About a thousand and a half years ago, I wrote (with my then writing-partner brother) on a show called Romeo!
I am not excited. The show was called Romeo!
That's Romeo-Exclamation-Point. I'm not a fan of the mandatory use of punctuation in show titles. It's a little desperate. As in see, no, it's a really new and exciting show and you can tell people there's an exclamation point or we used that question mark because we're not sure that it's actually going to happen even though we know it already did I'm looking at you Bethenny Getting Married?(!)
Romeo! was...an experience.
We were holed up in an office in Beverly Hills, three floors below the offices of the production company. The production company's doors were kept locked, so any time we wanted a soda or a glass of water or some jumbo red vines (a writers' room staple) you would have to
Leave the office
Take the elevator three flights up. (We could never find the stairs.)
Call the receptionist from the phone in the hallway.
Explain who we were.
Explain again.
Ask to speak to the Writers' Assistant.
Explain that we were outside.
Be let in.
Have the line producer watch over our shoulder while we filled our pockets. "Are you going to drink all that water?"
Pop our heads in the EP's office to remind him we did work there.
Go back down three floors.
Where we would return to our small office and quietly break stories.
I say quietly because our office was on a floor with a bunch of other offices, and none of us had ceilings. We were basically working in glorified cubes, and anything resembling gregarious enthusiasm or fits of laughter were frowned upon, as the sound would carry through the floor.
We were supposed to write funny. We just weren't supposed to show it.
Day after day, we came up with story after story after story. When you work as a writer, not all of your pitches are going to work. And not all those that work are going to get written. But tween TV has some classic stories - first day of school, fighting with your best friend, being humiliated in front of your peers - that need to be told. The difference from show to show is how your characters experience them.
The showrunner would look at the ideas, approve them and send us to outline. After turning around a seven-page outline in 24 hours, he would find some small detail that he decided he hated and couldn't get past. ("Oh, he's afraid of bees? I thought spiders would be better. No, don't change it, just write another outline. Dazzle me!")
Page after page and story after story, we trudged back and forth to work to find something - anything - to make him happy.
One day he came down to our offices and sat on the couch.
I've got it, he said. I have the idea that's going to win us a Peabody.
Broken down and drained off all life force, Older SlackBrother J. and I sat and listened.
Romeo is going to deliver a baby.
I let the words hang in the air, thinking the longer I waited, the better chance that the previous moment hadn't actually happened.
Romeo is going to deliver a baby! he said, louder this time.
But-- I started. He was my boss, and I had to be careful with what I was about to say next --we're working on an idea for the Halloween episode. Maybe we could work on this next.
He clapped his hands, positively gleeful. Even better!
J. and I looked at each other, confused.
He stood up, eyes bright and shining, and announced to the entire fifth floor of the Beverly Hills office building:
ROMEO IS GOING TO DELIVER THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN'S BABY WHILE TRICK-OR-TREATING!
We never wrote that episode, and our option wasn't picked up.
Although after the first season? The showrunner's option wasn't picked up either.
