The Writers Guild Strike

Early last week I drove up to my son's elementary school and said, "Hop in, we're going to Disney."

My son usually slumps his shoulders in protest whenever I drive rather than walk to his school because he knows that means we're not going to a nearby park where he usually plays with some of his kindergarten classmates.

But this time his eyes widened and he exclaimed, "Disney!" I barely had to help him buckle in. As I drove into Burbank, I explained how there wouldn't be any rides to go on and Mickey wouldn't be slapping any hi-fives, but that, instead, we'd be joining a bunch of people in red shirts, holding up signs and asking the big company for "a little more pie". That's what I said after his blank stare told me that the WGA taking points I was spitting out completely flew over his head.

He's five, so the pie analogy made perfect sense.

We rolled up on foot, pushing a stroller (my two-year-old daughter was also in tow) to the Riverside entrance of Disney Corporate right across the street from ABC and Disney Animation. Waiting for us were lots of smiles and a folding table full of burritos brought over by Jimmy Kimmel. We marched for a good 90 minutes before my daughter became a little too unruly -- and a little too comfortable with the street curb. So we called it a day, only to have my son slump his shoulders and drag his feet away from -- of all things -- this tedious, blister-sprouting picket line.

But even though my son doesn't fully understand what we members of the Writer's Guild are after, he completely feels the importance of it. He saw it on the faces of my fellow strikers who are a lot like me. Most of us don't arrive to picket in Porsches and BMWs. I came in an 8 year-old Taurus station wagon with both of its passenger-side hubcaps missing. A periwinkle one to boot. Not particularly glamorous.

I don't know how most of America views those of us in this guild. Sure there are the more successful members who live extremely comfortable lifestyles. But that's a small percentage. While the pay for film and TV writers is extremely good, the competition for these jobs is so stiff that it's easy to go years between gigs, forcing many to rely on residuals to stay aloft. Those of us who continue to work in Hollywood are ever-moving gibbons hoping we don't miss a vine somewhere and go crashing to the jungle floor. The Guild often says that only 48% of us are ever working at any given time. 52% unemployment and none of us have stooped to robbing banks. Yet.

Another thing to consider when Variety announces another $300,000 script sale is the unholy number of hours it typically takes to get to that paycheck. In my own case, I wrote screenplays on spec for seven years before I landed my first paid gig. I spent an average of 30 hours a week on top of a day job and child-rearing toiling on screenplays for free. Add that up (let's say I took two weeks off per year) and that equals 1500 hours a year (times seven years) for a grand total of 10,000 hours spent on a job before I saw a single cent. If I had landed a $300,000 script sale, that would mean I made roughly $30 per hour. But I didn't make that kind of a sale. Far from it. Let's just say that when I divide what I've been paid as a Hollywood screenwriter by 10,000 hours, I look at sweat shop employees with, if not envy, at least some camaraderie.

So, what is this strike all about? What exactly are we after? In this rapidly changing digital age in which online downloads are the wave of the future, studios are seeking to redefine the terms of use of our material so that we are essentially phased out of online profit participation. All the more odious considering that digital technology will virtually eliminate distribution costs, meaning the studios are poised to reap huge windfalls through not only lower costs but by also cutting writers out of the deal.

All we want is a percentage. We created the material. The studios would have nothing to sell without us. Pay us.

I've got some hubcaps to buy.