Since this is predominantly a screenwriting blog, or a screenwriterly blog, or a blog that is predominantly for screenwriters, I thought I would post a lil' 'bout this contest we all know as The Nicholl. Sure, the deadline has passed but hey... many of you have entered annually, and many of you would probably like to know if you should enter next year. So let's get to it...
It's actually called "The Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting" but you'll understand if I don't increase my chances of getting arthritis by repeatedly using the formal name. So from now on I'll use the term NFS, for short.
NFS is run by the Academy of Motion Pictures and Sciences which also runs that thing you know as the Oscars, which for some reason is not what they say when you've won an Oscar, they just say "Academy Award Winner Whatshisname" or "Academy Award Nominee Whatshername" or "Ten Time Academy Award Nominee Whomeveritmaybe," which is really just a great way of saying "Professional Bridesmaid of the Oscars" and a nice way of knowing they'll win that trophy on their next nomination cause the Academy is (or so it is said) very political and likes to award those saps who've gotten used to losing.
Anyway, the self-proclaimed Academy hands out trophies for two all-encompassing categories: Those Who Have Made Mad Mad Money in Movies aaaaaaand Those Who Have Only Watched Movies And Hope To Someday Be Involved In Them Even Though They Have No Business Even Trying.... (I kid, I kid!). Like many or even all of you, I too happen to fall into the bounds of the latter category.
So I think it's safe to assume we're all in the same boat, here. You know, that boat that feels like it's sinking more-n-more as we scramble over one another to try to type the greatest piece of visual storytelling that anyone has ever wiped their ass with. You know that boat, right? 'Course you do. 'Cause we're paddling that fucker around in circles right now. You-n-me-n-all of them. Your competition. Those writers you like to look at and loathe for doing what you're so scared of doing: succeeding.
Now, when I say "succeeding" I don't mean that you're competing with writers who are out there selling specs and hustling for assignments. No. Those guys and gals are in their own league. They're AAA ball players in the farm system for the Yanks or the Sawx or even the Cubbies. We're those Single-A ballers who are scared shitless they're never gonna get their at-bat in the bigs. We're the outfielders for the Single-A Whothefuckcares of North Dakota who wake up every morning in their scotch-reeking one-bedrooms praying to Whoeverthefuckisupthere that they'll still have a job when they go down swinging in the 9th at the local ballpark that might not even be there next season.
We're what the fans call "lifers." We're what the screenwriting contest runners call "customers." We're their paychecks and their mortgages and their too-tinted-2012-special-edition-eco-friendly-but-not-really-too-cheap-to-install-real-brakes-Toyota insurance payments. We're who they count on to enter their cleverly named contest year after heartbreaking year even though we may have never even crossed that threshold into Semifinals-land.
"We're sorry. There were just so many good scripts this year. We hope you enter again next year," they tell us.
"We thoroughly enjoyed the wide range of talent we were privileged enough to read, but unfortunately we could only advance so many into the finals," they'll explain ever-so-gently.
"We hope to read your work next year."
"We'd love for you to enter again."
"Only 200 days til our gates open again next season."
"You didn't advance but could you please pay us $250 so we can offer you our misguided assessment of your script we used as cheap poop paper?"
Or, "Can't wait to read your talented work the next time you enter!"
Of course you can't wait. You're struggling to pay your bills... Like the rest of us. But we don't go hustling over the internet to make ends meet. We apply for real jobs. We might dig ditches. We might write code. We might design websites or marketing strategies or floorplans for the buildings in which you run your scam of a successful company. We might drive you to work in that Yellow Cab you hailed this morning. Or that limo you rented for $450 for your spoiled son whose education we're probably paying for. We might pilot that red-eye you took to Hong Kong last September cause you... yes, even you... are still trying to sell that script you co-wrote in the May of '95 about a homecoming queen who just can't find her way home ("Why oh why can't anyone see the hook!?).
Point is, we do a lot of things. We're people who write stories about other people. We write stories and hope that someone will see the beauty in it and have faith enough to make the magic happen. We all need someone or something to believe in. What we don't need is people promising to make that happen for $55 and a 3-month grace period while you attempt to find a "winner" in that trash heap you'll be burning next week. We don't need upstarts promising things they can't deliver.
What we do need are contests that can deliver what they promise... even if they don't promise a lot. Contests like NFS.
NFS takes in approximately 6,500 entries annually and dwindles that number down to about 300-400 Quarterfinalists, 100-or-so Semifinalists, about 10 Finalists, and just 5 Fellows (or winners).
They'll send out a mass email to pretty much the entire industry with the title and genre of any script that made the Quarterfinals cut along with your name and contact information (as long as you're amenable).
Even for the lowly Quarterfinalists, this technique can generate inquiries by email or phone, subsequent script reads, possible representation, options, or even sales. For those who make the Semifinals or further, they'll have an even higher possibility of garnering interest. They can stamp that placement on a query letter or a query email and know with certainty that whomever they're querying will at least bat an eye at the mention of NFS. That's something you just can't do with other contests. Sure, there are some contests that are better than others, but they're just not NFS.
If you're looking to jump into the water next contest season, don't worry about scouring the interwebs for your best bet at winning. Winning a small contest will do you hardly any good. You might get a small cash prize, but you can't query a production company with "I won this contest you've never heard of."
I know this from experience.
I won a small contest a couple years back. Never got me anywhere. I paid some bills with the prize money, took my girlfriend to dinner, got to actually say "drinks are on me" for once. But it got me nowhere with producers or managers.
But I did place in the Quarterfinals of NFS that same year. And you know what? That got me reads. I had producers emailing me about this little script I wrote in college. This script that they would have never heard of had it not been for NFS.
Ultimately, the script wasn't ready and I didn't secure representation or option the property. But I did make some contacts. And I learned a lot about the contest scene.
If you have just $100 or less to spend on contests next season, slip two 20s to NFS and take your significant other out for a burger and a beer, 'cause ain't no one gonna do what NFS does.
So when you're debating on whether to enter that local competition that promises feedback or that contest that sounds like a coin, remember:
"What can Nicholl do for you?"
The answer is: a whole helluvalot.
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