Pitching for Screen-Scribblers

I just read a great piece by Lauren Greenwood on Substack: What I Learned Watching 16 Movie Pitches Back to Back. If you're interested in the topic, it's absolutely worth a look. Lauren's post inspired me to reflect on my own experiences hustling stories in Hollywood. The following post is as much a reminder to myself as it is a "How to" for you.

I've pitched hundreds of times. Studio features. Network series. Video Games to publishers. I've bombed hard. But I also sold projects before I finished talking. Often the difference wasn't the story. It was understanding a pitch isn't just about your script. It's about you. Pitching is a personal performance, not an explanation of plot.

Never Say "And then…"

When most scribblers pitch they immediately start hitting plot. "So the protagonist goes here, then this happens, then they meet this person, then there's a twist where..." Stop. Nobody buys loglines and plot moves. They buy how the story makes them feel. They buy whether they can risk their career on your confidence, commitment, and ability to be cool while executing.

When I was pitching features in my twenties, I thought preparation meant memorizing every beat. I'd show up to meetings with index cards covered in tiny handwriting, terrified I'd forget a plot point. My hands would shake so badly I couldn't read my own notes.

These days, most pitches happen on Zoom. The mechanics have changed but the truth hasn't: over-preparation isn't about cramming more details. It's about internalizing the story so completely that you can tell it naturally. Practice until it runs on muscle memory. Then you're free to actually perform instead of recall.

Around The Campfire

Think about the best story someone ever told you in person. They didn't read it. They didn't recap it. They brought it to life in front of you. Your pitch should have the shape of a great campfire story. A hook that creates a question. Build tension. Pay off the setup. Leave your audience wanting more.

I pitched a motorsport show a few years back: "The Limit follows the incredible Formula One season of 1961. It's a rousing, feel-good, thrill ride. A true story of triumph and tragedy. Filled with aspirational heroes. Relatable young men and women seeking fame, fortune, and family."

After hitting them with the premise, I rolled into my personal connection: "When I was a boy, I knew the people you are about to meet. They would come over for dinner, join us on vacations, and take me for wild rides around race tracks in their incredible cars. They were part of our extended family. And even more than fortune and glory -- that's what they'd all been looking for when they joined the racing scene. Family. A place where they belonged."

Establishing why this story mattered to me and why I was the person to tell it. Personal stakes are contagious. The rest was emotional architecture, not plot mechanics.

When I pitched "Crackerjack," my military action show, I opened with how playing Call of Duty during COVID led me down a YouTube rabbit hole of veteran channels, and to reflect on a near-death cab crash in Manhattan that gave me and my wife our own version of post-traumatic growth. A minute in, they understood my passion for telling a story about warriors turning scars into strengths.

The Spine, Not the Stitching

Emotional architecture isn't vague, it's distilled. Here's the difference:

Bad pitch: "Then in scene 12 he discovers the locket in her drawer, and in scene 15 he confronts her about it at the restaurant, and then in scene 18 she explains that her sister gave it to her."

Good pitch: "He realizes the one person he trusted has been lying from the start, and now he has to decide if love is worth the betrayal."

One is a beat-by-beat. The other is relatable emotional stakes that make the story matter. Give them the emotional state of the protagonist. What do they want on the surface? What do they actually need? What contradiction inside them drives the whole story?

For NBC's Heroes, the hook wasn't "people get superpowers." It was "ordinary people wake up with abilities they don't understand and have to figure out what kind of hero they want to be."

That's more than a catchy concept, it's an emotional journey. So, find a way to state your theme clearly. Theme is the glue that holds everything together. You don't need to know what it is when you start brainstorming your show, but should have it figured out before going to market.

Shorthand Act Two. Nobody needs every sequence. Give them the trajectory and the central tension. Like, "She spends the second act learning to trust her team while hunting the person who killed her parents, but when she finally finds them, she discovers they were working for her mentor the whole time."

That's enough. They can imagine the episodes. They've seen a TV show before.

Present Tense Is Your Friend

Introduce characters with present tense. It brings them to life in the room.

Not: "Phil Hill was an anxious driver who struggled with his childhood trauma."

Instead: "Phil Hill is fighting to become America's first Formula One Champion. The son of alcoholic parents, he chases escape and control both under the hood and behind the wheel."

When pitching Crackerjack, I introduced the protagonist like this: "Eli's out of the military, living in his truck, moving from one Walmart parking lot to the next. Adrift and alone." Present tense. Specific detail. You can see him.

Then offered a contradiction: "He presents a confident and relaxed demeanor to the outside world. But under that facade, he grapples with the ghosts of what went down in the desert."

If you have two characters who contrast, introduce them back-to-back so the differences create instant tension. From The Limit: "Phil and Von Trips couldn't have been more different. The hard-charging German count who drove like a maniac and was the life of the party. And the American hot rod mechanic whose idea of a good time was a quiet night wrenching on a motor."

That sets up their entire relationship dynamic in a couple of sentences.

Personal Bookend

I suggested you open with why you're the person to tell this story. Close by reminding them you're still that person. After my personal opening for The Limit, I pitched the entire season. Characters, structure, emotional arcs, everything.

At the end, I circled back: "At 17, I drove a Mercedes at a hundred miles an hour in convoy with vintage race cars from one end of Italy to the other. With Denise McCluggage, then 65, in the passenger seat telling me to go faster. My dad hung out the window snapping photos of Phil Hill driving a Ferrari. I can still hear his voice in my head, along with those of Denise and Phil Hill. The men and women who found their family in the world of racing and became legends."

That bookend reminds them this isn't just a story I researched. I lived inside this world. They're not just buying the pitch, they're buying my access, my perspective, my inherited authenticity.

When I pitched Crackerjack, I ended with: "It explores the bonds, sacrifices, and inspiring ways professional warriors use trauma, tragedy, and teamwork to become not just Tier One Operators but Tier One human beings."

That thematic spine is what the show is actually about under all the action and espionage. Both endings reminded the room why this story matters and why I was the person to tell it.

Pitch Structure

Natural transitions keep you on track and keep them engaged. They should feel like part of the story, not signposts.

You can give your audience structural transitions without sounding academic. Use phrases that fit the story's world.

For an action show: "So let's stack up at the door of the C130 and jump right into Episode One."

For a period piece: "As the teaser begins, we move through an idyllic European forest..."

For serialized storytelling: "Throughout Season One, the team will use competitive events as opportunities for covert surveillance."

Not clichéd transitions. Invitations that match the tone and rhythm of what you're selling.

Zoom Pitching 

Most pitches happen online. So you've gotta make them feel your story through a screen. I use a teleprompter. Not to read word-for-word, but to have the beats locked in so I can focus on performance instead of recall. I record myself pitching on video. Watch it back. Make adjustments. Record again. I do this until the pitch feels natural, and I can hit every beat without sounding like I'm reading, until the pauses land right and the energy stays consistent.

What I look for in those recordings:

• Am I looking at the camera or at my own face on screen?

• Does my voice trail off or stay energized throughout?

• Are my pauses intentional or am I searching for words?

• Does my face show the emotion of the story or am I flatlined?

The camera is unforgiving. It catches everything. If you're bored, they're bored. If you're uncertain, they check their email.

Your Technical Checklist:

• Lighting: Ring light or window light so your face is clear.

• Framing: Medium shot, like you're across a desk.

• Audio: Clean mic, quiet room, no echo.

• Background: Simple, lived-in, not chaotic, not sterile.

Zoom can flatten energy. So bring 20% more enthusiasm than feels natural to you. What feels like "too much" in your living room reads as "engaged" on their screen.

Talk to the camera lens, not to the faces on your screen. This is the hardest habit to break. You can put a small mark near your camera as a reminder. Or stare at the green light if there is one. When you look at the lens, you're making eye contact with every person in that Zoom room.

Your voice is your primary tool. Don't speed to the end. Remember, they need to have time to process all of your brilliance. Vary your pace. Use pauses strategically. Let your tone match the story's emotion. Without your full physical presence, your voice has to carry more weight.

You're Selling You

Executives aren't just buying your script. They're buying whether they want to be in a room with you for the next thousand hours. Are you collaborative? Can you take notes without ego? Will you make their job easier or harder? Do you bring solutions or just problems?

Show them the answer in how you pitch. Be warm. Be confident. Express your passion without desperation. Make it clear you love this story but you're also someone they'd enjoy building with. That collaborative energy matters.

Lead with your strongest hook. If there's a deeply personal origin, reveal it early. If the project has a connection to the zeitgeist, make that your opener. Explain why this project is a good investment. Why will it attract talent? What audience does it serve? How does it fit the current moment? Make the value clear.

I'm old enough to remember pitching in the era when you didn't talk about money or IP or platform strategy. You just told the story and hoped they loved it. That world is gone. Now you need to show you understand the business model, the audience, the competition.

When I was pitching Day One to NBC, I spent as much time talking about the transmedia plan as the series itself. I knew that was a problem they needed solving for their CEO. So, I showed them I understood the business, that I wanted to help them win, that I saw the bigger picture. They weren't just getting a show, they were getting someone who knew how to extend the Day One narrative across multiple media platforms.

Test on Cold Ears

Before you pitch for real, test the pitch on people who know nothing about your project. If they get confused, refine. If they don't care, rework your hook. If they zone out, you're giving them too much detail.

Compelling Beats Perfect

I don’t think the projects I've sold weren't the ones I pitched flawlessly. They were the ones where my enthusiasm was contagious, where the executives could see me building the thing in real time, where they wanted to be part of what I was creating. Your pitch isn't a recitation. It's an invitation to build something together. Show warmth, confidence, clarity, and passion.