Just received this note confirming my entry in the 2007 Nicholl’s Screenwriting Fellowship. This year set another record for submissions. Regardless, I’ll know where I stand in early August.

Welcome to the 2007 Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting competition, a program of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences.

We have received your screenplay, * TITLE REDACTED *, application form and entry fee in proper order. If you contact us regarding your submission, please include your entry number — * NUMBER REDACTED *.

Thus far, we have received over 5,040 scripts for this year’s competition. We hope to complete first-round judging by the end of July. We will then tally the results as quickly as possible.

We expect about 5% of this year’s entrants to progress into the quarterfinal round of judging. If all goes smoothly, you will be< hearing from us near August 1 as to your status in the competition.

If you encountered any difficulties with our new online applicationsystem, please accept our humble apologies.

Thank you for entering the 2007 Nicholl Fellowships competition. Best
of luck in it and with all your screenwriting endeavors.

Sincerely,

Greg Beal
Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting

Off for a few days of relaxation; I return on July 3, 2007. In the meantime, here’s what’s going on:
1) Full on query assault for The Last Track. Without disclosing the exact number presently in circulation–it would reveal my secret life as a submission slut–let’s deem it goodly and drive through. Better yet, I have another long list of accomplished literary agents selected, if necessary.

2) All, more like nearly, all of the edits Oriana suggested were implemented. Right now the manuscript is…ah, in transit. My free delivery service left the package on his dresser in NJ. Too bad he lives in Brooklyn. Well, she might get them this weekend, or next. Something like that.

3) Got my motorcycle permit today, inching closer to Bonnie. Bonnie, by the way, is a nickname for the 2007 Triumph Bonneville Black motorcycle I will have. She’s 865cc of engineering perfection. Mmm.

4) Started character sketches for a new screenplay I’m cowriting. I’ve always wanted to collaborate on a writing project, so this will be a growth experience.

Until then, I’m having some fun and drinking some beer. Oh wait, I do that often. Well have fun that is. This weekend I drink beer, too!

I’m falling towards the Jersey shore at 120 mph. Wind thrashes at my body, like some possessed invisible force.

At 9,000 feet the jump master gives the thumbs up and I do the first parachute check test. Anything that changes the angle of deflection of air over my body will affect the stability and direction of the freefall. So to complete a practice reach for the ripcord without causing a wild turn, I pivot my left hand towards my temple at the same time I reach down and to the right. My left wrist locks 2 inches above my head, while my right hand touches the orange plastic knob.

All clear. Returning to a full arch, my arms assume the Jesus Christ pose again.

“Altimeter - 8,000!” I yell, loud enough that it pierces the din.

“Heading!” The second PCT check passes without a hitch. “7,500!”

Locking on a heading in the distance, I turn right, and then back to center.

“Arch - Heading - 7,000!”I start the left turn, locking on another object. This maneuver is bit choppier, but under control and soon enough I’m back at center.

Textbook so far, but I’m about to make a mistake that could have been fatal.

The jumpmaster unlatches the lock and opens the bay door of the Cessna 182. Wind roars through the cabin like a hurricane. Outside, the prop hums like a low pitched buzzer, relentless. There’s two inches of air between us and 10,500 foot descent. It’s the sort of day jumpers dream of: an unlimited ceiling, moderate to light winds, and a crystal clear view spanning more than thirty miles in every direction. The only speck of white below are breakers gnashing into the Jersey shore.

I pull my goggles over my helmet, covering my glasses securely.

It’s time.

“Are you ready to sky dive?” That’s the question the jump master bellows.

“Yes, sir!” I boom back. With twenty-two years teaching Army Rangers, Spec Ops and other airborne units how to jump, firing back with anything less than an equal intensity will mean push ups after the debriefing. I hate push-ups.

“Then let’s sky dive!”

The railing over the wheel of a 182 is wide, yet stout, and maintaining balance is easier than I expect, even into 120 mph winds. I point my toe towards the wing tip. Over my left shoulder comes the all clear from the jump master.

We break away from the plane and barrel heads down through nothingness.

“Arch, arch, arch, breathe!” I yell. Instinctively following the vocal prompts, my body thrusts out at the hips, resembling a banana from the side.

Three seconds later, I’m stable and dropping 1000 feet every 5.5 seconds.

I have thirty seconds to live the rest of my life.

Back on the submission horse I climb, sending off a new round of queries for The Last Track. I will now–unless one extends an offer of representation before December, that is–easily reach my resolution of pitching the project to fifty agents this year, though a higher final total for 2007 is quite possible.

A few factors sharply curtailed response times, while boosting the numbers of request for material over my previous efforts, and reducing the number of never-bothered-to-respond replies. More importantly, I felt a lot better about the process.

1) Letting go of the pages. I severed all expectations an agent will ever mail back a manuscript, or a partial request for material, even should I include sufficient postage for its return. Therefore I do not send another envelope for this purpose. These pages are going somewhere after sending them off, but wherever that is, they ain’t coming back to me.

2) Enclosing a self-sealing SASE envelope for a reply. No, a SASE will not cut it. Agents and interns do not want to lick 10,000 sticky strips of glue shut. They do not want to keep dabbing a sponge in water to close envelopes and mucking up their copy of Publisher’s Weekly, or worse, their cocaine. All they want is that letter gone and off their desk so they can move on to the other 9,999. Make it frightfully easy for them for them to reply, and odds are the response–whatever it may be–will come faster.

3) Query letter. Has to be tight, tight, tight with a great hook. Run it by a few dozen people and listen to their feedback. Sleep on it. Then revise again. Fortunately, these letters are brief, so writing an effective one takes a lot less time than getting the manuscript right.

A few shifts in my approach increased the response rate for manuscripts from less than 60 percent for The Ridge Runner to nearly 80 percent for The Last Track with a turnaround averaging six weeks. Remember, that’s a fully manual process and includes round trips to their office and back to me via the United States Postal Service. Requests for The Last Track are running about 15 percent, well above average and higher than for The Ridge Runner.

Bunch of savages live in my mother’s town.

Never thought I would retract my long held position about agents saying pass on projects by not replying, but on Friday I received this email:

Dear Sam,

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to review The Last Track. As much as I enjoyed reading this, I am sorry to say I did not fall in love with the novel like I had hoped. As agents do, I need to truly love a project to take it on. Considering that you will also want and need an agent who will get behind your work with her full commitment, I wish you the best of luck placing your project with an agent who adores it. Thanks again and apologies for my belated response.

Best regards,

* Name redacted By Sam *

* Agency redacted by Sam *

Normally I do not post rejections but I thought this one was interesting for several reasons.

1) They actually sent it on their own volition. Usually I query, get a request for material, send it off and the project disappears into a void. Usually any request about the project status is unanswered.

2) Response time. Five weeks to evaluate a manuscript is very acceptable, given the circumstances, as BEA sat squarely within the consideration period. And for perspective, I can cite one agent that took more than eighteen months to reply to a query.

3) Professional tone. This was not written by a snarky junior assistant. If it was, they are ready to be an agent.

As soon as I prep another query blast pack, I’ll send this agent a thank you note. They did me a favor.

After a few years of trying to sell agents on a manuscript, I finally have some closure. With one agent, at least. And apparently there are some with manners, even in NYC.