#112 The Unbearable Heaviness of Being a Story Editor

Back in my office, I called Ray to give him the good news. He was elated. One of the best things about being a story editor is delivering good news to writers. “Your story springboard was approved, now write the treatment.” “Your treatment was approved, now write the script.” “Your script was approved, now submit an invoice.”

It would be nice if being a story editor was always that easy and pleasant. It’s not. There’s a lot of work between delivering all that good news – helping writers to mold their springboards so they have the best chance of getting approved. Killing parts that fall flat. Adding a word or an idea here and there to buff it up. Doing a line edit on a treatment when it’s needed, so the treatment comes into ‘house style’ and works with the rest of the series. And then there’s work to do on the writers’ script – sometimes a little here and there because the treatment has already been molded. Sometimes there’s a lot of work that has to be done because the writer has gone off track. Those are the times that story editors earn their pay.

I’d come to realize that story editors also spend a good amount of their time dealing with sometimes fragile egos and personalities, trying not to ‘traumatize’ them with comments and criticisms.

As I’ve said, I come from a mercantile family, so I have always viewed my work as a product. Sure, it’s a part of me and I care for it deeply. But in the final analysis I’ve always felt my writing is merchandize to be placed into the marketplace where it will hopefully find ‘customers’ who care about it as much as I do. That’s not the case for all writers. In fact, that’s not the case for most writers…as I’d learn down the road.

#111 The Dynamite Duo

At the risk of sounding like I’m bragging – and remember what I quoted University of Alabama Coach Bear Bryant as saying waaaaay back in Post #2: “It ain’t braggin’ if you can back it up” – there are few people who have my relentless work ethic. One was Ray Dryden.

There are people who work to put food on the table and help support their family. There are people who work to get the material things they want out of life. There are people who enjoy their work and people who don’t enjoy their work. And then there are people who love their work just for and of itself. They love the essence of work.

That’s how it was for me after I left my parents’ clothing stores and became a full-time writer. I’m blessed to be able to write for my young audience. I’m blessed to earn a living – and a darn good one – from putting my thoughts into words and my words into a form that entertains millions of people.

Ray Dryden was like that. A producer by trade, he was a born storyteller. I intuitively knew he would fit well into writing for children’s television. At present he seemed to be loving it, devouring script assignments as quickly as I could hand them out to him.

Now, along with me, he would have a new and different kind of opportunity – pounding out five episodes from story springboards to treatments to scripts in just two short weeks. I was thought he’d love it as much as I knew I would.

What I didn’t count on was that just a week later it would turn into one of the most traumatic events in my writing career…

#110 My kind of deal…

I walk into Lori’s office, summoned for a meeting. She greets me with, “You’re doing great on Heathcliff.” She tells me DIC’s growing, which I already know. What I don’t know is that the studio’s going to be moving…to a much larger venue in Encino.

She continues with, “You’re working from home for the next two weeks.” I’m thinking how the move makes sense when Lori stuns me. “You’re taking a break from Heathcliff.” She waits an eternity, then asks, “Have you seen any M.A.S.K. episodes?” I tell her I haven’t, that all I know is it’s about race cars. In a déjà vu moment, Lori shoves two series bibles and a stack of videocassettes across her desk.

She explains M.A.S.K. is going into its last season – just ten episodes. I’m to get another writer, and the two of us are to knock out the ten episodes…in two weeks! “You’ll story edit

the other writer’s scripts so you’ll keep earning your salary in addition to your fees for the scripts you write.” When she sees shock on my face, she says, “I recommended you to Andy for the job. You’re fast and you’re good.”

I look at the series bibles and videocassettes. “But there’s the series bible to read, all these episodes to view and –”

She interrupts with, “You’re getting seven thousand, five hundred dollars for two weeks’ work.” She adds a coup de grâce. “You’re a good story editor, Jack. But you’re a writer first. You need to be writing scripts. I didn’t say anything when you said you wanted a break from scriptwriting. I figured I’d let you figure it out for yourself.”

I smile sheepishly, telling her, “I did. Thanks, Lori.” I pick up the series bibles and the videocassettes, happy to be writing again.