Mickey Fisher on Writing, Selling, and Producing a TV Pilot Spec Script — Part 3

7-part series on going from original TV pilot script to network series.

On May 24, 2013, I posted about a TV pilot spec script which had Hollywood all abuzz:

Amidst the hustle and bustle of the Hollywood development world — movies and TV — nothing shifts the tectonic plates of The Biz more than a spec script that gets people salivating over it. It’s also a time when writers can learn an awful lot about the buying pulse of Hollywood.

Such is the case right now as Hollywood froths over a 56-page spec TV pilot “Extant” written by newcomer Mickey Fisher. Background from TheWrap [emphasis added]:

Mickey Fisher, an unknown and unsigned writer until recently, has film studios drooling over his script “Extant” for weeks. There’s just one twist: it’s not a film script.

Fisher wrote “Extant” as a TV pilot. It’s a one-hour sci-fi drama about John and Molly Watts and their son, a human-like robot named Ethan. Molly, the space-traveling wife, is also pregnant with a baby that is part human and part alien. The family intrigue deepens in subsequent episodes.

Multiple agencies sought to sign the writer after reading the script, and WME won out. WME and manager Brooklyn Weaver, who discovered Fisher, sent the script around to the studios who are hot to trot for a high-concept script mixing sci-fi and familial drama.

“Everyone is freaking out about it,” an agent at a rival firm said. “It’s ‘A.I.’ as a TV series.”

— —

Warner Bros. still made an offer to acquire the project and turn it into a movie, according to multiple individuals inside and outside the studio, but now the studio is talking with Fisher about acquiring a different pitch. The studio declined to comment.

WME and Weaver always harbored dreams of turning “Extant” into a TV series with Steven Spielberg producing. They are halfway there: Amblin TV, which produced “ER” and “The Americans,” is developing and packaging it. It remains unclear if Spielberg will take a credit, though his involvement would make it even more attractive to networks.

Here is Mickey Fisher. Apparently he is a Hollywood outsider. He writes a spec TV pilot script. It turns the town on its head. Now he has interest from movie studios. TV networks. Perhaps “acquiring a different pitch.” Steven Freaking Spielberg.

That script turned into a CBS series which ran for two seasons.

In 2016, Mickey Fisher — a long-time fan of the blog — posted this:

It’s a tremendous read with lots of information and insights into the craft, so I reached out to Mickey and he agreed to let me serialize his entire missive. It’s a great story and I’ll use the opportunity to spotlight the many takeaways Mickey touches on in his observations.

Today in Part 3, Mickey reveals how the “Extant” team came together:

BUILDING THE TEAM

I started having general meetings with some producers and other people Brooklyn had relationships with, including Jeff Frankel, now my lawyer. In the producers meetings, I started getting the big questions about where the series was going and what I had in the cupboard. By this point, as you know, I had answers to both of those questions. But I also took time to ask an important question of my own, a question I asked of everyone I met. Brooklyn, Jeff, people at the generals. I asked it of the awesome Susannah Grant during my grand prize lunch with her at The Ivy, where we sat two tables away from Gene Simmons. I asked it of another A-list screenwriter and his producer wife who were gracious and kind enough to take me to breakfast and share their story. That question was:

“What’s the biggest piece of advice you have for someone in my position? I’m right at the goal line, how do I go the rest of the way without dropping the ball?”

The two most common answers were: “Trust your intuition,” and “Don’t spread yourself thin and take on more than you can deliver.” I have relied on those two pieces of advice ever since and still think about them all the time.

This advice served me well throughout the process, starting with signing with an agency. I met with WME and it just felt like the right fit. I felt like they saw me as I saw myself. Look, I’ll be honest. There was a part of me that was just happy to be in these rooms and no matter what I was a hundred times farther than I’d ever been. But when I stopped to take a breath and think about what I REALLY WANTED, and to question whether our visions for my career aligned, my intuition told me they were the right fit. It was a scary time and every second I felt like I was on the verge of making a mistake that would undo everything and put me back at square one. For months and months I waited for the other shoe to drop. But every day I tried to remember those two pieces of advice and occasionally remind myself that I’d be the world’s biggest asshole if I waited twenty years for this ride and forgot to actually ENJOY IT. So…

I signed with WME and the next day we had our first team meeting via phone call where they suggested we send this to Steven Spielberg and Amblin Television. I tried to play it cool but inside I was SHITTING MYSELF. When we hung up the phone I sat and stared at a blank wall for fifteen minutes, trying to wrap my head around the fact that less than two weeks ago I knew almost nobody in Hollywood. Now there was a chance that the most successful filmmaker of all-time, one of the top four architects of my early imagination (including Lucas, Henson and Zemeckis) would be reading something that came out of my brain.

That moment reinforced something I’ve always believed: all it takes is one script. If you write the right thing, at the right time, it can open every door for you.

However…

There’s also something that keeps me up at night every now and then, which is that if even one person in the chain hadn’t responded to the script, then maybe none of this happens and I’m still a guy writing in a corner of Starbucks in Orange County.

Lucky for me, the good folks at Amblin Television dug the script and shortly afterward I found myself sitting in a building I’d passed within twenty yards of on the tram tour.

This meeting (and most general meetings) had a certain structure: They talked about their enjoyment of the script, then asked me where I came from, how I got to this point, etc. I got very good at telling my short, sweet, to the point origin story. Eventually someone asks about how I came up with the idea, what was the inspiration for it, etc. And then we got into the specifics of where I see it going and how. I approached these meetings as an opportunity for collaboration and often phrased things like, “This is certainly open to suggestion, but what I think would be interesting is if by the end of episode six, she wakes up and finds the baby has been taken from her. That would drive the story in a whole new direction: who took it? Why?” I knew WHY I’d made every decision and tried to articulate it as best I could.

When they offered suggestions, I followed the golden “Yes, and” rule of improv. In improv, when someone throws out an idea or a premise, you accept it and build on that idea, rather than negating or shooting it down. A crude example of what not to do is, Guy #1 says, “Sure is a beautiful day to be out fishing,” and Guy #2 says, “We’re not fishing, Bob, we’re robbing a bank. And it’s nighttime. And it’s raining.” The “Yes, and” version is, Guy #1 says “Sure is a beautiful day to be out fishing,” and Improv Guy #2 says “Sure is. Too bad we forgot the bait.” When other people would bring up suggestions we would riff on the possibilities, or look for cool ways that might payoff in a dramatic beat or connect to the big themes.

By the end of the meeting I loved these guys. It felt like I’d known them forever. Just before I left they said, “We’re going to send this to Steven. We don’t do anything unless he’s passionate about it.” And a week later I got a call from my agents saying, “There’s a filmmaker named Steven Spielberg and he likes your script…” From that moment on and for the next two and a half years, Amblin became my producing partner.

Oh, and by the way — before all these meetings started I asked Brooklyn what I should wear. I’d read enough of the boards at Done Deal to know that writers don’t wear suits, but I wanted to make sure I didn’t underplay it either. His advice: “Jeans, button down shirt, Chuck Taylors or some other tennis shoes. You know what, just Google Kurtzman and Orci and you’ll get the idea.” So I Googled Kurtzman and Orci and sure enough — lots of pullover fleece and button down shirts. (Another pro-tip: because I was making the trip up from Orange County for all these meetings and typically starting with a trip to the Starbucks drive-through, I made it a habit to take a “backup shirt” on a hangar. Only needed it once, but thank God I had it.)

It might be important to note here that at this point I hadn’t signed any contracts with anyone. Even though we used the terminology of “signing” with an agent or manager, it was strictly a verbal commitment. Same with Amblin. There was no talk of money yet and even though I was definitely curious to know when and what I might get paid for the script I didn’t ask. I just had faith that it WOULD happen at some point. (I’ll get into more of the “when” in a bit.) That’s not to say this is how it always goes down. The process of “signing” is different from rep to rep and person to person. The way it happened with me was only one version. For instance, sometimes a rep will “hip-pocket” a writer, which in and of itself can mean different things in different situations. It usually means you’re not a full, official client but they’ll keep you in their “hip-pocket” and if the right situation arises or they come across a contact looking for someone or something like your script, they’ll submit it for you. Or if you have something to submit and ask them they might be willing to do so on your behalf. In any case, whether it’s a handshake and a verbal agreement or on paper, do your due diligence and make sure you’re protecting yourself. Even though I didn’t ask about the money I asked a lot of other questions. But you also want to be careful not to flood interested parties with emails and calls to the point that you scare them away. Be courteous with their time. Trust me, it’s hard to play it cool when you’ve waited years for this kind of thing to happen but it does get easier.

The next step was finding a Showrunner. For anyone who doesn’t know what that is, they’re the person (or persons) in charge of running the day to day creative operations of a television show. Like piloting a 747 or performing brain surgery, it’s not an entry level job. For someone like me who had never even worked as a P.A., clearly I was not going to be handed the keys to tens of millions of dollars of shareholder money. I knew I was going to be partnered with someone who would be in charge, so I decided two things right away: 1.) I was going to be as open and collaborative as possible. Whoever it was, if they were going to eat, sleep and breathe this show, so it had to be as much theirs as it was mine. And 2.) I would treat this experience as primarily a learning experience, soaking up as much as I could from then.

I was heartened to learn recently that it’s basically the same advice the WGA gives in its one-day workshop for new creators who have just sold a show. Basically they tell you (I’ve heard) that this first show isn’t really your show. Your show is the next one. For this first one, your job is to help the Showrunner keep his/her job and be as helpful as possible in general. I got very lucky in that I felt this instinctually and followed through. Again, I was just thrilled to be there.

WME was smart about setting me up to meet with people who they thought would be good mentors throughout the process. The folks at Amblin guided the meetings, and it felt a little like an arranged marriage with Amblin being the parents chaperoning the first date. Ideally the prospective Showrunner has fallen in love (or at least is intrigued) by the script and comes in with a unique take and maybe even a few ideas. I treated it the same way I did with Amblin, as an opportunity to play and open up a collaborative dialogue. It was actually FUN to do that because until then these characters and this world had only existed in my brain. I liken it to having the Darth Vader’s plastic head case filled with Kenner STAR WARS figures and suddenly having another friend in the sand box to share them with.

It’s also a good time to point out that the first round of people I met with were all WME clients. They represent Amblin Television as well, so they were packaging all of these elements in anticipation of taking it to market. There are a lot of reasons for packaging, but obviously the agency doing the packaging makes more money. I had no problem with that for two reasons: 1.) If you sell your show as part of an agency package you don’t pay a commission, and 2.) Along with Brooklyn they were guiding me through every early step of this process. They were essentially my first producing partners, building this from the ground up.

Greg Walker had worked on THE X-FILES, SMALLVILLE, WITHOUT A TRACE and a bunch of other shows and he’d recently created and ran VEGAS for CBS. We clicked right away, connecting over the big themes of the show. We had different faith experiences but similar beliefs and temperament and as we talked I felt myself just kind of relaxing for the first time in weeks. By the time the meeting was over I’m sure we all felt he was the right choice — again, trusting the gut. At some point mid-June, Greg was on board and it was time to take the season/series overview document I had written and build on it to create our pitch, with the goal of taking the show to market in early August.

Takeaways:

• But I also took time to ask an important question of my own, a question I asked of everyone I met: Remind yourself along the way, you have a lot to learn about the craft and the business, so don’t be afraid to ask questions and listen. As I wrote in this Business of Screenwriting post: God gave you two ears and one mouth for a reason.
• Trust your intuition: Advice can be great, but only you know you the way you do. So make sure you stay in touch with the core of who you are… so you don’t get lost.
• Don’t spread yourself thin and take on more than you can deliver: You can make a lot of money in Hollywood as a writer by saying “yes” to every project that comes along. However if you take on too much and turn out marginal scripts, you risk cutting your career short. Learn your limits and respect them.
• It was a scary time and every second I felt like I was on the verge of making a mistake that would undo everything and put me back at square one: You’re smart to be conscious of mistakes you might make, but here’s the deal: You will fuck up. Know that going in. Nobody in Hollywood skates through with 100% smart choices. Fear of making a mistake can stunt creative options. Find that balance point between being courageous and being careful.
• I tried to play it cool but inside I was SHITTING MYSELF: There’s no good way of preparing yourself to meet with someone like Steven Spielberg, but those type of meetings can happen. If you do get those type of meetings, don’t try to be anyone other than yourself.
• If you write the right thing, at the right time, it can open every door for you: The odds against success are astronomical, but Mickey is a testament to the fact good things can happen… when you write a great script.
• I approached these [general] meetings as an opportunity for collaboration: Making movies or a TV series is a collaborative effort. Prepare yourself for lots of feedback, script notes, and other voices chiming in on your story.
• In improv, when someone throws out an idea or a premise, you accept it and build on that idea, rather than negating or shooting it down: Great advice for story meetings. You may not only surface some great suggestions for your story, you also come across as an open creative, rather than a hard-assed prima donna.
• Before all these meetings started I asked Brooklyn what I should wear: Professional casual.
• It might be important to note here that at this point I hadn’t signed any contracts with anyone: The movie and TV business in Hollywood is actually a relatively small community, so much of what transpires on a day to day basis is in effect handshake agreements.
• Sometimes a rep will “hip-pocket” a writer, which in and of itself can mean different things in different situations: For more on this, check out my Business of Screenwriting post: Hip pocket representation.
• This first show isn’t really your show, your show is the next one: Networks need to know someone is going to deliver episodes. That’s where showrunners come in. It won’t be you this time. Maybe next time.
• They were packaging all of these elements in anticipation of taking it to market: Be aware that your script and by extension you are, at a base level, a commodity in the eyes of your reps. It’s how they make their money.

Bottom line, whether it’s movies or TV, commerce enters into any project. This may be one of the most challenging aspects of the process, transitioning your story from the quietude of your writing space into the world of development, pre-production, and production, so wrap your mind around that fact: Literally hundreds of people are going to touch your precious little baby.

Tomorrow in Part 4, Mickey shares what it took to prepare to take “Extant” to market and pitch it as a TV series.

For Part 1 of this series, go here.

Part 2, here.

Mickey is repped by WME and Energy Entertainment.

Twitter: @MickeyFisher73.

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