Process #7: Silence

When everything goes quiet. Too quiet.

This post has nothing to do with Simon & Garfunkel or their song. I just wanted a photo to go with all the words. And I do wonder why they seem to be running away from the photographer.

Silence.  I confess the Hey, Writer Guy machine has been a tad silent as of late.  The only real excuse I have is: sometimes life.

But this self-imposed silence is, I guess, a perfect introduction when writing about the silences that are imposed upon you.

And true, I’m cheating, just a bit, by calling this part of the Process series I’ve been inflicting on the world; my randomly accessed thoughts on the way I do the things I do in my day job, as a writer.

But The Silence is definitely part of the Process, in a tangential but also very tangible way.  Because at the heart of the Process is communication. And sometimes the communication is not as good as it could be. And sometimes the solution to this is, seemingly, very easy. Yet, too often, the solution is not implemented, for whatever reasons.

Probably the best way for me to clarify that non-sensical slew of sentences is to start explaining myself with what might be called the SUD (Silence Upon Delivery).

The SUD is what happens when a writer delivers the work they have been (ideally) commissioned to write.  No matter how many times you’ve danced this particular dance, delivering a piece of work is always a momentous moment, in the Process.  This is when things shift from the work existing solely in the writer’s world, to where it exists in a wider world, where others will have these things called “opinions” about the work.

This is when the personal becomes public.

The SUD is unavoidable.  It takes time for the work to be distributed, studied and talked about, before the proper response is agreed upon.  We all know this to be a fact of the matter – a part of the Process.

This does not make the SUD any easier for the writer.  Any writer I know, worth their salt, takes their work personally.  You can’t just deliver and turn off your emotional attachment to that piece of work.  So, the longer The Silence goes on, the more certain the writer becomes that everyone hates what you have delivered.  Yes, it is illogical.  But it also makes perfect sense if you are a writer who has ever delivered anything.

And yet there are simple ways the SUD can be made more bearable. A “thanks for this, we’ll get back to you as soon as possible” email on the day of delivery is an easy and logical first step.  Yet it is also one that, remarkably, sometimes never eventuates.

If the SUD goes on for a few days, a follow-up email along the lines of “sorry for the delay, we’re just wrangling everyone’s thoughts, stand very by,” can help.  It doesn’t even have to be true, but it is better than the email the writer probably has in their heads, along the lines of “sorry for the delay, but your script is complete dogshit and we don’t know where to start in expressing just how truly awful it is.”

Another great way to mitigate the SUD, if this is a commissioned piece of work, is to pay the delivery part of the contract quickly and without question. Getting paid is the perfect way to keep writerly paranoia at bay.  

[And payments should always be “on delivery”.  Anyone who tries to play the “on acceptance” game is utter scum, in my humble professional opinion.]

Ultimately the best way for a company or a network or any entity to make the SUD a less horrible experience is by responding in a well-timed manner.  Even if you do think the script is dogshit, at least saying so sooner rather than later is moving the Process on.  Suck it up and have the meeting.  It probably won’t be fun, but at least the SUD will be done.

The Silence, however, can be expressed in much more insidious ways than the straight-up SUD.  In fact, most of the time, for writers in this industry, The Silence comes as a result of who we are and what we do.

Historically writers have always been the outliers in the film and television production process.  Yes, thanks to the rise of the concept of the showrunner, there are some of us who are actively engaged on all levels of making a show, but often the writer will always the first on/first off member of the crew; the one who no-one recognises at the wrap party.

If they get invited to the wrap party at all. 

And the crew photo. 

Oh, the fun conversations I’ve had over the years, with production offices, trying to make sure the writing team are included in crew invite lists.  Or asking them why the writers weren’t on the list, after the event.  The saddest thing about this variant of The Silence is that most of the writers I know are fond of a good party and while they are usually not pretty like actors, they can scrub up reasonably well for the team photo if given enough advance warning.

But the worst and most insidious version of The Silence is the silence that befalls you when you fall outside of that thing called The Loop.

Back in the day, a long, long time ago, the first show I ever created for TV – CityLife – was crashing and burning around us.  It was back in the time when networks ordered heaps of episodes, so we were still shooting amidst the carnage.  As an esteemed Associate Producer I even had my own office in the production office.  Ah, the power. A writer in the actual building.

One morning I turned up at the office to find the place deserted.  I wandered the empty, silent halls, looking for signs of life.  There were none. Sure, things weren’t going great on air, but to disappear the entire production team was extreme, even by TVNZ standards.

Eventually I tracked everyone down, in the break room, listening to the head of the production company tell them that the show was being bumped out of prime time, to a graveyard timeslot.

No one had thought to alert the creator/writer that this was happening.  Even my exalted Associate Producer status did not grant me access to The Loop.

I wish I could write this off as an isolated incident. A breakdown in communication. But not being in The Loop is something that has followed me throughout my so-called career. I have a not inconsiderable collection of “we thought you knew” emails and texts, that have stretched through the years, to this very day.

Of course, the possibility this is actually all about me is something that hangs over the conversation.  I do like to try and keep a low profile when possible, which probably doesn’t help.  Do the mahi and then let others get on with their mahi, I say.

And I definitely do not like being on set. The set is the domain of the director and the 1^st AD.  If I am on set actors come up to me to try and overturn directorial decisions that are not keen on. Which puts me in an awkward position, even if I do agree with them. No, I feel if the writer is on set, then something is not going to plan.

Also being on set is incredibly boring if you have no actual job to do.

But even if I am, by nature, easily overlooked, The Silence is still a very real thing.  It is an inevitable part of being a writer in a world where your work then goes on to become the work of many others. 

It is easy for the originator to get lost in the Process.

The solution is also easy.  Remember that there is someone who created this thing you’re busy making.  Keep them informed.  Make them feel like they belong, even long after things have moved beyond them. The bottom line is it is Politeness 101 to acknowledge the writer exists, in a timely and consistent fashion. Say no to The Silence.

Yes, we writers can be a pain in the arse. And yes, there are times when will be difficult to work with, because we are engineered to care about what we create.

But none of us deserve The Silence, because The Silence is a horrible, horrible dark and scary place.