Then you wait for the answer and when it comes quickly with something like: “Sure, send it over, I’ll read it right away,” you’re so grateful you consider giving the person a kidney. The other possible responses are: “I will, but I can’t get to it for a while. I’m on a deadline,” or “I’m totally swamped and it’s just not a good time,” or “I’ll read it after I finish my draft,” or even the kiss of death: “I’ll read it, but you know I never really thought it was a great idea for a (screenplay, pilot,” etc.) The only answer you want it is “Send it over. Can’t wait to read it.”
And then you wait. You could chat with the person on a subsequent call about their marital or financial woes, a parent with dementia going into a nursing home, who’s going to win in November, the situation in Syria, but all you’re really thinking is: “Have you read it yet, you bastard? Don’t you know I’m dying here?” But it would be unseemly to ask. So you wait.
One type of script favor can end a relationship, or at least tarnish it for quite a while. Here’s how it goes: you call someone you know, who’s not in your inner circle, but a person whose work you greatly respect. You ask if they’ll read your draft. They respond with enthusiasm and tell you to send it right away. It ends one of two ways. The first is that they never call again. Horrible. The other, and this has happened to me, is that they call and say something like: “I read your draft and I think it’s great. You have something really special here. Don’t send it in to your (agent, studio, network) yet, because I have some thoughts that I think will really make it even better. I know exactly what it needs. I’m on my way to the airport to (get an award, see my sick mother, go on vacation to Hawaii) and I’ll be back next week. I’ll call you the minute I’m back and we’ll get together. So excited about this. Really. It’s just terrific.” And then… they never call again. You call a few times. Nothing. You see them at parties and they dodge you like they owe you money. And finally, you let it go.
Now we’re back to your real friends… the ones who WILL respond, but haven’t yet. So you wait. You try not to think about it, but you’re anxious to get it out there and sell it. You wait some more. And when that call finally comes… “Hey, so I read the draft…” your heart lurches because any sentence that begins with “Hey” can conceivably not be followed by “It’s absolutely great.” Sometimes it is, but often, there are other responses like: “It’s really good, but it’s not quite there yet.” Oh, I hate that one. Or… “I like it, but I have some thoughts.” Now you’re thinking: ‘why did I become friends with this person in the first place? He’s always been an asshole with no taste and what the hell do I care what he thinks anyway?”
So here’s the good news and the bad news. The good news is you can get some valuable and helpful notes from your friends. After all, they’re skilled writers and you respect them. The bad news is there’s always a risk of compromising the friendship. It’s hard to love someone when they don’t love your family – be it kids, dogs or other offspring like your script. But you accept their notes gratefully and with absolute humility. And then you sit down to do another pass.
And maybe even another. It’s much better, you think. And of course now you want more validation to confirm what you already know is true. Why? Because writers are really insecure. Praise only means something if it comes from someone else. So, the whole process starts again. “Uh, so I really appreciated your notes and they really helped me. I know I already told you, but I just felt the need to tell you again. And like I said, I’m totally here for you whenever you want me to read… oh, you do? Yeah, of course. Absolutely. Send it over. I’ll read it right away. Can’t wait. And by the way, I did another draft. Do you think you could maybe take a look at it? Maybe not even read the whole thing. Just the (teaser, first act, last twenty pages) Oh my god… you’re kidding. He died? When? Are you going to the funeral? Wow. That’s awful. I know, he was Mikey’s godfather, but you’re really going all the way to Maine? You’re an incredible friend. I know he’d do it for you, but still, that’s a really sweet gesture. I’m so sorry for your loss. So – could you read it on the plane?
And now… not only do you have to wait for more notes, but you have to read HIS DRAFT. If it’s brilliant, you hate yourself and the writer. Envy is an ugly, if ubiquitous emotion in this town. If another’s script is lousy, you’re heartened by the fact that maybe your draft isn’t so bad after all. But there’s also the other side: you clearly see what’s wrong with your friend’s draft and know absolutely how to make it better. You’re not so clueless after all.
Why is it that we’re so clear on what’s wrong with the work of others, but when it comes to our own, we just can’t see it? I’ve often felt, upon finishing a draft that I need a few days to digest it and let it settle. Then I can re-visit it with a clearer head. But even then, often, the best I can do is change some words, drop some lines, check the typos and maybe cut a page or two out of it. It’s hard for me to see the structural and thematic issues that may need fixing. So, I call up a few friends and the cycle begins again.
We’ve all been through the same process – network notes, studio notes — which are sometimes the worst kind of notes, like: “I don’t like her enough. Why do I care about her?” Or “I like it, but I don’t love it.” Or my own personal favorite: “It’s just not funny enough.” Nothing makes you not want to be funny like someone saying your script isn’t funny enough. It doesn’t make you want to write jokes. It makes you want to commit a felony.
So, since we’ve all been through it, you hope your friends’ notes will be different. And usually they are. They’re thoughtful, comprehensive, specific and always designed to help. I find the notes my friends give me invaluable. And yet, deep down, all you really want is for them to tell you it’s fucking brilliant. Don’t change a word. I guess that’s just the way we are as writers. We’re such babies. We know it. We laugh about it. And still we keep calling up our friends with variations of the same supplication.
So, what to do? Well, the easy answer is to never give your drafts to friends. Problem solved. But no one works in a vacuum in this town. Notes are invaluable. When they’re good, they really help. We all want the best draft possible to go to people who can buy it, and when it’s our own work, it’s hard to be objective and see the flaws. So the hard answer is we need our friends’ input and clear perspective. They’re friends. We love them. We trust them.
But there’s one rule: don’t ever give a draft to someone you know who doesn’t really get your work and will invariably say they don’t like it. That’s an exercise in futility and masochism. But do give it to people who get you – and are really in it to help you improve an already good idea. Toughen your skin. Listen with an open mind. Notes from friends are a gift. The bottom line is: friends will read your stuff. They may not love it, but they will usually give you solid notes that can improve it. And when the same note comes from two or more people, take it very seriously. They’re probably right.