Month: May 2010

Today’s my birthday as I write this, and it got me thinking about where I’ve been and where I’m headed.

I knew I wanted to tell stories for years, going back to when we had to incorporate all the week’s spelling words into short stories. Mine were rarely short. One even got so much praise it got featured in a school exhibit at a local mall. There’d even been a decent couplet poem the year before that got the same treatment. I didn’t think anything of it then, though, I was just a kid having fun.

It was an event just a little over fifteen years ago that changed my life forever. I’d been interested in an animation series called VOLTRON and insisted on sending story ideas to the company. Being from a small town of 7,000 and a stoplight (it’s since grown to over 8,000 and got three lights as I write this), I didn’t know how things were done. I’d first sent them to my local television station, who forwarded my letter to the company, and I received a fan kit in return. This wasn’t an acceptable answer to me, I wanted to know what people thought of my stories! Luckily, the fan kit had the company’s direct address. So I sent the ideas again, included with a few more my younger sister and I thought up, this time straight to the show’s executive producer… then didn’t hear anything for months. I honestly thought I’d been forgotten about.

It was a cold winter day in March. I was eating one of those dime ramen packs – Oriental flavor Maruchan brand – from a ceramic microwavable bowl. Mom had gone out to get the mail, but seemed to be taking an awful long time to get back in. I ran to the window to see what was going on. Out in the cold, Mom stared at an envelope with a blue foil logo. I strained to see it from the distance, and realized I knew that logo. World Events Productions, the producers of VOLTRON! I shouted for Mom to come indoors.

That letter turned out to be from Head Writer Marc Handler. He’d been out of the country for the past several months, and just now seen our materials. The show wasn’t being continued, but he wrote a review of our material. Marc felt we had a lot of potential, and if we stayed with it, would have success in the future. Before that day, I’d never considered the idea of writing professionally. Not once. Here, a professional told me I had promise, a professional who has remained a friend.

The next couple years saw their share of missteps, but one thing that did come through came from a total fluke. Having learned some lessons from World Events Productions, when I took an interest in the show JEM, I wrote the toy company asking simply for the address of the production company. I never said what I wanted it for. Thinking me an adult, my letter was forwarded to the Senior Manager of Production, Carole Weitzman. She called my house while I as off at high school and my mother answered, who had to explain things to Ms. Weitzman. Interestingly enough, that didn’t deter her; she still requested that I call. So I dragged myself out of bed WAY early (Sunbow was in New York, and I lived in Washington State) and had a thirty minute conversation with a Senior Manager of Production. I told her my main intent, even after being told JEM wasn’t going to be continued, which was to get in touch with Christy Marx, the name I’d seen on so many JEM episodes. She promised to forward materials to Ms. Marx but couldn’t guarantee a response.

I did indeed get that response, a ten page letter and materials to further my learning of animation writing. Not to mention a friendship with Christy Marx that has lasted over ten years. I can’t put a price on that.

After that, I worked things out with the local school district to go to college half-time my senior year, since there was a university in the same town. I’m surprised my high school classmates knew me. One of them, when I went to my ten year reunion, thought I’d become a childrens’ book writer. By high school graduation, I’d earned the equivalent of 26 college credits, which allowed me to complete a dual BA in Radio-TV and English in five years.

I spent a year and a half after college working in the local area, too scared to make that big huge leap to the big city. But Christy Marx is one smart cookie. When a friend needed a housesitter for two weeks, she convinced me to come do it, get a taste of LA and decide if I wanted to stay. June 20, 2001 marks five years in the City of Angels, so I guess it worked.

In those five years, I’ve worked in animation production on two series, spent several years as an Administrative Assistant at a bookstore/software store for writers, done temp work in the lean times, and currently help coordinate an office building of writers in live-action television. My fan interest in VOLTRON paid off by getting to contribute to creating the official starmap when a sequel series was released as a paid consultant. I’ve earned a Professional Certificate in Screenwriting from UCLA Extension, including my first structured class in animation writing from Greg Weisman and Kevin Hopps. I’m slowly getting over my shyness and appearing on panels at San Diego Comic-Con and Gathering of the Gargoyles. And now I’m bringing all my knowledge to a monthly column on Animation Writing and Production published at Suite101.com on the Internet.

I find it difficult to believe that all these elements just randomly came together, that some teenage girl in a small college town would eventually come to Los Angeles and make the strides I have. After not quite twenty years of being an Agnostic, I’ve found my way into Christianity. It’s tough to explain, but it feels right, like all the other elements in my life. God’s got a plan, a huge plan, and far be from me to fight it.

Better buckle my seatbelt. I expect a bumpy ride ahead, with thrills and disappointments galore.

All seems pretty self-serving doesn’t it, going on about myself? I admit to some degree it is. But one thing I strive to communicate is always believe something’s possible. You never know until you try. My story’s one illustration.

And it’s not over yet.

Thanks for reading my ramble.

written July 10, 2001

I had an interesting experience recently where I interviewed for and accepted a short-term position on an animated project. The company needed help tracking storyboards for a direct-to-video. Only two months of work, but frankly I needed the income and looked forward to getting direct-to-video experience under my belt. The fact the job wouldn’t last long I could live with; this business is about moving from project to project anyway and a video is naturally shorter than a series.

On a Friday morning I interviewed, by day’s end the job offer was made and I accepted.

By three in the afternoon the following Monday, I found myself without a job. Technically, you can even debate if I really had a job, since we’d been unable to make time to even sign the basic start-up paperwork. I don’t fault the company for this, some unseen factors came down the pipeline and in order to accommodate those, they couldn’t fill the position I’d been offered. Nor did it have anything do with my qualifications. It was just a production reality.

I offer this short tale as a warning. In this business, especially in the summer of 2002 as I write this, expect things to be very volatile. Situations such as this are a huge test as to how much you really love working in animation. Can you slug it through the tough times being fueled by your passion? It’s a serious question you need to sit down and ask yourself before getting in to this business in order to spare yourself some heartache. I know I never asked it when I started, so I found myself very ill-prepared to cope when Invader Zim got its order cut back unexpectedly, and even for the experience I just told you about. The result of this soul searching is that I’ve come to discover that I refuse to give up and this is where I want to — no, more like feel driven — to be.

Make sure you ask yourself the question. It’s probably one of the biggest favors you can do for yourself.

Originally written: Summer 2002

I’m not supposed to be in the location where I am when I’m writing this. If the world had gone on as scheduled, I would have been home in my Los Angeles apartment.

But I’m not.

Thanks to an airline mechanical problem that canceled my flight, my portable computer and I are on the living room floor of my parents’ house in Cheney, Washington, in the same house I grew up in most of my teenage years.

The street’s name is Scenic Heights. I’ve always taken a bit of symbolic license to that. This house was where it all began, the desire to chase a dream that is now real. I used to sit here on the floor close to the TV and absorb 80s cartoons like a sponge. Then I said, “I want to write for animation.” I was 13 then; at 30, it happened.

Talk about a test of patience.

I sit here and can’t help but wonder what that teenage girl would say if she could see me now, and know that all her hard work, few friendships, and a nearly missed social life were not in vain. Personally, I’m not sure she would fathom it. And if I could go back and save her from any of the missteps in the life to come, I’d turn away the chance. I firmly believe that people are built by what they endure.

I still remember when we had a creative writing assignment that came due not long after I heard from my second professional writer giving me feedback on my attempts to pitch for a show (which had since ended). In one of the most prideful displays I can think of, I serialized my adventures in hearing from both of those professional writers and then read it out loud in class, complete with soundtrack from the show. Given my shyness, I’m amazed I succeed at all. Vaguely, I remember two classmates talking as we left for the hour. One said something about how arrogant I was; it was the remark of the other that caught me off guard. “Well, she’s done more in her life than you have,” responded the fairly popular girl.

That, I guess, is when I created a reputation for myself. I thought everyone would forget over time, though, considering I never moved quite as fast as I thought I would. Ten years later, at my high school reunion, I would be mis-identified as a successful childrens’ book writer. And no, at this point, I still hadn’t sold my first script.

It’s only been since about 2000 that I’ve really become comfortable with my gifts and who I am. I know I toot my own horn a lot, and I try not to excessively, because I know how old that gets. Yet I love teaching people as I go and grow, not after I’ve been there for years and my glory days are behind me. That however certaintly does not stop me from augmenting what I do by sharing the wisdom of others. I think there needs to be balance.

My sister and I sat in this room vowing to be writers. We created several animated series here — bibles and more than a few scripts. She’s doing some journalistic work but mainly has been a mother these last five years. If I get a chance to take her along for the ride in the future, I will.

But even just to know that I’ve been an animation writer once (to a foreign company) makes every minute spent in this room richer and more vibrant. To quote the line of a song from one animated series that influenced me: “You ought to see the view from here.”

I hope someday you find your own personal view to treasure and remember as the place where you began, no matter your passion.

Shannon Muir
Cheney, Washington
April 5, 2003

As word spreads over the Internet of the passing of Peter Keefe, the former Executive Producer at World Events Productions who in the 1980s took two Japanese anime robot properties and created VOLTRON: DEFENDER OF THE UNIVERSE, I’m finally working my way past the shock-like state I’ve been in over it for the past twelve hours.  I thought it would be at least another twenty years before I heard news like this.  You always hope people get to live a long full life, not pass away of throat cancer at 57 as Peter Keefe did.

Peter Keefe is – was – more to me than just the Executive Producer of one of my favorite shows of the past 25 years.  Without him, I very likely might not be in the career I’m in, or at least not gotten there quite the same way. For not only am I Shannon Muir, book author; Shannon Muir, animation writer; Shannon Muir, production person…

… I’m Shannon Muir, one of the best known Internet fans and repositories information of the VOLTRON universe – a resident “loremaster” if you will – whose Denubian Galaxy starmap was considered well researched enough that World Events paid me as a consultant to use it on their (now defunct) voltronforce.com site promoting VOLTRON: THE THIRD DIMENSION.

The thing is, if I hadn’t been that VOLTRON fan first, the rest very likely would never have followed.

Over the years, a lot of people have heard my story of how I wrote what would be considered “premises” and sent them off to the VOLTRON offices, to finally get a response from the Head Writer that changed my life.  However, the part of the story that most often went untold is that the Head Writer received those items on the West Coast care of a single executive’s desk in St. Louis.

Peter Keefe.

The fact of the matter is, everything hinged on what Mr. Keefe could have done.  He could have treated my material like they had with a number of the fan kids writing in – such as my first letter sent via my local television station – and just received back yet another letter supposedly signed by the Voltron Force and some promo materials. Mr. Keefe could have just written me back a tiny personal note saying thanks but we’re doing no more episodes; that would have sufficed.

Yet, somehow, for some reason, he did more than that.  Mr. Keefe bothered to send them to his West Coast writer for his review and feedback, which resulted in encouragement that kept me pursuing wanting to be an “animation writer” at the age of 13.  I never found out why he chose to go that route, and I now never will know. Maybe he just didn’t have the time to respond, but if that was the case, where would he have found time to send it?  Maybe he felt that amount of effort deserved extra attention? Like I said, the answers shall forever be a mystery.

The impact, however, is undeniable.  I found out about Mr. Keefe’s passing Friday afternoon (May 28th, 2010) at work, while waiting for some other folks to get their stuff done so we could leave for the long weekend. My fiance’ brought an article in the Hollywood Reporter to my attention, and I opened it up to read the sad news. That moment, my world really felt like it went all out of alignment. Realizing that the desk I sat out, the friends I had outside that door, the fact I had enough credentials to have a second book on animation to just be released in trade paperback, my entire professional career, revolved around the choice of one man who was no longer among the living – it overwhelmed me. I couldn’t hold the tears in.  I just wound up closing my office door, crying a bit, then calling my sister in Washington State who hadn’t heard the news. No one would understand quite like her, or my parents. Though my schoolmates and teachers knew parts of my story after the fact, my family saw me create and struggle and hope before it all became real.

After talking to her, I wiped my eyes, opened the door, and tried to focus that life goes on… and it does for sure. Yet it feels a different place knowing Peter Keefe isn’t in it, although we never met.

I’m going to close with a story I’ve never told before publicly, though it kind of helps make sense to how I feel I think.

Peter Keefe and my paths crossed indirectly in a sense one time years later, about 2005.  The company Peter Keefe later worked at (one of several) called Earthworks Entertainment struck a licensing agreement with Big Dogs Sportswear of Santa Barbara for property development.  I don’t know what exactly became of that.  What I do know is that a reporter from Santa Barbara somehow pieced together that the professional Shannon Muir in Los Angeles and VOLTRON fan Shannon Muir were one in the same and called my Los Angeles apartment. The reporter somehow had the impression that Peter Keefe remained more of a mentor than he in actuality was, and wanted to better profile the person who licensed one of the best loved brands of the Santa Barbara area.  This conversation proved very awkward, not only because I had to correct the reporter’s misconceptions, but I couldn’t figure out how they got them in the first place. I pieced together enough information from the reporter to figure out how to contact Peter Keefe and wrote him a long email, both a thank you but to also let him know about the conversation I’d had with the reporter and the misconceptions tied to it. Unfortunately for Mr. Keefe, I also have a pet peeve that dates back to middle school about other people trying to take all the credit for my successes, which was the impression the reporter left me with – that Peter Keefe was responsible for everything and I for nothing. Also, back then, I saw the Head Writer of VOLTRON as the one who really made a difference, though I recognized Peter Keefe’s role and thanked him for that.  I never heard back.

What I realize, too little too late, it that it’s time to set the record straight.  While ultimately I got where I am based on my own drive and determination, people helping me and encouraging me played a big role… and for years I have portrayed it with the Head Writer as a major role and Peter Keefe as a minor player, because that’s how I felt all those years.  I wanted to be a writer, so I counted the writer’s vocal opinion over the producer’s action. He may never have said a word, but his action of sending my material to the Head Writer spoke volumes.  I didn’t understand that then, but I do now.

Fact of the matter is, both of them played equal parts in that story.  I’m very sorry it took his death to make that clear.

So thank you, Peter Keefe, for everything.

They’ve broken the news.  The show’s not meeting its target demographic.  The merchandise isn’t selling.   Or the company hasn’t decided to renew for additional episodes.  Whatever the reason, the outcome’s the same.  The show you’ve worked on for months, maybe years, has reached the end of its run.

So where do you go from here?

Depending on how and when the news comes down, you may have days, weeks, or months to spring into action.  First off, make sure your resume is up-to-date and error-free.  Competition’s tight and you don’t want bad appearance bringing you down.  Secondly, don’t fear picking up the phone or talking to your co-workers and finding out what shows they know about. 

Recently, I came to know this firsthand.

In September of 2001, I came onboard Invader Zim at Nickelodeon as a Production Coordinator.  In January 2002, our order was cut back and I was given three weeks left to work.  Some people, because of the stage the production was at, were given more and others less because their roles on the show (on the new timetable) were coming to an end.  I’ve built up a fair amount of contacts over the past five years, but what amazed me most was talking to people, hearing people talk to other people, and realizing how many people in the industry I don’t yet know.  People do cross paths over and over, but don’t fool yourself into thinking you know everyone. 

I’ve emphasized it before and will again — network, network, network.  It’s times like this that are the reason why.  Also, if you know of openings on a show that aren’t right for you but are for others, share the news.  People do remember that and may do the same for you in the future. 

If your savings or severance is adequate enough, definitely take a break.  Getting away to reassess and let it all out, if need be, can be very healthy.  Admittedly, though, this is a luxury and one I myself have not really had.  I went months without work, but I actively pounded the pavement at every step.

Sometimes you have to take an entertainment industry job that isn’t animation because that’s what’s available.  Depending on your career stage, this isn’t necessarily a step backwards.  For someone who’s spent years being in timing, or worked his or her way up the producer ranks, it might be more problematic.   Personally, I had a four year gap between one animated series and the next.  Though largely I made that choice in order to go to school, many of the things I learned still apply.  In those years, I worked as an Administrative Assistant for a store that specializes for writers and filmmakers, as well as at Michael Ovitz’s now-folded Artists Television Group (a live-action production company).  Things I learned seeing the industry from different points of view I can apply to understanding how animation companies work.  So if the animation work isn’t there, don’t fear spending time in marketing, public relations, live-action production or any other area if they’ll take you.

I’ve also had my share of non-industry jobs.  After I left Sony, I did temporary employment for that next year.  This exposed me to many types of business, and if nothing else helped me earn money while building up my appreciation for knowing animation was where I wanted to be.  It’s also great as a writer to be able to learn about industries I otherwise wouldn’t have been exposed to.

If either of the above scenarios happen, keep in touch with your animation contacts.  You never know when opportunity will come.  Sometimes, though, it does take a bit of patience.

The ending of Invader Zim made me realize that all of my articles prior to this, while accurate, may have presented the industry with rose-colored glasses.  Don’t be fooled, it’s harsh and ugly and you never know what may happen.  That said, if it’s in your blood, don’t ignore the call.  I can tell you by experience that if you’re prepared to roll with the punches, the rewards are well worth it.  I felt happier with my four months at Invader Zim than I’ve been in the four years I was out of the industry.

A few months back, a reader asked if I knew anything about music composition for animation.  While music performance and composition is definitely an art unto itself, it does not require drawing skills and in that sense falls under my column’s definition of non-artist.  After a little research, I tracked down the composer with which I worked on several shows for Sony Pictures Family Entertainment, Jim Latham.  Jim’s extensive credits also include work in live-action television and film.

The work begins when “the underscore composer is usually brought in a couple of months before the airdate of the first episode. This gives you 3 or 4 weeks for hash out what the musical direction of the series will be before the weekly grind begins.”  However, “[g]enerally speaking, the composer won’t start on a tv episode until the picture is ‘locked’. This is because the composer is writing music to hit certain edit points or emotional beats and a change in the picture will screw these up. On a movie and usually on the first episode of a series, it’s also common for the composer to deliver preliminary sketches for the filmmakers to react to and fiddle with in the editing room.”

“Usually a video of locked picture” is what a composer views to base the score upon.  “Deadlines can mess with this though,” he explains.  “It is not uncommon for there to be animatic chunks in the video or even black frames with descriptions of the shot to come (“monster attacks here”) if the production is running behind. I even scored a tv movie once where all I had was the radio play of the actors reading the script!”

As to how a composer decide what areas require music, “[i]n the end this is the boss’ decision, but usually there is a spotting session where the composer and producers reach a consensus on where music will go and how it will function. Once a cartoon series gets cranking and there is agreement on the direction of the music, spotting sessions sometimes stop and the composer makes (hopefully) educated guesses.”  Jim adds, “I’ve worked on a show where the penalty for stopping the video playback during the spotting session to discuss a cue was a case of beer. That kept things moving.”  An average composition timetable is “[a] show a week. Usually a 5 day turnaround from first viewing of the video to delivering the first swipe of the score. Twenty four hours later, you deliver the fixes.”   As to what style of music tends to get used in animation, it “varies with the production. I’ve done everything from the MATRIX type techno to orchestra to zydeco.”

Personally, I often wondered if the same person doing the underscores for the episodes often composes theme songs for shows, so I asked Jim.  “This varies and typically this decision has more to do with the preconceived notions of the producers than anything else,” he responded.  “Some producers want a rock star to do the theme and a composer to do the underscore. I’ve been involved in every possible variation. I have written the theme and all songs in a series but not the underscore and I have written the underscore but not the songs or theme. Interestingly, each of these extremes was due to the producers’ perception of what I do well.”

Jim Latham began scoring for animation because “I was scoring night time dramas (90210, etc) and was disgruntled by the narrow range of music that was being asked for. My perception was that cartoon scoring offered more of a chance to write and record orchestral music and film-like scores than did other forms of tv. Actually the scores I’ve done over the last few years have had more in common with action film scores than LOONY TUNES.”

Based on his experience, I asked Jim if he felt that composing for animation was an area someone could specialize in exclusively. “In order to get ahead in any area of the entertainment biz, you need to work relentlessly. Given this, specializing is almost inevitable. The good thing about doing animation scores is you write A LOT of music and you get an opportunity to hone your craft very quickly. The downside is you can be tagged as an animation composer, but I believe that danger lurks in every niche of the biz.”  As far as whether or not any special training or awareness is required for scoring over animation versus live-action television: “Unless you are doing the Carl Stalling/Warner Bros/Loony Tune type score, no. The main thing is to listen to film scores both with and without picture to get a feel for the genre you’re dealing with, whatever it is.”

Thank you, Jim, for providing a snapshot of what goes into creating the music that helps bring animation to life.

(originally published Digital Media FX)