It has been a long journey!
But I’m here. I’m doing it. I’m a full-time writer of movies! I have one film that’s been produced (”Jupiter Landing”) and I now have nine — count ‘em, nine! — feature scripts in development.
I’m not yet a household name, but I will be (at least, in households where the discussion of successful screenwriters is a common practice). And I am on IMDB!
For now, after doing nothing but screenwriting on contract for the past 14 months here in my quiet Pasadena apartment, I am simply happy to declare myself — finally and once and for all — free of the tiresome, conflict-ridden, stress-filled trade of print journalism! Now, instead of chasing down some crisis-plagued, small-town mayor for comment on a controversial issue he or she claims is irrelevant while personally blaming me for creating a public maelstrom when all I’m doing is following the orders of my editors, I’m sitting in my apartment in my underwear making up funny stuff! The level of enjoyment I experience at work every day now is a hundred times what it used to be. And I have the shortest commute in Los Angeles — two inches. (That’s the distance from my fold-out futon bed to the majestic antique desk I inherited from my grandfather.)
As I give journalism one final wave goodbye, I will leave it, and you, with one of my favorite quotes of all-time, from the ubiquitous Dr. Hunter S. Thompson:
“I have spent half my life trying to get away from journalism, but I am still mired in it — a low trade and a habit worse than heroin, a strange seedy world full of misfits and drunkards and failures.”
It did take me nearly half my life, Hunter S., but I managed to escape. Rest in peace, Dr. Gonzo!
I still remember the exact moment I decided to become a screenwriter. It was shortly after midnight on Nov. 15, 1998. I was sitting alone at my kitchen table, seriously considering a part-time job of stuffing envelopes just to make ends meet. Journalists don’t make a lot of money, as I’m sure most of you know, and it’s no easy task supporting four people on that salary. I worked overtime every chance I could get, and yet there I was, brainstorming for ways to get through to the next paycheck.
At that moment, I was struck by an inspiration so forceful and fervent that my brow, in fact my entire forehead, physically moved in reaction to the thought. It was as though I had been struck by intellectual lightning. The idea was so powerful it caused a physical wave, or spasm, as it crossed into, and/or out of, my cerebrum. The thought was a simple one. Something like: YOU ARE A SCREENWRITER, YOU IDIOT! It was like my spirit guides were jumping up and down and yelling at me, hoping that after all those years of being too busy to meditate, I’d finally paused long enough to hear what they’d been trying to tell me forever.
I heard them, all right. Loud and clear. In the next hour, I wrote an eight-page outline for a science-fiction screenplay (one I still have not written). In the coming weeks, I spent my lunch hours at Borders, devouring every screenwriting book I could find, despite being too broke to actually buy one. Less than six weeks after that inspirational event, I was well into my first feature script. Because I couldn’t afford screenwriting software, I wrote it — and all of my first seven screenplays, in fact — on WordPerfect, spending countless hours punching the tab and space keys to format it properly. So as not to disrupt my family’s routine, I wrote only when my wife and kids were asleep — usually from 11 p.m. to 2 a.m. or later. Eventually, I started getting up at 4 or 5 a.m. and writing before work, allowing the more awake and alert version of myself to give his best to screenwriting and leaving the exhausted, worn-out model to fake his way through another day as a beat (no pun intended) reporter.
There were people in my life who doubted me; people who suggested I was trying to win the lottery and actually had less of a shot at success than hitting the Pick Six. But I didn’t see it that way. I knew from age 7, when I spent second grade filling spiral notebook after spiral notebook with stories about a rat and a rabbit who visited outer space, that I was a writer. When I began my daily newspaper career as a sportswriter at age 14, it seemed natural. And when I wrote, produced and co-directed two cable access TV series after I graduated from college, I thought those were the best years of my life. As miserable as I was in journalism, I saw screenwriting as a logical way out — and perhaps my only hope of ever waking up in the morning with a smile on my face, eager to begin my work day (as I, very thankfully, do now). I started winning screenwriting contests, I optioned a script (it was eventually made into an indie film), and along the way many deals were struck only to fall through or fade out (again, no pun intended) in some way, shape or form. I wrote five scripts for one manager with no tangible success. I wrote two for another manager, who sent my work “around town” to positive responses — but still no sale or option, and not a single meeting with a production company! But it was all very encouraging rather than deflating. People liked my work. I was close. So I moved to Los Angeles. And finally, a business relationship I began nurturing nine years earlier came through in a big way with a writing contract that, while still well below WGA minimum, was enough to permit me to leave the last (and most horrific) job of my journalism tour. Since then, the screenwriting work has been steady. And some of you who are reading these words will, I hope, help me keep going.
I would not argue that my entire foot is through the door. But a big toe? Yes. And perhaps half of that second toe. But the door is open, and I thank all of you who have empowered and fortified me in so many ways and helped me finally break through.
Hollywood is like no other business. You don’t walk into a production company, hand them your resume and tell them you’d like to write a script for them. Many screenwriters, in fact, have lost their lives trying this exact approach. On Nov. 15, 1998, I knew no one in Hollywood. Today, I know just a handful of people in this business. I have never had an agent and, for now, have stopped trying to find one; it seems almost as impossible as locating a parking spot around here. But I’ve gotten this far on my own and nothing is going to stop me from giving it everything I’ve got. Perhaps, one day, the agent who is meant to represent me will sit at his or her kitchen table at midnight and will feel their forehead move and their spirit guides will stand on their ethereal tippy toes and holler: SIGN ZACK VAN EYCK!
If you’re a screenwriter trying to break in, all I can tell you is I hope you have some Capricorn in your natal chart (I do, Capricorn rising). Because you’re going to need the tenacity of that ram climbing the mountain. It takes patience, perseverance, determination and ambition to get ANYWHERE in this business. Some people get lucky and sell a spec script — maybe even the first, second or third one they write. Despite winning multiple contests with my second and third scripts, it was my 11th screenplay that finally sold — although only for $500, under the WGA low-budget agreement. Now, I’m writing feature screenplay No. 32. But six of the last seven scripts I’ve written have been for pay, on contract. And the seventh one has been optioned and is scheduled for production next summer.
I’m not getting rich, and that was never my intent, although I am getting tired of sitting in the upper deck at Dodger Stadium. But I have the best job in the world, one I worked incredibly hard to cultivate for myself. And I’m making more than I made as a journalist. Plus, the reward — the satisfaction of earning a living through your own creativity — is so much greater. And how many new stories can you write in your underwear?
In future blogs, I will do my best to help other screenwriters who have yet to get that big toe through the door. Your comments and questions will always be welcomed.
I also want to thank my Webmaster, my daughter Emily, for designing this site for me. I hope she, too, will pursue a career she is passionate about and that will allow her to fully express her own potent creativity. Because, even if it takes a while, to finally realize your dreams and do the work you were truly meant to do is SO SWEET and so rewarding, you realize all the effort, sacrifice and lost hours of sleep were more than worth it!
Zack Van Eyck
Pasadena, CA
10-8-2009