Developing My First TV Show

A Bill & Ted Excellent Adventure

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While finishing this post, the Writers Guild of America went on strike for a better slice of the pie for its members. They say timing is everything! So, we have suspended our work—and I hope all support the WGA in its campaign! Here's the piece in its pre-strike form:

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As many of you may have noticed, there's been a lull in my WorkCraft profiles, chiefly because I am in the thick of conceptualizing and creating my first television show. Every day I hop onto a 1 pm Zoom call with two professional TV writers as we hammer out the pitch. It's absolute smash-bang-up-fun, so I wanted to share what it looks like as I learn on the job. As none of this is public, I'll be vague on the story details and my partners-in-crime.

Now a little background. I’ve been writing non-fiction narrative books for over two decades. I love the process, roughly 18 months of research and interviews, then this same period to write, edit, and revise before sending a draft to my publisher. After fifteen books, I have a solid routine and set of practices. There’s little doubt at the beginning whether I’ll reach the end, and I seldom strain my work ‘muscles’ to get there. That’s not to say it’s easy—or that it is absent of surprises or enjoyment—but like any task you do often enough, it becomes innate. 

With my books, I’ve been fortunate to make a nice living. Part of that has come through optioning the film/tv rights. Essentially, you sell an 18-24 month exclusive window to a producer/studio to develop the drama; if it goes into production, then they buy the rights for a multiple of the original option payment. When I made my first deal with THE PERFECT MILE, contracting with Universal Studios and handing off the story to a well-known screenwriter, I was sure I'd see our four-minute milers on the silver screen. I'd even get a tuxedoed walk on the Oscar red carpet. Then reality set in. There were meetings and scripts to read, rewrites and re-ups on the option, but no film. Eventually, it died on the vine. Some version of the same, including some heart-breaking near misses, have since followed with all my books. It's a familiar story. Often the bridesmaid, rarely the bride. Four of my titles continue to be under development in Hollywood. I'm still hopeful they will get their chance, but I'm not banking on fame and fortune from them either.

Throughout this time, I was fascinated by the development process and made friends with a few of the screenwriters hired to adapt my work. Several years ago, I even tried my hand at scriptwriting, which I enjoyed, but I was doing it in half-measures, still laboring simultaneously on my books. Pretty soon, I was back solely to the latter.

Like many of us, I found the pandemic a double-edged sword. On one side, it was an enormous impediment to my work. My last book FASTER published in March 2020, the first month of the shutdown when bookstores were closed, and even Amazon wasn't delivering ‘non-essentials’. My ability to research my next project, the story of Gandhi's 1930 salt march, was also hobbled.

On the other edge of this proverbial sword, the pandemic offered the opportunity to return to mothballed projects/ideas and explore new avenues. One of these—a riff on an old idea matched with a new venue—led to the development of my first TV show.

Here's how it unfolded. First, I had the idea for a novel series. Yes, fiction, but in the world of espionage where I have spent a lot of time with my books on the hunt for Adolf Eichmann and the mission to stop the Nazi atomic bomb. Late last year, I sold the TV rights to this fiction series, but this time I pushed to participate in its development instead of simply optioning the rights away. Thanks to my crack film agent and my excellent lawyer, the production company (let's call them: Foolhardy Films) that optioned the series offered me the opportunity.

That's when the fear entrenched itself nicely underneath my solar plexus. One, I had never developed and pitched a TV show before. Two, I needed to learn how. Three, I had yet to write my novel; it was just a lengthy proposal. I felt involved in a three-strikes-and-you're-out situation.

Foolhardy Films wisely decided to team me up with a pair of experienced writers/showrunners. Let's call them Bill and Ted because we are on an excellent adventure together (not that they were loveable buffoons). Last month, we met over Zoom. B&T talked about the process, expectations, and how the collaboration would work. After the call, I sent them my current work-in-progress and an extensive outline. A week later, they returned with a long note of their own, detailing how they envisioned the season arc, changes to characters, and a first blush idea of how the pilot episode would unfold.

The season arc tethered to my own, but B&T added some tentpole moments to punctuate the narrative timeline. That meant dividing the season into four parts. By the end of episode 3, big character-defining moment. Same with episodes 6 & 9 & 12 (the finale). Over a dozen episodes, they were creating four mini-series within the larger season. Nothing earth-shattering about this breakdown, but I liked it. B&T also suggested adding several characters, providing more storylines to follow. They also wanted a central location where these characters could interact. We then set up daily Zoom calls over the next two weeks to engage with these ideas, shape them, and create the pitch.   

This was where the refreshing change—and genuine fun began. Working alone, I'm in this constant conversation inside my head about whether an idea is a good one or not. Does this structure work? Should I end here or there? Is that midpoint weak—or robust? Am I emphasizing this character too little or too much? Does that beginning fly or flail? It's impossible to be objective. Initial ideas tend to be embraced without challenge. Often decisions are based on one’s mood: good mood=genius idea; bad mood=you're-an-idiot. Writing solo also tends to keep me within the mental ruts I have developed over decades, whether that's how I structure plot, introduce characters, set scenes, shape conflict, position backstory, or whatever.

Collaborating with Bill and Ted turned all of this on its head. I’ve never been a musician, but I imagine the experience is akin to working as a solo artist versus within a band. Pushing this metaphor, it’s like playing in a jazz band. Everything was improvisation, riffing off one person’s idea, courting messy plotlines, taking intuitive leaps, and throwing preconceived notions away. It was uncomfortable and uncertain and exhilarating.

For example, we were hashing out where to set the refuge for our characters. One thought was the apartment of our octogenarian "Agent 86". It could be a quirky, ominous place. Bill suggested we try someplace a little more fun. A bar, Ted said. Think of an old speakeasy. This led to my thought bubble: how about an old-school bowling alley? There can be a bar, some hijinx in the lanes, and it's an expansive enough place that our characters can have privacy if needed. Agent 86 could live above it, Ted offered. Suddenly, there was unanimity. "That's perfect," said Bill. "Fun," said Ted. In the novel, I had never even thought of having such a place for my characters to reassemble and hash out their next moves. Now we had one that rooted them in a familiar place with so much possibility for interaction and movement. It was not the invention of cold fusion, but the iterative process felt like a path of discovery all the same.

Over the next two weeks, there were dozens of these moments. It was often hard for my "blue sky" ideas to be shot down. In my typical line of work, I usually wait years for my book to come out before realizing I’m not as smart or clever as I thought. I found it challenging to see some of my original plotline and characters altered (at times, it felt more like mangled) right in front of me. Some were cast aside entirely. B&T had to watch me learn diplomacy on the fly, but ultimately, our collective minds created a better, richer storyline.

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I'll leave you there. The strike arrested our progress on the show. We had reached the point of writing out the pitch. In follow-up posts, I'll detail the continuation of the development. Hopefully, it will be soon, but on the other side of an improved deal between the WGA and studios/streamers. To learn more about the negotiations and why writers have gone on strike, please check out wga.org and support those who bring you compelling stories.

My best,

Neal