W hen I used to live in Los Angeles and work for Universal Studios, one day a Vice President came charging down the hall, furious over a writer’s "disloyalty" at having accepted an offer at another company. He vowed, "I won’t call him again," and, barely missing a beat, added, "until I need him."

Although he was referring to a writer, his words capture even more accurately the ambiguous feelings most writers have about agents. On the one hand, they wonder with irritation why agents are needed and how they ever came to possess the powerful role of "gatekeepers" of the film and television industries; on the other hand, they long to be discovered, nurtured, and made famous by an agent who wields such power.

Writers often seem to crumble more over fear of rejection by agents than at the seemingly more formidable challenge of crafting a screenplay, teleplay, or novel. Put another way, in the curious battle of "writer’s block" vs. "agent’s block", agent’s block triumphs almost every time.

Writers’ intimidation is rooted in the fact that screen and television writers learn faster than you can say "premise" that most studios and production companies will not accept submissions that don’t come to them through an agent or entertainment attorney. This gives them an inflated sense that agents — instead of their own writing, perseverance, personality, and the like — are the dominant factor in making or breaking them. (In reality, I’d bet the number of agents who have ruined writers is greatly exceeded by the number of writers who have ruined agents, and exceeded even more by the number of writers who have ruined themselves.)

No question about it, particularly if you are shy and not self-promoting, lack contacts and are not great at networking, or if your work is off-beat, appealing to a small audience, or even slightly ahead of its time, attempting to land an agent can make you feel weak and vulnerable. Rejections by agents take on the same nightmarish tones as the reprimands of all those angry friends and relatives who resent your quitting your "day job", and, worst of all, can create such self-doubt that you might come to believe those critical voices have been right all along.

In the minefield of agents, there’s bad news and good news. The bad news is by the time most writers land an agent, their work is so distinctive and marketable that it could be sold fairly easily without an agent. The good news is there are so many ways around not having an agent that, at least ninety percent of the time, any writer with enough imagination to write an intriguing screenplay or teleplay will be able to huff and puff his or her script into the right person’s hands.

Some ways around not having an agent are respectable, even potentially preferable, alternatives. Others were doubtlessly hatched by writers launching their writing careers from prison cells and destined to finish their careers there as well; I’ve included them for amusement, not endorsement!

The most professional and respectable alternative to having an agent is to use an entertainment attorney. I have not yet encountered a company that would not accept submissions from entertainment attorneys, although I might have an easier time with acceptance of submissions than most because of having worked in the Los Angeles film and television communities for many years.

Many top writers use entertainment attorneys instead of agents to negotiate and draft deals. This is driven primarily by the economy of paying entertainment attorneys an hourly fee instead of an agent ten (or, in some instances, fifteen) percent of the fees earned by high rolling writers. Some writers feel attorneys’ legal training provides them with greater business skills and precision in drafting and that it is more prestigious to be represented by an entertainment attorney instead of an agent.

My experiences in comparing negotiations and drafting of attorneys vs. agents has been that entertainment attorneys usually have paid more attention to important fine points agents often overlooked; on the other hand, agents probably invest more time in keeping their ears to the ground about opportunities for writers. Of course, to a large extent, it depends on the individuals involved, and some agents are also attorneys.

Some writers use an agent for submissions and an entertainment lawyer for negotiations and drafting. These writers feel that by doing this, they get the best of both worlds, and that the added expense is a worthwhile investment in their future.

The major downside for beginning writers to using an entertainment attorney is that most charge up-front fees while agents work off a percentage of any monies earned. Some entertainment attorneys might be flexible in fee arrangements; it doesn’t hurt to ask. I’m sure I wouldn’t do this right now, but several years ago, I believed so strongly in a writer that I agreed to help him edit his scripts in exchange for his giving my child extra challenges and review in math. The arrangement worked out wonderfully for everyone involved, and he remains one of my closest friends.

Additionally, some entertainment attorneys, myself included, don’t like to submit scripts except for projects in which they believe. To do otherwise puts their hard-earned reputations and credibility at risk, making them less persuasive and effective at what they do.

A second alternative to having an agent is to use a manager. Managers are in short supply in New England, but they are fast moving into agents’ territories in LA. Managers usually work on a fixed fee, but may also take a percentage. While they are technically not supposed to be soliciting work for clients, they have lots of contacts and are great at helping writers launch and maintain their careers. Unlike agents, they have the ability to produce projects, which is why management companies are all the rage and why agencies are fighting for competitive equality with managers by demanding that the rules prohibiting them from producing projects be permanently changed.

Many top writers use agents to submit scripts, entertainment attorneys to negotiate and draft deals, and managers for career advice and direction. Unlike agents, who are licensed, and attorneys, who must be admitted to the bar in the state in which they wish to practice and who can be subject to disciplinary action and even disbarment for breaches with respect to clients, managers are largely unregulated—although this is likely to change.

Thus, it is probably fair to say that writers should be especially cautious in making sure managers they select are reputable and will carefully protect client funds. Additionally, since managers’ roles are fuzzy and fast-evolving, writers should be sure they understand the services each individual manager will be providing.

It’s kind of a "band-aid" approach, but another way around not having an agent or entertainment attorney is to secure a "letter of introduction" or "call of introduction" from one. The basic idea is someone like me "vouches" for a writer by calling, faxing or e-mailing the studio or production company with a friendly note singing the person’s praises; they then agree to accept the submission from the writer. I usually take a paragraph to establish my own work in the film and television industries, then a paragraph to discuss the background and projects of the writer. Obviously, the agent or entertainment attorney should not write or call unless he or she is comfortable endorsing the writer and his or her work.

Yet another way around not having an agent is to become a "hip pocket" client of an agent. I like to think of this arrangement as having an agent "who won’t deny that he (or she) knows you".

This arrangement usually occurs when an agent really responds to your work, but doesn’t feel he or she can really advocate for you right now. This could be because your script isn’t a "slam dunk"—i.e., it’s going to take careful marketing and a lot of effort before it can be sold, because the agent has already taken on too much and won’t be able to service well the clients he or she has already committed to if he or she takes you on as well, or because the agent has personal problems such as a surgery or divorce that make the timing just not right. But the agent believes in you and is interested in helping you.

For all practical purposes, you start out by being your own agent. You do your own legwork, selling yourself to producers, etc. The agency does,however, send out any scripts you can convince producers to read, and, should you get a deal, the agent helping you will negotiate it, taking a regular commission. It is a little known fact that many writers get their first agents in this way.

Yet another, somewhat similar arrangement is to use an agent’s assistant to represent you. You can accomplish this by cultivating relationships with the assistants with whom you talk as you search for an agent. If you find you have been impressed with a particular assistant, inquire into whether the assistant is interested in and able to take on clients of his or her own.

Most assistants are training for an agent’s job and need clients in order to make that leap. Yet, because they are already working for established agents, they often have wonderful industry contacts. They are generally strongly motivated and work hard on your behalf in order to prove themselves. Once they commit to you, often the agent and the agency for whom they work rally to help them out.

This is going to sound crazy, but if you can’t get an agent, and can’t afford an entertainment attorney or manager, another approach is to use a little semantic trick: bill yourself as a producer, or writer/producer, instead of as a writer.

Agents used to represent producers, but it is very difficult for producers to get agents to take them on now. Studios and production companies know this. I have found studio and production company policies with respect to submissions by agents or entertainment attorneys are enforced far less rigorously with respect to producers submitting work than they are with respect to writers submitting work. So "produce" your way to a screenwriting Oscar!

Even if you decide to stick with calling yourself a writer, you will doubtlessly find enforcement policies are haphazard at best, and sometimes defiantly ignored. If you make enough calls, you will find producers, directors, and actors who will read your work without ever asking for it to be submitted through an agent or entertainment attorney.

Another effective way to skirt the submission barrier is by frequenting industry conferences, film festivals, writers’ retreats, and the like (the more informal, the better). You will probably be most successful if you are in a situation, such as a writers’ retreat, in which you will have ongoing contact with the person to whom you wish to get your material and have time to impress that person with your talent, and build his or her trust with respect to your character and judgment.

If you are able to make such connections, you can often continue the relationship after the seminar is over, touching base periodically with updates on new projects, perhaps asking for a meeting if and when you visit LA or wherever they are based, etc.

A final way to submit material without an agent or entertainment attorney is by signing release forms. A release form is a document that says you waive any rights you may have to sue the company for plagiarism or other causes of action. Such documents are standard in the industry and my experience has been that they read remarkably similarly from company to company provided they are from a reputable company. Each writer will have to weigh his or her options with respect to alternatives to signing such a document.

Over the years, I have heard of many humorous ways in which imaginative writers have skirted submission requirements of studios and production companies. One woman allegedly submitted material inside tempting, freshly baked loaves of bread. Other writers have used mothers or other relatives pretending they were agents to plug their work. I’ve even heard of instances in which writers used two voices—their own and that of a fictitious agent—to get their scripts in the door. Recently, I heard of a group of writers who created a fictitious agency amusingly named, with a slight variation, after the restaurant they used to meet at while bemoaning the fact that they couldn’t get agents!

In short, there are probably as many ways to get your screenplays and teleplays where they need to go as there are ways to fall in—or out—of love. Studios, production companies, producers, directors, and actors all need strong projects—their very survival depends on it. In the end, such companies and persons are at least as motivated to seek out and discover great projects as writers are to have their projects produced.

©2000 by Janice M. Pieroni. All Rights Reserved.

  Janice Pieroni is a former Universal Studios executive. She specializes in story and script development and consulting and writers’ and artists’ marketing and negotiations. She can be contacted at jmpier12@aol.com