Any Lit Managers Here Who Rep Screenwriters?

Because I’m getting ready to dump mine

Like a freshly-hatched love affair, it’s all so rosy in the beginning. So utterly promising. You court them. They woo you.

It’s on baby. It’s so on.

“Getting to know you” emails fly back and forth as you both tentatively test the waters of what you hope will be a mutually beneficial relationship. (Albeit, more beneficial for you.)

Butterflies swirl like discarded Puffs in a stiff breeze when your intended suggests a PHONE CALL!

“Oh, Lordy,” you think. “This is it! This is fucking IT! All my years of hard work and sucking up to assholes are finally going to pay off!”

You tell them, “Anytime that works for you,” knowing full well that it pays to be obsequious, because who are you, after all, but a mere toad?

Even though you’re both fully aware that YOU are the vessel from which the hot properties spring. The catalyst for deals brokered, careers gone hot, and back-end payback. The money maker.

Doesn’t matter. Until an industry player is pissing themselves to turn your blood, sweat, and tears into something that can be viewed on a big or small screen, you’re still a toad.

So the time comes for the CALL and you’re hopped up, like any good toad, ready to play the game you know so well because you’ve done your homework. You’re not some green-ass wannabe with one badly-written script under their belt. You’ve got style…substance…and talent to burn. And a finely-honed bullshit detector.

The call goes well. So well, in fact, that you are now officially repped!

Your new manager is beyond excited about your project, telling you that they’re going to take it out and take it wide, baby!

You can practically see yourself accepting an Indie Spirit Award. A Golden Globe. An Oscar!

The heavens open! The choir sings! You get trashed on a cheap bottle of wine while mentally flipping off all those reps who turned you down in the past.

Soon after “closing,” your rep gives you a shortlist of who they’re going to contact straight away. It’s all good.

Meanwhile, because you know “packaging” a project is everything, you get in touch with a talented Indie director who was attached to another script that was actually optioned by an Oscar-winning producer until he went bat-shit crazy.

The director consents to read the new script and loves it. Wants to be involved. So you put my rep in touch with him and they make nice.

Again, it’s all good. Until it isn’t. And here’s why.

In the beginning, my rep would make an effort to stay in touch and keep me apprised of her efforts to sell my screenplay, which, in my crusty brain, is the best work I’ve ever produced.

We received a great deal of “Love the script, but who’s attached?” As well as, “Is there any financing in place?”

WTF.

Now, throughout my eighteen or so years on this “journey,” I’ve had no problem contacting or attempting to contact industry A-listers. I’m not star-struck and never have been.

Actors. Producers. Directors. They’re just people like you and me, only they don’t work as hard. They put their pants on, one leg at a time, same as us, gain and lose weight, same as us, engage in disastrous relationships, same as us, fart, same as you (not me), and the like.

So with that said, I never had a problem selling myself to this lot. In fact, I just spent a day emailing back and forth with Sharon Stone who has recently published her memoir and is experiencing a “resurgence,” of sorts. There will possibly be more on that, later.

To me, it didn’t seem like my rep was doing the necessary leg work to package my project. The director and I would brainstorm possible talent and production companies that we thought would be a good fit for the project.

During this time, my rep became a new grandparent and for me, I realized that was the death knell for our relationship.

I mean, how could I compare to a tiny, squealing, cuddly, shitty-pantsed little baby? As it turns out, I couldn’t as I heard from my soon-to-be MIA rep, less and less.

Oh, I did all the right things. Asked after the little bundle of joy every time we emailed, while expressing my delight for the family, etcetera, ad nauseam.

“Nauseam,” is right as I could puke thinking about it.

And then, I became virtually invisible. A side hustle, if that.

When I contacted my manager asking for “updates,” all I received was…meh. This producer wants “bankable” talent attached first, another wants to see the money, another who is seeking a Unicorn with deep pockets who can act, and on like that.

Bullshit.

Work harder. Make it happen. If you don’t have any heft in the game, you shouldn’t be in the game, period.

I’ve made more rain on my own, for fuck’s sake.

Which leads me to where I am today. At an impasse. And I may not have written this piece if I hadn’t recently seen that my soon-to-be-ex manager is currently “out” with another script.

Son of a bitch. I mean, I didn’t expect to be the only game in town, but, REALLY? After over a year of silence, I get bubkis? Not even a half-assed, “I’ve done all I can, blah, blah, blah.”

There’s no justice. Ever. Certainly, no courtesy, professional or otherwise. So I’m going to throw this out there:

“If there’s a screenwriter’s rep amongst you who’s looking for fresh meat, a writer who can actually tell a compelling story and connect with an audience, and who can bleed on a page if that’s what it takes…someone who is hungry, but doesn’t suffer imbeciles gladly, come and get me.”

I’m rarin’ to go.

ADDENDUM. I am officially rep-less.

© Sherry McGuinn, 2021. All Rights Reserved.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s soon-to-be-ex-manager is currently NOT pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

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