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We finished our web series. Three episodes, six producers/directors, 11 actors. It was a fantastic two days:

focus

Here’s a List of Barriers

I personally had to overcome to Get To Done:

  • My distaste for preproduction
  • My dislike for physical production (and physical labor, for that matter)
  • Heated 90-minute arguments over whether to shoot 3 episodes or 1 episode
  • My hang-up over my own failed passion project

Even after smacking around these barriers like they owed me money and reaching a success milestone… doubts linger. It probably stems from my immersion in self-dev (turns out you actually have to apply this stuff — intellectual mitosis it ain’t).

Here’s a List of My Doubts

  • I don’t necessarily want to be a Youtube Creator. I don’t want to compete with kids who’ve been making webcam movies since they were 6 and told they are unique snowflakes since 4
  • I don’t want to work in a medium where a WB executive can condense a 90-page Youtube Creator Playbook onto a single sheet of paper
  • Where will this web series fit into my nebulous “brand?” Does it?
  • If I pursue this, it means sacrificing another pursuit. Tim Ferriss says, “there’s more than enough time for the things that are truly important.” Comforting on one hand, but on the other: you must be absolutely ruthless in eliminating anything that’s not important. Where does this project fall?
  • It’s in the can — now what? Do we post on Youtube or Vimeo? FoD? What’s the end goal?
  • Does this project become the focus of our side projects?

These questions hung me up throughout the process. Taking a hard look at those doubts, though, I realize:

This is My Desire to Find Logic in the Illogical.

Or as Nassim Nicholas Taleb is fond of pointing out, trying to make  connections between disconnected events. Attempting to find casualty where there is none.

Unfortunately, the puzzle pieces of our lives don’t align as we move forward. They only slot neatly into place when  looking back. When we study the past, the chain of events appear transparent:

  • Of course WWII was inevitable! Look at Germany’s unrest in the 1920s, the unfair reparations, coupled with the Great Depression and the ramifications that flowed into Europe.
  • Of course HARRY POTTER was going to sell a more than 450 million copies! And JK Rowling was destined to make more money than God (or £5 every second). (Even Rowling describes her story as one “the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution.“) The book is so good! The world was ready for the Harry Potter phenomenon!

Never Mind Predicting the Future

I can’t even find casualty in the greatest experiences of my own life. Looking back , the truly amazing came so far from left field I still don’t understand how it all fits:

Doubt Remains

It always will. The trick is not letting it slow us down. Put less priority in aligning puzzle pieces, and more on the fundamentals:

  • Be yourself.
  • Take chances.
  • Work like a mofo.
  • Create something every day.

“Brand” will follow. All will be illuminated.

Photo Credit: cypherone

I read this beautiful piece by Kevin Ashton called Creative People Say No. The gist of which can be summed below:

Saying “no” has more creative power than ideas, insights and talent combined. No guards time, the thread from which we weave our creations. The math of time is simple: you have less than you think and need more than you know. We are not taught to say “no.” We are taught not to say “no.” “No” is rude. “No” is a rebuff, a rebuttal, a minor act of verbal violence. “No” is for drugs and strangers with candy.

Creators do not ask how much time something takes but how much creation it costs. This interview, this letter, this trip to the movies, this dinner with friends, this party, this last day of summer. How much less will I create unless I say “no?” A sketch? A stanza? A paragraph? An experiment? Twenty lines of code? The answer is always the same: “yes” makes less. We do not have enough time as it is. There are groceries to buy, gas tanks to fill, families to love and day jobs to do.

It’s elegant in theory. Some caveats in application in Hollywood and entertainment:

  • As Derek Sivers put it, Los Angelinos are some of the most optimistic people in the world, who want to say “yes” to everything. Thus, on one hand you could argue LA is the worst place in the world to be creative. Paradoxically, many great creators call Los Angeles home and Hollywood their place of work.
  • Unlike some examples Ashton cited, film is a medium that requires collaboration – a lot of it. It isn’t created by a writer, or a director, or a props master, or a best boy, in a vacuum. It requires all. Simultaneously. Collaboration, in turn, requires relationships, and relationships are built on yes’s.
  • Saying “yes” connects you to new people, who bring new ideas. New ideas, or inspiration, are the lifeblood of creativity. When it’s time to work, and time for new ideas to coalesce with old ideas, then saying “no” is crucial.
  • A creative life requires space. Which means not cramming your calendar with as many lunches and drinks as possible, as is the expectation of the majority of Hollywood’s acolytes. There’s an opportunity cost to relationships, and being creative requires evaluating, on a case-by-case basis, where to say “no.”

Before we trumpet the “no” in the name of creativity, it’s important to point out: Ashton’s examples were all masters. At some undefined point, maybe after 10,000 hours or 1,000 true fans, they earned the right to say “no.” Until anyone exceeds that point, a blanket “no” seems like a very simplistic view.

Photo Credit: Steve Tran

There were dozens of fingerprints on it, but it was my world. I was the Alpha and the Omega, bitch.

Unfortunately, the execution was flawed. I populated my world with creatures to roam the land… but forgot to give ‘em lungs to breathe the air. Oops.

So when my friend Richard brought up a project called SUBTEXT by the Pander Brothers over lunch, it felt like a gut shot at first. He read the logline: “A young woman is led into a tryst by her boyfriend via phone texts, only to discover a painful truth about their relationship.”

That sounds a lot like your TEXT web series, doesn’t it?”

It did

But the idea is malleable, like pressing Silly Putty onto a fresh newspaper: even though the words were the same, there is an infinite number of shapes and configurations. No, the idea wasn’t stolen or borrowed or lifted. It was just a good idea.

My friends and I tried to shoot TEXT two years ago. At the time, I had a good script, but lacked the vision to pull the project together in the only place that counted. Which wasn’t the page. The script was just a blueprint. When a skyscraper wobbles or your tablet crashes, you don’t see anyone crying over the CAD drawings, do you? I didn’t get it right in the fabric of space and time, where I was accountable for light and sound and shots and the intangible goodwill of friends who sacrificed a weekend to make my vision a reality.

But Man, The Idea Was Good

That I know for sure. It’s reassuring. If I have 10 more ideas, if I’m lucky, I’ll have 1 good one. So I have to get through the 9 not-so-good ideas first. Of those 9, perhaps 2 will be worth executing, for the purpose of learning to execute.

Which runs counter to an idea I heard recently, about passion projects. I heard this nugget from a blogger the other day (excuse the lack of attribution, I have no idea where it came from): “If it’s not a joy to make, don’t make it.”

She suggests only taking on projects that are a joy, because that joy will drive you past the Dip. It will drive you to the finish line. But I think this idea deemphasizes the importance of practice. Of learning the chops — which isn’t always a joy.

If you’re a professional, it doesn’t matter if a particular project is a joy, or if it’s your passion project. You bring your fucking A-game no matter what. You prepare, you sketch, you debate, you run over every possible outcome from A to Z. Yes, there are moments of joy. In equal parts as moments of “what the hell did I get myself into?”

Learning Chops

Lake Bell wrote and directed her short, WORST ENEMY first, as a means to learn the chops before she directed (and produced, and starred in) IN A WORLD…

My father opened his first Japanese restaurant in a wonderful but small town. There were only 37 seats. Which gave him the chops to open a bigger sister-store in a more trafficked location, with about 80 seats. He lost a lot of sleep over the restaurants, and took on a great deal of risk. There were a lot of those “what-the-hell” moments. And neither were his passion project — but they paved the way to  the third restaurant, which is.

Someone who helped me with TEXT recently, um, texted me, and asked “Whatever came of the Texting short?”

I considered fibbing: saying it was stuck in post, or there was still hope to fiddle with it. No one else had said otherwise yet, so technically it was true.

Instead, I admitted the truth: the project was dead.

text

Saying it aloud made it true. It made the failure real. More importantly, it embarrassed me, but it didn’t kill me. It did not make the good idea a bad one. It made it clear the only thing left to do was find more good ideas, and make them real. Alpha and Omega.

Photos Credit: Ruben Ras

A week after returning to the restaurant, I was offered an assistant position at a literary management company. Which made things tricky: work six days a week, plus my own writing, plus night and weekend reading. It could be done, but did I want to put myself through that?

I thought about quitting the restaurant. I remembered my father reminding me over the phone, when I first arrived in Los Angeles, “Look after yourself. That’s enough right now. Just do what’s best for you.” That’s what quitting would have meant: looking out for numero uno, making things easier on myself. It didn’t feel right, though. I couldn’t quit, effectively spitting on their faces, after they so graciously took me back when I needed help.

So I do both. My writing and job suffer for it, but that’s the choice I made. On my day off, I squeeze in down time and grocery shopping, maybe the gym or changing the car oil.  The juggling isn’t easy, and you have to be ruthless with time to get it done. When I first arrived in Los Angeles, I weighed the pros and cons on taking an assistant job if you want to write, and it’s as simple as: you make time for it. You (as BJ Fogg so adroitly puts it,) “prioritize so hard it hurts.”

Besides slowing down my writing, assisting has opened my eyes to plenty of other weaknesses. Issues that I deferred for years, for the sake of writing and work. These days I wish I addressed those years ago, but for lack of that option, will settle for now:

  1. I don’t know shit about the entertainment or book industry. My boss called me into his office, and showed me a novel with a risqué cover, a woman’s hot mouth pressed against a bare shoulder. Then he asked me where he should pitch this project, a mild erotica-thriller (in the vein of 50 SHADES OF GREY.) I didn’t even bother bullshitting my way through a response. I had no idea, and that’s a problem.
  2. I don’t know enough about Los Angeles, my own backyard.
  3. Assisting has shown me how difficult the process of getting anything made is, how many moving parts there are in this arena. Everything must align. The pegs must be in the proper row at the proper moment to have impact on the world. For every great writer who says, “I just focused on the writing, I didn’t play the game or network. I just wrote in my voice and did what I thought was right, and I made it” (e.g., Hugh Howey’s wonderful post on his success with WOOL in the Huffington Post) there are a thousand artists who won’t get in front of the right people because they didn’t do their homework.
  4. I don’t spend enough time building relationships with other people. Which says nothing about being shy versus friendly, introverted versus extroverted – (self-examinations rendered moot when you force yourself to commit the desired behavior.) What I mean is that I’ve made a habit out of putting work/writing above everything, to the detriment of maintaining strong friendships and relationships. That’s something I want in my life, and it can’t be done sitting in front of a computer as life passes outside the window. This in turn means…
  5. Work focused, not just harder. There are only 24 hours in a day, and you can’t keep adding to-do’s to the top of the pile. Pinpoint exactly what I want to work on at any given time, and attack that. Identify what can fall to the wayside, and then let it. It all falls back to elimination, followed by prioritization

Ideally, I wouldn’t be 26 years old, still waiting tables on weekends to survive. In an ideal world, I could make it as a writer without working as an assistant first. But there are too many other things to be grateful for to dwell on this inconvenience as I work and rebuild, to have impact on the world.

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Photo Credit: PCCare247

No one expects to wake one morning and say aloud, “Yup, this is it: today’s the lowest point in my life.” You don’t anticipate rolling out of bed and thinking, “I don’t have a fucking clue why I’m even getting out of bed today.”

You sort of just arrive. While you’re pouring your Fruit Loops, or dumbly clicking your mouse. Or head to your unpaid internship, where you watch Youtube videos for eight hours straight in an urban cave shared by two dozen other 20-somethings, an activity gently dubbed as “business development.”

A few weeks shy of my 26th birthday and inside that cave was where I sat, unsatisfied with my work, unsatisfied with my writing. I didn’t know what I was still doing in Los Angeles. Later that day, I trudged back to my car in the rain, and I found a lovely note from the county’s parking enforcement, asking to please remit $63 to their offices.

If a child kicked my shins and a dog pissed on my shoes, I wouldn’t have been surprised. All I wanted was to bury my head in the sand. I wanted to stew in my misery and “figure my shit out,” whatever that means. It’s the approach I took for the first 25 years of my life: bottle it in, tell myself not to be a pussy, and get back to work – except it’s taken me 26 years to realize how self-destructive and insidious self-this behavior was. Doesn’t matter how hard you shovel, you can’t dig your way out of a hole.

Instead I called a friend. And she stayed on the line until I spilt everything I: how incredibly shitty I felt about myself, and what I hadn’t accomplished in two years, that maybe it wasn’t worth it and I should move back to New York. I told her I didn’t know what I was doing with my work, that I hated being poor and stopped feeling good about writing a long time ago.

Nothing was resolved. She didn’t offer any takeaway or sagely advice. But that wasn’t the point. She was there to listen when I needed to say something.

Part of me knew that the job would get better. That if watching Youtube videos and buying up channels was a skill I wanted to excel at, I could get there. I just didn’t know if this particular dip was one I wanted to conquer. No matter how good I got at it, would I be happy signing Youtube talent?

I quit the next day. I decided this wasn’t where I wanted to be in terms of my career, my writing, or my finances. I couldn’t unravel which tangents brought me down this path, so my only choice was to start retracing my steps, trying to remember when my trail was last good again

Photos credit: A guy called John

This is a continuation of the previous post, thoughts on living in Los Angeles after two years.

The other day I was hunting through my closet and I realized: I had nothing to wear. I felt a familiar flash of junior high awkwardness, tearing through dresser drawers looking for something acceptably cool. At the time, I think I settled on a baggy polo and a pair of Dockers.

Aka the epitome of pretty-lame.

On this go-around, it wasn’t my level of awesomeness hindering me (a level which clearly has grown exponentially since high school.) It was my experiment in minimalism two years ago, where I gave away everything I owned save for few choice selections. It was an adjustment, but well-suited for my goals at the time.

Now that I’m living in Los Angeles? Not so much.

Annoyed as I am though, I think if I didn’t put myself through that, I wouldn’t be standing here in my Culver City apartment, the one besotted with Craigslist furniture and a dish set that sort of showed up in our cabinets one day. I couldn’t grow resentful at the thought of sacrifice because I had nothing left to give up. I couldn’t grow jealous over things I didn’t have because I didn’t have anything. If I didn’t make those choices, the thought of moving across the country would have seemed more daunting.

Looking at life through this lens, it feels like all events leading up to now are just a sequence of experiments, one building upon another. Minimalism was an experiment in sacrifice. Summer days spent working in Chinese restaurants as a teenager were lessons in work ethic. Solo traveling was an experiment in being comfortable in my own shoes.

Even writing a blog, is an experiment in making myself responsible for my words. Each post is an experiment in hitting “publish.”

I mentioned how the idea that Los Angeles is feeling less like an experiment, and gradually receding into what feels like life. In its wake I’m left with one idea: experiments sometimes fail. They almost always end. Score isn’t kept by how many tallies you have in one column or the other, but rather, how close are you to the life you imagined for yourself?

That’s the goal of these experiments in our lives: not the individual successes or failures, but whether the sum of their parts brings you where you want to be.

Photos Credit: glencm

How many scripts does it take to turn a script reader sour to spec scripts?

I imagine not too long — if you’re patient and forgiving, somewhere in the low 200’s perhaps. Eventually you see the same mistakes repeated over and over again. Your patience wanes. Your forgiveness falters.

I embraced the process when I first started reading scripts — even as an unpaid reader.

I thought, if I pour myself into my reads, and take care to learn from the successes and mistakes (mostly mistakes) I’ll write better material.

It’s tough to keep up the positivity. Script after script, you offer the same notes: show don’t tell; what does your character want?; dialogue feels snappy but where is your story? And these notes are directed towards the good material… never mind the scripts sent by writers who obviously didn’t proof read: glaring typos on page one; lengthy sections of prose; scenes completely omitted explained with the words “insert scene here” to indicate something will eventually “fill in the blank.”

It gets more difficult to be kind. You can’t hold your tongue in your critiques. You lash out — cruelly, at times — if you think the piece warrants it: “Good, I hope their feelings are hurt. They’ll put more care into their work before sending it next time.”

Perhaps some of these mistakes are because of negligence. I think just as often they’re the mistakes of a first-time script writer. And a first-time writer needs to make his first crop of mistakes at some point in his career — you’re just the reader “watching” as he dips his toes. These are people who, if they put in their time and dedicate themselves, could probably create something quite good — it just wasn’t this project or this script. And what a terrible thing it would be to destroy someone’s potential.

Confidence to put material out to the world is difficult to build, but it’s easily crushed.

Which is precisely the temptation at times. To crush egos, to remind people, “you’re not as good as you think you are.” Each time I’m compelled to do so, however, I remember my first script. An assistant whom I interned for offered to read it and give me notes, and I took her up on it.

It’s only now I realize the gravity of the moment. This act was the catalyst that pushed me to show my work to others, to just put it out there. It taught me to stop treating projects like my darlings; that if you’re going to be a professional, you just do your best before casting them out to the world to see who thrives and who dies.

This assistant could have decided she was tired of reading bad scripts. She could have gotten onto her soap box and preached to me about all the beginner mistakes I made that she’s sick of seeing. She could have said, “Stop writing like this. We get it. You love the sound of your own voice.”

She didn’t. Instead she said, “It’s clear you’re a good writer. Here’s what you’re going to work on for your next script..”

Photo Credit: Dmitry Kaminsky

“Don’t ask people if they would buy – ask them to buy. The response to the second is the only one that matters… Ask ten people if they would buy your product. Then tell those who said ‘yes’ that you have ten units in your car and ask them to buy. The initial positive responses, given by people who want to be liked and aim to please, become polite refusals as soon as real money is at stake.”-Tim Ferriss

With web content the details are different — we ask the audience to “buy” not with money but with time. However, the takeaway remains the same:

Don’t ask people “would you watch this?” Ask: “did you watch this?”

In my opinion, this is the most exciting element to creating and distributing a web series. This area is where you can give the biggest proverbial “f*ck you” to the big players out there. The ability to test and make adjustments based on testing is where independent producers can fully leverage their nimbleness, their flexibility, and willingness to innovate.

Testing is cheap.

Testing is simplified.

You don’t need focus groups. You don’t need tools to measure precise emotions.

The only thing you need is a system for your testing.

Below I’ve outlined a system for testing a web series. The system itself is untested, but they’re the steps I will take with the next project. I will update the post with tweaks and lessons learned as I proceed.

Step 1: Cut a Teaser

The key word is “cut,” not “shoot.”

Cutting a teaser means splicing existing content to recreate the tone or feel of your web series.  Cost is virtually zero – basically only the opportunity cost of a bomb video editor who can execute. The purpose of creating the teaser is to test your concept – are people interested?

Most recently, this is how Brandon Bestenheider and Allen Bey created buzz and sold their spec script, GRIM NIGHT to Universal.

(This example is solely to give you an example of potential power of a teaser. The goal of our teaser is not to sell or create “buzz.” The goal is to test.)

To that end, the approach is not a “let’s put it on YouTube and see what happens!”

Definitely not. This is a passive approach, and it doesn’t generate the information you’re looking for.

The teaser allows us to ask very specific questions to gauge interest in the concept. We are asking questions to find out if it has viral potential, not hoping it will go viral.

Step 2: Test the Teaser

Show the teaser to a select audience. Ask them specific questions (there are both direct and indirect ways to ask these questions.)

“What do you think of this concept?” is not a specific question. Go deeper to get answers that will help you:

  1. “What part of this concept interests you?”
  2. “What parts bored you?”
  3. “What do you want to see more of?”
  4. “Where do you think this series is going?”

When you’re testing, you can literally sit there and gauge your audience’s reaction as they watch (note: practice with close friends, not strangers you approach at Starbucks and ask, “wanna see something?”)

What is their action immediately following the video?

  1. Do they ask for clarification?
  2. Do they repeat the viewing?
  3. Do they want to share with others?

Caveat: it’s unlikely you’ll disqualify your concept based on the teaser, unless reactions are particularly negative or you weren’t that attached to the concept anyway. That’s why specificity of questions is important – what can you learn from your audience

Step 3: Shoot the Pilot

Based off the teaser, your team moves forward and shoots the pilot. Most likely you’re bootstrapped and shooting on the cheap. (There are proactive ways, of course, to raise funding, i.e., Kickstarter, but I’d suggest taking this step after shooting the pilot.)

Employ guerilla tactics and get the pilot shot: steal locations, get people to work for free, etc. Get the project in the can.

The traditional model is cutting the pilot and shopping it around to producers, financiers, and distributors. Obtaining interest from any one of these parties is definitely a level of success. However, there are more steps to this model of testing if you want to remain independent.

Step 4: Test the Pilot

Cut 3 to 5 versions of the pilot.

Drive an audience to different landing pages featuring these cuts. When possible, ask audience members the same questions used in the teaser. Continue to gauge what elements of the pilot are confusing, and what elements resonate with the audience. The results of this testing will provide the necessary information to shoot the rest of your series.

These steps can be grouped under the catch all phrase, “creating buzz.” Except creating buzz is a vague concept, with no call-to-action or goals. Following the steps in this model, the goal is testing – and you generate buzz as a result.

Testing allows you to create a track record. A track record you can bring with you to, say, Kickstarter, and declare “this many people watched” (not, this demographic said they would watch, or we are trying to attract this audience.) Plus, you know what elements of the pilot they liked, what confused them, and how you’re going to use that information.

Now with that homework in your back pocket, how much more powerful are you when you ask for financing?

Step 5: Shoot the Series

The next step is the biggest risk: shoot the entire series, in the most cost effective manner possible. It’s a big step, especially without a buyer locked. This is your greatest investment yet, and you’re exposing yourself to large scale of failure.

But using this system for web content creation, look at what you’ve done in the previous four steps!

You’ve mitigated your risk by constantly testing, tweaking your approach based on feedback from an actual audience, and generated buzz for your project as a result.  You’ve proven to potential investors that you can write, produce and package a product independently – that you value people’s time and money.

Who wouldn’t want to work with someone like that?*

*Note: I assume the answer is everyone, but this assumption remains untested. As I mentioned at the top, these are only my initial thoughts on the system. As I apply and test, I will update this post.

Photo Credit: Nick Gent

Over the last few months, a group of friends and I have been moving towards shooting a web series pilot. I’m learning a lot from the process, and I want to explore ideas surrounding the creative strategy of independent web content creation. Most of this is likely applicable to any independent project, but my focus is purely on web.

Project Sustainability

Independently produced web content must be looked at through a project sustainability lens as well as a typical production lens. This means more than shooting “guerilla style,” although guerilla production techniques play a role. This means in your development stage you must create some metrics of success and failure. I define success by two standards:

  1. Shipping. You finish. You put out a project and you distribute it, OR if you don’t finish, you’ve made the conscious decision to stop (because it’s not worth your time, because you’re not passionate about it, etc.)
  2. The project is SUSTAINABLE.

Sustainable = value of project > cost of project

As long as the VALUE is greater than COST, the project is sustainable. Simple, right?

Put another way: create VALUE and reduce COST.

What makes up a project’s value? The most obvious (yet smallest component in our example) is revenue generated. Other pieces include: satisfaction in creation, satisfaction in distribution (they are different,) potential revenue, potential exposure, potential leverage to a higher-profile project.

COST is made of two parts:

  • Cost of the project = money cost + opportunity cost
  • Money cost = how much cash do you front?

Opportunity cost = this is your time cost. What are you giving up to work on this project?

If VALUE > COST, it’s SUSTAINABLE, and you should continue moving forward. With an independent project where most of the value lies in the potential, the entire team must understand how this formula affects them.

Understanding the formula creates several takeaways.

High Project Value: what can you control?

In an independent production, current revenue is almost certainly zero. There are ways to increase current revenue which won’t be discussed here (using your relationships to find advertisers, sponsors, etc.) For now, let’s assume you can’t increase earned revenue. Then, what can you control?

What details can you get proactive about?

  • Leverage and exposure –the proactive approach to leverage and exposure is becoming a contributing member of the web series sphere: connecting to content creators and marketers, understanding their projects, helping when you can, and being open about discussing your project.  Note: this is in contrast to the passive approach which is posting it on your Facebook page and hoping it goes “viral.”
  • Derive satisfaction from the project: be happy you’re working on it and you’re learning from it, without the expectation that fame and fortune will soon follow. It’s unlikely your project (or any project) will put you on the express rail to the top, but it might get you closer. Work with people you enjoy being around, have fun with it, and it won’t feel like work

Reduce Project Costs

If you’re involved in any kind of independent content production, you need to keep costs down. There are all sorts of interesting methods to do this. A discussion of all methods lies outside the scope of this post, but I want to point out one thing: I prefer to focus on one really big win to cut costs than bust my head trying to create a series of small wins.

Small wins are: craft services, extras, wardrobe, set dressing, etc.

In my opinion, the big win, where you’re going to save the most money is in concept. Concept happens in the development stage – YOU CAN MAKE / BREAK YOUR BUDGET BEFORE YOU START THE BUDGET. You’re committing your budget to a certain range at this stage, i.e., a high-tech thriller is more expensive than a slow-burn drama.  Not to restrict anyone’s artistic vision, but when you independently finance you must physically create within your boundaries. Accounting for this during development, not after, is critical to ship.

  • How cost effective is your web series?
  • Does it require high production value to capture the audience’s attention?
  • Or does it rely on something else?

That’s how Christopher Kubasic created his webseries, THE BOOTH IN THE BACK. “I was designing it from the outside in. I had certain rules that I wanted to work from. I wanted it to depend on actors rather than cinematic language, so that it would be less expensive than having to move a camera around to different locations or having to set up one shot after another.” (Read Blogcritic for the full article.)

Note that this doesn’t mean you can’t create a high concept web series. High concept is just an elevated way of telling your story or creating your vision, and it’s independent of money. I call this a HiCoLoCo (high concept, low cost) project.

You can spend hours and hours searching for inventive ways to cut on production costs when you’re in pre-production. Save a little here, a little there, skimp on this or that, for the sake of a project that’s intrinsically high concept high cost, i.e., explosions, fires, bullets, aliens, etc.

Or, front-load the process and invest significant time in creating something HiCoLoCo. Focus on the big win.

Reduce Opportunity Cost

Opportunity cost = what else could I be doing with my time?

Total opportunity cost is everyone’s collective time on the project.  I think often we overlook opportunity cost completely, so even small steps can create dramatic savings:

  • Everyone comes prepared
  • Everyone comes on time
  • Schedule meetings with clear objectives
  • Have start and end times to meetings

The big win to save on opportunity cost, however, is about limiting the number of people you bring into the project. Instead of scaling the project to the maximum number of people, scale the right number of people to the project. In REWORK, Jason Fried notes we should:

“Embrace the idea of having less mass. Right now, you’re the smallest, the leanest, and the fastest you’ll ever be. From here on out, you’ll start accumulating mass. And the more massive an object, the more energy required to change its direction.”

In other words, grow slow. Bring in the right number of people you need, and go from there.

Conclusion

By no means is this an exhaustive discussion on sustainable models for web content creation. They are my thoughts and theories on the matter at this point and time, and as I apply the theory, I will add/edit the post with specific examples and takeaways.

Photo Credit: Mad Pal

Contrary to the title, this post is not about writing.

Let’s start by talking about writing:

The fun of banging on the keyboard every day wanes. It becomes more about the afterglow than the work before it (“love having written, hate writing.”) There are times I enjoy the creating, capturing the moment perfectly in words as I imagined in my mind. These moments are far and few between, however. The majority of the time, writing is work. This isn’t a problem if you’re professional and treat the writing as such — you get up and get it done, regardless of how you “feel” or whether you’re “up to it.”

Recently, my writer’s group took on a unique challenge: our group of six would collaborate to write the first draft of a screenplay — in one night. One single all-night writing session to get from FADE IN to BLACK, dividing the labor equally amongst six people.

We held four meetings in the weeks prior to hash out an outline we could execute within the time frame. The outline was skeletal — we established only the main protagonist’s names, motivations, and back story, and agreed upon three or four settings. It did fulfill the single necessary requirement: get us from A to Z in 24 beats (a serendipitous coincidence, thanks to 24’s unique mathematical properties of being divisible by 3 (writing pairs) and 8 (hours to write.)

The remaining details were left up to the writers and created on the fly. This spontaneity led to moments throughout the night where one person would pose thoughtful questions like “wait, is Whitney impregnated by the demon before or after Adolfi is gored by the alligator?” and other pressing issues that affected theme, allegory, and continuity.

We met. We drank coffee. We conquered. Not in that order.

But we got our draft — a nonsensical, terribly violent yet wholly completed draft.

Take away lessons: this is a good way to get a draft written, but it’s not a good way to write a draft. I’d recommend everyone gives it a try.

Like I said: this post is not about writing.

Setting aside eight hours to stay up all night with a group of people with a single intention (“let’s make some s#%!”) was the most fun I had in this medium in a long time. Throwing down words that made zero sense logically or grammatically in a sleep-deprived state was a small reminder to enjoy the process of creating, not just the event of having created. I’m not talking about those 8-hours, either; I mean the whole process: surrounding yourself with people who want to make something, having the idea of the all-nighter, makingprogress with the outline week by week, anticipating the event as we moved closer and closer, and wondering if we’d manage to get everyone together for eight hours (a miracle in of itself.)

So now we got this draft, and what we’re going to do with it (revise it, revisit it, trash it?) is pretty unclear. I hoped it’d be a rough draft to add to the portfolio but I think even that may be a stretch. It may end up being nothing more than the only souvenir from a night where a group of people decided they were going to make something. And followed through.

That, and this blog post, that isn’t about writing.

Photos Credit: BookMama