each other, see if they have any projects for which I'd be a good fit.

Driving on a studio lot is cool. I've been on the Warner Brothers lot before as somebody's guest at one of those bi-annual sales where they sell off all the shit left over from old TV shows and movies, but I've never been on a lot in any kind of official capacity.

So when I drove on a lot the other day, I admit I got a little giddy. I've seen enough movies to know how you're supposed to act, so I just pretended this was like any other day for me when I told the guards where I was headed. It's a nice feeling when your name is on a list. And not a list of people who've been banned from Putt putt for climbing the fake rocks.

Anyway, I took the water like everybody else, but the problem with drinking water during a meeting in an unfamiliar place is that I always have to ask where the bathroom is. And in all that talk about water bottles, here's something nobody ever mentioned before: Tip the valet a dollar. I had to ask some guy who was standing next to me waiting for his car.

I've got another meeting this week - thankfully within a short distance of my house this time so I won't be in traffic for an hour, not that I mind, then another at the end of the month. I'm excited about both meetings, and I hope they shove another one in there soon.

Meanwhile, I'm writing, writing, writing, and finding ways to avoid grading papers.

Update on my first paying gig, eventually I hope

I didn't want to post about this because it reveals my foolishness, but then some dude on some other blog was like oooooh Emily Blake always tells us about her experiences and she's really honest and shit.

Screw you, nice guy.

Know how when you first write your very first screenplay and you think it's the best thing ever and you just kind of reread it and bask in its awesome and then you're like OKAY HOLLYWOOD HERE I COME! And you run around asking everybody how you get an agent because you heard the agent was the thing you had to have to get this baby out to Danny Boyle (You may say Spielberg, I say Danny Boyle) and the rest is fame and glory weeeeeeeeee!

For years now I've been past that stage, all giving out wisdom and shit, shaking my head at the cute new writers and remembering when I was ever so naive and thought the world would clamor for my attention if only I finished this first great script. Thank goodness I'm beyond that stage, right?

So here's what I learned from my project with the producers. It starts all over again.

Also, I am retarded. I learned that too. (Sorry, Sarah Palin.)

My manager sent me to a meeting. I rocked the meeting. The producers didn't take any pitches from me, but they threw a bunch of ideas my way to see what I connected with. At first I thought I had to agree to everything, but after a few suggestions I realized I could say no to some ideas if I wanted. In fact I was offered the opportunity to pitch a rewrite on one of my very favorite shows of all time, but it is not anywhere near my comfort zone genre wise, so I turned it down. I would have betrayed a great show by attempting it, so I leave it to more appropriate heads than my own.

I'll tell you one thing I did learn at this meeting. BE YOURSELF, although Myself is awesome I didn't have to try too hard. Okay so I've only had one meeting, but I did very well at that meeting so I feel like this is totally sound advice. I'm ready for other meetings. Bring that shit on.

I have a slight advantage, though. My day to day activities involve standing in front of teenagers and keeping their attention long enough to explain dramatic irony and whatnot. Talking to people about movies in a comfy chair, not too hard after that.

Anyhow, the producers threw an idea at me that I resonated with and they were like "Okay! Let's do it!"

This is what I heard laced between those words: "We believe in you so much that we want you to go off and write a treatment for WGA minimum and then we'll hire you to write the script for more money and then we'll take it to the company we have a deal with and then you're gonna get another job and OMG you'll be awesome as hell! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

This is what they heard implied in those words: "So go write a treatment, and we'll give you some notes and then see what happens."

I wrote my treatment. Now I'm waiting for notes. This isn't a dead end project or anything; these producers are the real deal and they do have a freaking awesome office and a deal with a studio. But what I realized is that I have to prove myself. First I had to prove myself worthy of a rep, then of a meeting, now of a project. Constant proof. Constant feelings of inadequacy.

Pro writers told me this, but I was so focused on getting the rep that I missed that part of the story. I had to learn the hard way.

I'm not worried. I'm still on the right path, I'm just not going to be rushing in guns blazing any time soon. This is the slow and steady path.

What to wear

I'm starting to examine my wardrobe. Right now it consists of workout pants and teacher clothes and not a whole lot in between. Yesterday I ended up in a situation where I was surrounded by extremely expensive dresses and a couple of stylists - they weren't for me - and I caught myself in the mirror and saw my Old Navy / Gap combination with my Sketchers and I thought "Oh dear. I look like I'm 20 still." And that was an outfit I wear to work, even.

My fanciest dress comes from Nordstrom. My fanciest piece comes from this sale they had once at Bebe and it was marked down to $15. Actually I don't know if I own any clothes I didn't get on sale.

Who knows, maybe that will work in my favor? I walk into a meeting with a head-to-toe Gap outfit and a cute smile and they'll think I'm some kind of teenage genius.

And then when I get invited to all those fancy premieres and Emmys and shit and Joan Rivers will be all "Who are you wearing? And also, who are you?" and I'll be like "Target Izaak Misrahi, baby, and also I'm the writer," and do a twirl as she turns to find someone more important and better dressed.

In the meantime, I'm supposed to wear a T-Shirt to my meeting, right? Should I wear a nicer T-Shirt with flowers on it, or the T-Shirt that says "Zombies only want you for your brains"? And jeans or slacks? How slovenly is the writer supposed to look? And can you even wear slacks with a zombie T-Shirt? Is that allowed?

I should probably be working on my next screenplay, but right now my wardrobe is foremost on my mind. I should probably stop watching What Not To Wear.