Writers’ Shortage: Still a Catch-22

Television executives often lament how diluted the writing pool has become--that having six broadcast networks churning out original series has made the quest for talented writers akin to pursuing the Holy Grail.

Such comments not surprisingly aggravate those on the outside looking in, especially eager young writers convinced that, given the opportunity, they could write for “Friends” or create the next “Ally McBeal,” and older writers seemingly discarded by a youth-obsessed business.

At the same time, industry officials can embarrass themselves chasing, lemming-like, after the next hot property. A kid just out of college--or even a 32-year-old woman masquerading as someone of college age--can land a job on the writing staff of a new program that caters to teenagers.

Riley Weston, the aforementioned 32-year-old writer for the WB network’s “Felicity,” whose ruse was uncovered last week, appeared disingenuous crying “ageism” when her act of deception was exposed; still, experienced writers seized on the story as a sign of the industry’s all-consuming emphasis on youth. Middle-aged writers maintain they can’t get arrested, although few press such charges, fearing that to do so would only alienate potential employers and call attention to their gray hairs or bald spots.

An offhand reference to the perceived talent shortage a few weeks ago prompted several messages from people asking why, if writers are at such a premium, it’s so hard for newcomers to get in the door in order to demonstrate they have the right (or, pardon the pun, write) stuff.

“The problems the networks face are of their own making,” said Mike Korytowski, who works at Falcon Cable in Los Angeles and has thus far been unable to get an agent. “Want fresh material? Open the drawbridge and let some original ideas flow over the moat and into the tower.”

Added Susan Stewart Potter, a Santa Barbara writer: “I wonder if you have any idea what it takes to get anybody in network TV to consider a writer that they’ve not worked with before, or to take a chance on something that is a little outside the completely predictable?”

Before analyzing these observations, a few facts must be put in evidence. First, the pool of established writing talent has indeed found itself stretched thin by the glut of programming available.

The six networks opened the current prime-time season with 53 situation comedies and 40 one-hour dramas--a list that doesn’t include the many original programs produced for cable or syndication. In 1986, before the Fox network signed on, three networks offered 29 sitcoms and 35 dramas.

It’s also worth noting that those within the industry cite a shortage of good writers. Not every script or aspiring writer merits a place in the sun--a point vividly made a few years ago by a woman who discussed the fabulous sitcom she had in her about herself and her friends, who laughed and laughed when they were together.

Here’s a bulletin: Most people have a good time when they hang around with their friends. If they were miserable, one hopes they would stop hanging around with them.

Like any field with limited resources, television has forged barriers to keep out new people who desire admission to the club. This isn’t a novel concept, as any aspiring doctor enduring 36-hour medical rotations can tell you. Lawyers don’t make the bar exam an ordeal because they want whoever happens to wander in off the street to join their ranks.

Writing skill alone also isn’t enough. Even talented writers must creatively market themselves, finding ways--often through unorthodox channels--to get noticed by literary agents, the first line of defense before they can begin storming the network ramparts.

“It really is Darwinian,” said Chris Silbermann, a literary agent at Broder Kurland Webb Uffner, whose clients include writers for “The X-Files” and “3rd Rock From the Sun.”

Some writers have complained that there’s a good deal of naivete about their craft. Telling a couple of jokes at a party doesn’t necessarily mean you have a knack for structuring a scene, creating characters or dialogue.

“When you read their script, it has to sing to you,” said Scott Schwartz, a literary agent who represents the producers of the new NBC comedy “Will & Grace,” in regard to screening new talent. “To me, it’s the voice. You hear that voice.”

That said, nepotism obviously plays a part. In a business where every judgment is subjective, it’s no wonder the sons, daughters and siblings of those in positions of power get an inordinate amount of work.

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Yet those within the television business who read hundreds of scripts insist there is a genuine shortage of people with the aptitude to write and produce TV shows--as Silbermann noted, often disparate skills. Whatever people may think, they say, the process isn’t as easy as it looks, and executing an idea is far more significant than the concept itself.

A group who hangs out in a bar, after all, can become Fox’s recently canceled “Costello,” or a long-running hit like “Cheers.” A show about four dysfunctional friends doesn’t sound terribly interesting unless filtered through writer Larry David and co-creator Jerry Seinfeld.

The problem with television, unlike law or medicine, is that its shortcomings are so painfully obvious even to a layperson. Who needs training, viewers doubtless wonder, when athletes with marbles in their mouths walk directly from the playing field into broadcast booths and acting jobs?

Very little of what gets on the air reaches a level of quality likely to dissuade people from feeling they can write their own show. Creating a “Law & Order” or “ER” episode from scratch might present a daunting challenge, but casual viewers can watch the WB’s dreadful “The Army Show” or last season’s CBS comedy “Meego” and mutter, “Hey, how much worse could I really do?”

Entertainment industry officials aren’t lying when they talk about being eager to find people capable of creating the next blockbuster movie or award-winning sitcom, but they go about that task in a way that must seem peculiar to those seeking the chance. The race features hurdles, water hazards, a brick wall and no discernible starting line. In addition, plan on beginning at least 20 paces behind the field if you don’t know, or aren’t related to, someone holding a starter’s pistol.

If that sounds unfair, it’s also precisely the way the folks running ahead of you want it. Just ask your doctor or lawyer.