The other day Tamar wrote a wonderful entry about why screenwriting isn’t for her any more.

What she says is true. but despite the odds (which are terrible) it often seems like everyone I know has had some and in some cases a lot of success. (Excepting my MFA buds. So far. Yes, I am snarky and mean. Deal with it.) Mary, the mom in Seattle, has managed to sell two pitches without the so-called track record. She does it by coming up with ideas that scream “Movie.” I am in awe of what Mary has managed to do, because it’s the sort of thing that everyone says you can’t do.

Everyone says a lot of things. There are many pieces of received wisdom among pre-pro screenwriters, and one of the biggest is: as soon as I sell a script, I’ll be in the game, I’ll have some power, things are going to get easier…

And one thing I definitely learned in LA and from Wordplay is: no, things don’t get easier. If anything, they just keep getting harder.

On the Wordplay forums someone asked Terry Rossio (he of Pirates of the Caribbean, Shrek, Zorro, and Aladdin writing fame) if he (and his writing partner Ted Elliott) had any Dream Projects that they’re holding on to until such time as they can get their projects done the right way. As part of the question, the poster asked:

>> If you DO have a Dream Project like that, are you thinking 

>> about doing it as a novel, short story, or stage play first, so that 

>> you can keep at least some semblance of control over  

>> the underlying rights to the story?

To which Terry replied:

Absolutely.

Okay, now, let’s recap: one of the most successful screenwriters in Hollywood says that it’s absolutely imperative to do something other than a script to maintain control over his work.

You know, that’s the kind of advice that certainly makes me reconsider what kind of career I’d want as a screenwriter.

There are actually a lot of parallels between working in Hollywood and working in just about any other industry. Okay, between working in Hollywood and working in Silicon Valley (since I’m not intimately familiar with any other industries). But the way screenwriters and their wares—which are, after all, the basis for putting these gargantuan economic forces known as “movies” in motion—are treated is singular, and it’s horrible.

Let’s say I write a novel, and let’s say it’s successful enough to garner movie attention. I have to be honest: I don’t know if I’d sell it. Maybe if I put enough caveats on it (such as, I get script approval). But the movers and shakers in LA don’t like other people having power. Giving people money is fairly easy. I’d kill the deal by asking for power over money.

No, no, I’d have to do what Harlan Coben has done: keep (or, in his case, buy back) the rights to his beloved series, and write a series of stand-alone novels that practically sing “Hollywood fodder.”

In Hollywood the only way to maintain control of your work is to becomea director (movies) or an executive producer (TV). Coming up with the script is not enough— you have to add a couple of high-pressure jobs that have little to nothing in common with writing to protect it.

Oh dear Lord.

And to those of you who say: Who cares? So long as the checks cash! I remind you of what my first year writing teacher, David Hollander (who went on to create “The Guardian”) had to say on that score: “If you take a job for the money, you will earn every penny.”

I’m not completely unenamored of screenwriting and of Hollywood. But I’m not starry-eyed about it, I’m not gung ho. And I’m not sure I have the fight in me to pursue something even Terry says is a game that can’t be won on their terms.