Some rapes occur at parties and are perpetrated by a person the victim knows.

In my last year at film school, I was required to obtain an entertainment industry mentor, someone who would shepherd me into Hollywood. One night my parents went to a party and happened to meet a very successful director/actor. Hoping to aid me in my burgeoning career as a screenwriter, my folks brought me up as a topic of discussion. The gentleman offered to meet me for lunch. I met him a few days later in Beverly Hills at the Four Seasons Hotel lounge. He cut an imposing figure in a back corner booth but when I approached him his smile and demeanor were disarming. In our first of many lunches, he issued sound advice:

“As a writer, you need to write. Your friends and others are going to try to distract you, inviting you to go to parties and hang out. You’ll be tempted, but the greatest thing you can do for yourself and for your career is say, ‘No’.”

I took it to heart. After all, he was now my mentor. Why would he lie?

We built up significant rapport. A few lunches later, he came to me with a project. He had a financial commitment from a studio and was in need of a feature script for an idea he wanted to direct. He thought it would be an excellent opportunity for us to collaborate, for me to establish myself in the business and make money writing. I jumped at it. We met a few times to discuss the story and in the pitch meeting with the backers about a week later, we knocked the ball out of the park. He called me at home the next morning to say he had negotiated my writing fee and that I should be getting $25,000 upon successful delivery of the script. There was one caveat – the backers were fast-tracking production and needed the script in four weeks.

Was I going to say no? Of course not! In good faith, I hunkered down and delivered the script, rewriting as I went along, in four weeks. It was a record for me and I was proud of it until I read somewhere that Spike Lee wrote “Do The Right Thing” in three weeks. During this time, I had to capitalize on the heat generated by my association with my mentor and the project. It was time for representation. I called an agent at The Gersh Agency who had read one of my earlier scripts and expressed interest in me. He agreed to take me on as a client.

In hindsight, I should have seen trouble on the horizon when my agent couldn’t nail down an agreement and a check from the backers. But I was green and glad to be in a bit of demand – my agent encouraged me to keep working with my mentor should any other opportunities arise.

After all, he was my mentor. Why would he lie?

While waiting for my check, my mentor asked me to collaborate on an idea for a direct-to-DVD series. He was going to produce and direct and he wanted me to spearhead assembling a team of writers to pen the pilot and subsequent episodes. He was then going shoot the pilot and use it to gain distribution. He assured me, based on his analysis of the market for this type of series, that the payoff would be huge.

Was I going to say no? Of course not! In good faith, I called upon several of my film school contemporaries to join me on the project. Everyone was still looking for his or her big break and I thought I was in a significant position to provide it. We all met my mentor for dinner at a fantastic Chinese restaurant to discuss goals and expectations. The sumptuous meal included a live lobster being brought to the table for our approval before being boiled alive and diced into the main course – oh, the irony!

The writers I assembled on the project, including myself, worked diligently to craft a great pilot script and a story bible for future episodes. My mentor expressed excitement and satisfaction at our hard work and said distribution – as well as compensation – was imminent.

He was a mentor. Why would he lie?

As our relationship continued I was asked to participate in at least three other projects. Most often I’d be asked to sit in a room with my mentor and other “producers” and develop stories then go off and write them based on everyone’s notes. In retrospect, these so-called producers were nothing more than sycophantic associates of my mentor, who brought him ideas but had little story sense; they simply didn’t want to be cut out of any deals that might be made.

I grew increasingly frustrated at the amount of writing I was doing based on the guarantee of money that never materialized. I voiced this frustration to my agent, who coaxed me to keep working. On one particular project for cable television, my mentor asked me for a show treatment. He took the treatment into network, pitched it to them and called me after the meeting.

“Merry Christmas, I just got you five thousand dollars!” he said.

I never got the money. It began to dawn on me that this was his modus operandi. He would get me to develop his ideas on the promise of “money in the bank”, get me to work some more and when I became exasperated, he assured me money was on the way.

He was a mentor. And he was lying.

He called me one day to say that there was a breakthrough on the direct-to-DVD project and could I meet him at his house in the Palisades – a posh beach enclave overlooking the ocean. When I arrived, the usual sycophants were there. He launched into his need for re-doubled efforts on the writing front, requiring scripts as soon as possible. I told him I couldn’t do anymore writing until I was paid for all the other work I had done.

He said, “You’ll get your money as soon as I get it from the distributors”.

“No.” I said.

“What you’re not understanding…” he chided, “is that it’s not about the fucking money.”

“If it’s not about the money, then just pay me,” I said.

Then my mentor did something he had never done in all of the time I had known him. He raised his voice.

“This business turns on relationships. And you’re never going to be shit in this business because you don’t understand that!”

“I do understand that,” I retorted. “And if you value our relationship and want it to continue, then pay me the fucking money you promised me!”

I got up and walked out. I drove away from the Palisades proud of myself that I had stood my ground. I called my agent that night to tell him that my relationship with my mentor was terminated.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “This business is about relationships.”

I asked him what good a relationship was if it was built on broken promises? He told me something fruitful was eventually going to come out of it if I just hung in there. I don’t know about that, but what I do know is that I was being raped by someone I knew – someone who, to this day, I cannot watch in a movie he has acted in or directed. What I also know is had I not stood up for myself that day, I would have eventually regretted being passive. Thankfully, that is a regret I do not have.

He did, however, teach me a great lesson – as a writer, I need to write. And sometimes the most valuable thing I can do for myself and my career is say “No”.

Hi everybody,

Sorry I’ve been away from this for awhile. I hope to never have that long of an absence again. Here is my latest post and thanks for reading and for your great comments.

So the federal government recently cracked down on “for profit” colleges – schools that issue degrees in technical fields supposedly in high demand and promise a high-paying career and a new lease on life. The reason for the crackdown? The schools are graduating students saddled with loan debt and no high-paying job prospects. So here’s my question:

Do film schools qualify for the crackdown?

When I heard this report on the radio, I thought about my years in Graduate School. Film schools aren’t much different than the culinary, beauty and “train to be a Medical Assistant” schools the government has determined need to be reined in. All these schools charge exorbitant tuition and make the same promise of wealth, a lasting career and a better existence. Upon further reflection, perhaps film schools are more egregious because they thrive on a formula of “dreams plus successful matriculation equals fame and fortune” with little-to-no mention of the astronomical odds of success.

This isn’t going to be an USC-bashing blog post. I bleed ‘Trojan blood” and my two years at USC were some of the best in my life; the culmination of a lifelong dream. In the 1970s, my cousin, Dr. Donald Reed, started the Academy of Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror Films – a pioneering organization for genre films underrepresented in Hollywood at the time. His organization still exists and its “Saturn Award” remains a highly respected industry trophy. When I was a kid, my first exposure to film was through my cousin’s weekly film screenings at USC’s Norris Theater. I was fascinated by the University and made the vow that I was going to go to college there. My grades weren’t good enough for college, however, based on my burgeoning screenwriting talent, I was accepted into the prestigious, competitive School of Cinema-Television (now the School of Cinematic Arts) Graduate Screenwriting Program. I was one of only twenty-eight students accepted that year and the only African-American male.

My time at USC was glorious. Watching movies in same theater I sat in as a kid. Learning the history of film and the craft of writing from the best minds in the business. There was absolutely nothing better. The University even made it possible for me to see one of my ideas brought to life on the big screen – a short film about a drug-addled Jazz musician. So, I’m not discouraging film school at all. It’s a great place for gestating talent and cultivating relationships that will hopefully translate into future success. My issue with film schools can be summed up by the old saying, “It’s not about what’s said, it’s all about the unsaid”. Say nothing of the fact that two years of student loans equals twenty-four years of steady repayment (do your best to never take a deferment!), but in those two years, I can only remember one occasion when we were given an idea of how difficult it could be to achieve success in screenwriting.

On the last day of classes, the late John Furia, Jr., then Chair of the Writing Division, made a culminating speech. He emphasized the need for us all to make a five-year plan for success. At the end of five years, he suggested we evaluate our benchmarks of success and consider extending the five-year plan into a ten-year plan. Prior to his suggestion, I don’t remember anyone discussing in any great detail the perils of the journey we were undertaking. If they had, we probably would have listened with a jaundiced ear. The steady diet of positive re-enforcement we received over those two years made everyone believe to varying degrees that “failure is a possibility but success is imminent”. In hindsight, the reverse is true – success as a screenwriter is a possibility but the possibility of failure looms large.

There is a federal law called the TILA or “Truth In Lending Act” that exists to promote the informed use of consumer credit. Basically, a bank can’t give you a loan without telling you that you must pay the money back. In investing, there is an inherent understanding that most investments can and do result in you losing your money. I’m proposing the TIFS Act, the “Truth In Film School” Act. The requirement that a school inform students, as they matriculate, just how hard it will be attain the position they are training and paying for. Nestled among the beginning and intermediate screenwriting courses, there should be a course that invites alumni to come back and give talks about what they are currently doing in the entertainment business and what meandering path led them there. Believe me when I say, there would never be a shortage of speakers!

Of the twenty-eight students I graduated with over twelve years ago, one of is a full-time writer on a television series. Another is a screenwriter in film, two others work in television as producer/writers and one other makes independent films. The others work in other aspects of the business, have moved on from screenwriting ambitions, or still chase the elusive brass ring of their first script sale. Success is attainable in realms beyond screenwriting, but it’s based on redefining what success means to you (hence Mr. Furia’s advice).

Sometimes there is power in ignorance. After hearing Han Solo’s plan to evade TIE Fighters by flying the Millennium Falcon directly into an asteroid field, C-3P0 calculated the statistical probability of success and the survival of everyone on board. To which, Han Solo promptly countered:

“Never tell me the odds!”

Sure, Han was right in that case, but then, Han never tried to become a screenwriter. So a little pragmatism in pursuit of a dream can’t hurt. Even if the advice isn’t heeded at the time, at least no one can say they weren’t adequately warned. Do you hear me, film school department heads? Just offer one measly course on how the business REALLY is and how difficult it is to become a working writer. It won’t kill the dream, it will just educate the dreamers. Everyone’s experience is going to be a little different – some will struggle less, some will struggle more, others will have an uncle who’s a producer. That’s the way life works, but a little honesty could make a big difference. Until then, dear readers, this blog will just have to do.

In 1995, my ex-girlfriend and I had broken up and she started screwing a guy she said was an “up-and-coming” screenwriter (in more ways than one!). My jealous nature led me to prove that I could be just as good…at writing. Based on feedback I had received about the strength of my writing over the years, I combed the entertainment trades for opportunities. In hindsight, I was greener than a pine sapling, clueless about the business and how it worked. They say God looks out for babies and fools and I certainly wasn’t a baby! From an ad in the Daily Variety, I responded to a “call for entries” to a screenwriting fellowship sponsored by comedian Bill Cosby and his wife, Camille. An application to the Guy Hanks – Marvin Miller Screenwriting Fellowship required a full-length feature or television screenplay and I had never written anything for the screen.

At my undergraduate university, I was minoring in creative writing. I went to see one of my writing professors to ask for his help in writing my screenplay. To his credit, he didn’t blow smoke up my ass. He told me that writing screenplays was not his area of expertise and that I should talk to another of my professors, Mona, who had written for television for number of years. I will always be grateful for this referral because Mona not only agreed to mentor me through my screenplay and fellowship application, but I discovered a beautiful person and, over the years, we have remained great friends.

Mona took me down to the Writers Guild Library and showed me where I could read screenplays by the great writers of film and television. She also read my pages, gave me notes, and coached me through the writing of my first script. Like a physical trainer, Mona was the person I did not want to disappoint each week. I wrote with purpose because nothing would make me feel worse than looking her in the eye and admitting I didn’t have any pages to give her – I would be abusing her time and commitment, most of all, I would be cheating myself.

I should also give special mention to the books by Syd Field, “Screenplay” and its companion, “The Screenwriter’s Workbook”. These books are excellent primers on storytelling for the screen, the three act structure and the screenwriting process. As you write screenplay after screenplay and refine your craft, you may find Syd’s approach to be a bit simplistic, but these books are an indispensable place to start. Truthfully, I still use Syd’s three act structure diagram when breaking stories to this day!

I applied to the Cosby fellowship with my newly written screenplay in the summer of ’95. My parents were encouraging, but still pretty adamant that I pursue a career in the law. Law didn’t interest me as much as screenwriting did and after finishing my first script, I was bitten by the bug. My Dad was concerned that I had put all my eggs in one basket. I can remember us talking and me saying, “…when I get into this fellow ship-“.

“IF you get in…” he interrupted.

“WHEN I get in.” I retorted.

I was accepted into the Fellowship a few months later. For the next several weeks, I spent my nights at the University of Southern California, workshopping my script with a professional screenwriter and taking classes in African-American history.

The goal of the Guy Hanks-Marvin Miller Screenwriting Fellowship is to give African-American writers an opportunity to write, exposure to the business of screenwriting, while also encouraging them to write stories using robust, fully-formed characters, which are not stereotypes. I thoroughly enjoyed my time in the program and had the immense pleasure of meeting one of my idols, Bill Cosby, who taught us all a very valuable lesson about professionalism, dignity and dedication. Just before the end of the program, his son was brutally murdered. Speculation arose that Bill would not make his traditional appearance on the final day of classes, and honestly, no one expected him to. Not only did Bill show up, he arrived early, engaged us all in conversation and showed genuine interest as we talked about our script ideas. He is a genuine humanitarian and a class act in every sense.

I can’t stress enough the need for every beginning writer to have four things: a motivation, a mission, a mentor and some moxie! Okay, so the last one is a bit dated, but it sounds better when they start with the same letter. Your motivation can take many forms: an ex who starts dating a screenwriter, an idea for a movie or TV show that you just HAVE to turn into a screenplay, etc. Your motivation will carry into your mission – a goal with realistic, attainable objectives and a firm end date so you know when you’ve succeeded. Your screenwriting mission should spur you to find a mentor, someone or something that assists you as you write. A mentor may be a publication or person who helps you work out your story, reads your pages and give notes, promises to give your script to someone when you finish, or acts as a supportive shoulder to lean on when you have doubts about finishing your mission. The moxie is the courage and determination to see your mission through. It’s the glue that holds everything together; the internal fire that will keep you writing and refining. You either have the moxie to write or you don’t, it cannot be taught.

Welcome to my first installment of The Unwritten Truth.

If I could put virtual construction cones around this blog or one of those signs that says, “Pardon Our Dust – Under Construction”, I would post them here. I’m just getting to know the blogosphere, but when it comes to trying to get screenplays optioned and sold, I’m a chiseled vet, fifteen years into my bid, walking the yard with a face full of tattooed teardrops (that’s the best prison analogy I can muster).

My reason for writing TUT is very simple: Whether you’re just getting into screenwriting or you’ve been pursuing your dream for a while, there are a zillion resources for crafting your screenplay, but there are unwritten truths no one ever really talks about. These truths speak directly to the challenges of coping with the writer’s life as you navigate “the business” and its many pitfalls. The almost schizophrenic existence you will most certainly lead as you live your life while trying to get your script into the hands of someone who can say “yes”. Understanding how rare that occurrence is, yet consistently believing – script after script – that victory lies just around the corner will wreak havoc on your mind, not to mention your life goals and objectives. The effect is akin to the words in the poem, “A Dream Deferred” by Langston Hughes:

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?

These unwritten truths and how you deal with them are more important than the tautness of your three-act structure, whether your scenes are sequenced correctly, or whether your protagonist should die at the end of your script. The reality is that you can prepare for pending screenwriting success as long and as hard as you like and it may still elude you. I’ve come to find that “the big script sale” has more to do with luck and timing than arduous preparation. But in chasing your dream, the choices you make in your “real life” can produce successful results according to terms you define and in ways you didn’t even imagine.

A bit about me, I graduated with distinction in screenwriting from the University of Southern California School of Cinema-Television, now the School of Cinematic Arts. While there, a short film I wrote was nominated for a Student Academy Award. Over the years, I’ve been represented by the Gersh Talent Agency, private managers, and most recently, the Principato-Young management firm. I’ve worked with producers, had my share of meetings and pitches, had a couple of my scripts optioned and read by major stars, but still the “big sale” eludes me. This puts me in a simultaneous minority and majority – I’ve gone farther than most, but not as far as some. In that time, I’ve had to make choices about how I was going to make a living and still write. I’ve under-employed myself just to have time to write, I’ve written while unemployed, heck I’ve even written while over-employed! I’ve written while trying to decide if I’m going to get married, have a child and buy a house. I’m very happy to say that I’m still married with a wonderful child – two of my best development deals ever! Those are just some of the unwritten truths I’m referring to. There’s no right or wrong way to pursue your dream of being a screenwriter, but how you deal with these choices can make the difference between putting important aspects of your life on hold in pursuit of your writing goals, or packing your dream away while you deal with what life can throw at you.

My former writing professor and now great friend, Mardik Martin (“Raging Bull”, “Mean Streets”, “New York, New York”), always says: “Things are not as bad as they seem…they’re much worse.” While I think that he’s 100% correct, I’m going to do my damndest to not make this a negative blog. After all, to write consistently, you need to remain positive and each new script brings with it fantastic optimism. I will blog about my experiences – ups, downs, highs, lows – and if what I write here helps even one person (hopefully more), then my reason for revealing The Unwritten Truth will have been worthwhile.