One Day at a Time...

I've been getting some questions about my origin story and while I'd love to have been rescued from an aquarium fire by a sentient fluke whale and his dolphin sidekick I'm not nearly that lucky. Instead I went to USC Film School where I almost got my MFA but did not due to the fact that the people who work there are insufferable assholes. But we'll save that for another day.

This is a story about agents and lawyers. Many people want to know how to get representation and what I would tell you is to move to Los Angeles, write a good script and wait. While you're waiting you should probably write another script and hopefully it's better than the one you wrote before it. In my case I won a screenwriting prize while I was at USC Film school where I almost got my MFA but did not due to the fact that the people who work there are insufferable assholes. The award wasn't a huge deal but a couple agents took notice. I met with them but it didn't feel exactly right so I kinda kept fucking around and hoping something better would come along. To this day this is how I run my life.

Meanwhile I met these guys who fancied themselves producers and wanted to option that script. I had no lawyer. No agent. Nothing. But because I am the dumbest monkey in the fucking tree I did something that I regret EVERY TIME I do it.

I asked my Dad for help.

Now understand this. Back then my father's knowledge of the entertainment business didn't extend past what he'd learned kissing Bonnie Franklin once in high school. (Of course now he checks WOTW daily grosses on Box Office Mojo and wants to know if the DVD industry is in a slump and whether this will affect my ability to provide food and comfort for my family.)

So he recommends me a cheap lawyer friend of his who I find out later only came to this "lawyer gig" late in life. What he really wants to do is park his Volvo near the beach and sleep. But hey, he's got one of those law degree thingies so I figure what the fuck. He then proceeds to negotiate a contract between me and the producers WHICH ALLOWS THEM TO OPTION MY SCRIPT FOR $2500 AND THEN RENEW SAID OPTION EVERY YEAR UNTIL THE END OF TIME.

A tiny error on his part.

So here I am with one script to my name (which I will never see again), this little lucite award on my shelf and no agent. Did I mention the script is a prison drama taking place on death row in real time and at the end the guy gets killed? Sure, real time electrocution stories have always been a hot genre, but for some reason none of the big agencies wanted to take on a client whose only script was already optioned UNTIL THE END OF TIME and whose second script (unfinished) was in that other really hot genre: "Death at a Jewish Summer Camp".

Then a screenwriter buddy of mine says a friend of his from high school (currently working as an agent's assistant at a tiny agency) may soon get to represent clients on her own. She's read my peppy prison drama and would love to have dinner. I'm a little nervous about this because this was my same friend who admitting masturbating every time he got stuck writing a scene. (I'd read his scripts. He got stuck a lot.) But the almost-agent and I meet and I tell her my script is already under option UNTIL THE END OF TIME and I'm fairly certain my next script ain't exactly The Last Boy Scout.

She says she couldn't care less and I officially become Her First Client and she becomes My First Agent. The funny part was, she was still an assistant. So occasionally she'd get confused and I'd call her line and she'd answer as if it were her boss's line, and I'd think: "Wow. My career is in the hands of a yahoo."

But she was the most enthusiastic yahoo I had ever met. She took that one little script of mine and flogged the shit out of it. I had meetings all over town. And that is ALL you can ask your agent to be and do. The rest is up to you. A lot of people want to get signed at a big agency but what's really important is the agent NOT the agency. Having a fancy cover on your script doesn't mean fuck all if it's only being used by your agent's assistant to test-drive her new Prada book bag.

On the other hand, if you need a lawyer don't call my dad.

After a number of months I get my first offer: rewriting a serial killer movie for this little production company. I was living in an attic with shag carpeting, a velour sectional and a mattress on the floor. I had $1500 to my name. Unbeknownst to me until years later, this is how the negotiations went:

MY AGENT: I'm calling to discuss the Josh Friedman deal.
BUSINESS AFFAIRS: Great. I hear it's his first job. Congratulations.
MY AGENT: Thanks.
BUSINESS AFFAIRS: Whatcha looking for?
MY AGENT: A million dollars.
BUSINESS AFFAIRS: What kind of dumb fucking lesbian are you?
HANG UP.
MY AGENT: Shit.
SHE DIALS AGAIN...
MY AGENT: Can I have a second chance?
BUSINESS AFFAIRS: Twenty thousand dollars. Take it or leave it.
MY AGENT: Take it. Thank you very much.
BUSINESS AFFAIRS: I'm sorry about the dumb fucking lesbian comment.
MY AGENT: No problem.

And here's what my agent said to me five minutes later: "OH MY GOD JOSH YOU ARE NOT GONNA BELIEVE THIS THEY ARE GONNA PAY YOU TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS FOR YOUR FIRST REAL HOLLYWOOD JOB TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS ISN'T THAT FUCKING AWESOME?"

And it was.