Creating Animated Cartoons With Character

Cyan Magenta Yellow Black
creating
Animated
Cartoons
with character
A Guide to Developing and
Producing Your Own Series
for TV, the Web,
and Short Film
TJ293-3-2010 IMUS 7/WFA0182 Creating Animated Cartoons W:7.4375”xH:10” 175L 128 Cheng Ming M/A Magenta (V)
Joe Murray
Watson-Guptill Publications / New York
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Copyright © 2010 by Joe Murray

All art © Joe Murray Studio Inc. unless otherwise noted.
All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Watson-Guptill Publications, an imprint of
the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.crownpublishing.com
WATSON-GUPTILL is a registered trademark and the WG and Horse de-

signs are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Some of the material in this work originally appeared in different form in

the electronic book CRAFTING A CARTOON by Joe Murray.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Murray, Joe, 1961-
Creating animated cartoons with character : a guide to developing and
producing your own series for tv, the web, or short film / Joe Murray.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-8230-3307-2 (alk. paper)
1. Animated television programs—United States. 2. Television—
Production and direction—United States. 3. Animated films—United
States. 4. Motion pictures—Production and direction—United States. I.
Title.
PN1992.8.A59M87 2010
791.4502’32--dc22
2009049296
Printed in Hong Kong
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
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For Daisy and Casey—

Who taught me that life is not
about individual professional
achievement. It’s about the
blossoming of the collective
human potential.
And to my sister Dianne—

Who helps me practice progress,
not perfection.
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Contents
Foreword by Linda Simensky 6
Introduction 9
how to use this book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
1 a brief history: my path to cartooning

and the dawn of tv animation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
My Path to Animation and Television . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .14
The Dawn of Television Animation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .32
2 part of aspiration is inspiration:

why do you want to do a series ? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
Your Motivation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .42
Reality Check . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .44
Reasons to Plow Ahead . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .47
Are You Prepared? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .48
Do You Need an Agent? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .51
Q&A with Steve Hillenburg . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .52
3 what ’ s the big idea? how to get your series idea

out of your head and onto the page . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
The Hook. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .59
The Overall Design . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .61
Rules for Your Universe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .62
Q&A with Everett Peck . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .63
4 the secret to a great series: it ’ s all about character! . . . . . . . . . 67

What Makes a Good Character? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .68
Transitioning Characters to Film . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .88
Last Word (for now) on Character. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .89
Q&A with Tom Warburton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .90
5 pitching your series: preparing the proposal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93

Know Your Audience . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .94
All About Impact: Crafting Your Proposal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .95
Will They Steal My Idea? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .103
Rejection and Revision . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .104
Q&A with Craig McCracken . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .106
6 they love it, now what? the art of the development deal. . . . . . . 110
The Development Deal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .111
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Development Materials . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .114

Writing Story . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .122
Storyboard . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .129
7 getting the green light: producing the pilot . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134

Budget Allocation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .137
The Pilot Process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .138
Q&A with Jeff Hutchins . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .153
Q&A with Tom Kenny . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .157
8 series production: building the team

to produce the show . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161
Scheduling and Budget . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .162
Hiring the Best Possible Team . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .168
Preproduction: Creating a Turnkey Operation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .171
The Assembly Line . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .172
The Production Bible . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .172
Tracking a Whole Episode . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .180
Art Direction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .183
Sound Effects and Music . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .187
Final Delivery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .188
Licensing, Press and Other Mayhem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .188
Q&A with Sue Mondt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .192
9 network relationships: saving your sanity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195

The Role of the Network Studio . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .196
Your Role with the Network Studio . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .197
10 thinking outside the box: getting your series out there

without a network or studio . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205
Are You a Maverick? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .207
The Internet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .208
How Do I Make Money from the Internet If I’m Not Seth McFarlane? . . . . .209
How Do I Create My Web Cartoon Without the Benefit of a Studio? . . . . . .211
Global Syndication . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .213
Film . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .214
Q&A with Dan Hawes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .215
11 making a difference: how to work in tv

without losing your soul . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 220
Acknowledgments 227 Glossary 231

Recommended Reading List 229 Index 238
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Foreword
6 by Linda Simensky
Foreword
I vividly remember the day I received Joe Murray’s pitch for Rocko’s Modern Life. It
was the early 1990s, and I was in charge of animation development at Nickelodeon.
We had three series in production: Rugrats, The Ren & Stimpy Show, and Doug. For
our next series, I was hoping to find a creator who could develop a show that was
part Looney Tunes and part National Film Board of Canada cartoon. After seeing
his film My Dog Zero, I thought Joe Murray might be the one to do it, and I had high
hopes.
I remember nervously opening the envelope and seeing Rocko in all his bright
yellow (at the time) splendor. I quickly read through Murray’s proposal, looking at all
the other characters, but what I mostly remember was seeing the pitch and thinking,
“This is our next series!” What this was going to turn into, as people from the network
and production sides poked and prodded it, I could not be sure of, but I did know right
at that moment that this would be our next show.
I called my boss, Vanessa Coffey, who was head of the animation department at
Nickelodeon. It was a Friday during the summer, and she was working at home. I told
her I had just received a great pitch that I wanted to show her. She gave me the compli-
cated directions to her house, so I hopped on the subway and headed to the Village to
drop off the pitch. I am not a person who gets excited about all that much, but this time
I couldn’t seem to wait until Monday to show her. She liked it too, so Rocko’s Modern
Life started on its way through the standard gut-wrenching development process.
Generally, through this lengthy process, characters are added or eliminated, designs
are changed where necessary, questions are answered, and stories are considered and
fleshed out. I don’t recall that many changes being made to this series, as it seemed so
well thought out, although I vaguely recall a Rhino character going away. Eventually we
met Joe face to face, deals were made, and we commissioned a pilot.
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At that time, animated series for kids were not previewed, so it seemed al-
most radical to do a pilot. Making the Rocko pilot was fun, and it felt much more like
Joe getting to make a funny and colorful animated film for us than about creating
a sample for highly calibrated scientific focus-group testing. The premise of the pi-
lot was simple and witty: Rocko had to get the garbage out in time for the garbage
man to pick it up. Rocko was woefully behind in collecting his trash. The gags were
nonstop, and we all thought it hilarious and that Rocko was cute.
For me, I was still relatively new at my job, and what I was learning at that time
was mostly how to call and give someone news they weren’t particularly going to like.
Such calls went something like this: “Hi, Joe, it’s Linda. . . . Can you change Rocko’s
color? They think he looks too much like another yellow character.” Or, “Hi Joe, it’s
Linda . . . Can you transfer the pilot from video to film? It’s simple! It will just involve
going to LA to oversee the color correction, or something like that. . . .” And of course,
“Hi Joe, it’s Linda. Nick is thinking about starting up a studio in LA. How would you feel
about moving there for the production?” Joe would pause and think for a few seconds,
and I’d worry, and then he’d give me the answer I needed and everything would be fine. 7
Back when Joe was making Rocko’s Modern Life, in 1993, it was a very different time
Foreword
for the animation industry. It may be hard for newcomers to the business to understand
what it was like then, what a great time it was, when a creator simply needed a big idea
and the fortitude to pitch it. Amazing things were happening in the industry in terms
of the number of productions, the types of new designs that were being tried out, and
the technological innovations that were appearing. And yet no cable network execu-
tives believed they were experts on anything. It was all new and exciting, and therefore
the poking and prodding of a creative idea was relatively minimal. TVPaint Animation
was just getting started (in version 2.0), and not many rules were in place other than at
Nickelodeon, where it all had to be done differently than during the last twenty years.
There was no studio at Nickelodeon, no sort of organized formula for making a show
other than a list of jobs that needed to be filled. No team of experienced artists were
waiting to be hired from a series across the hall that was winding down. While the
industry was not new, we were still figuring out the creator-driven process we want-
ed to use, and still writing the rules. The industry was small enough that you could
know practically everyone. On the other hand, chances were that you would be hiring
a group of untested artists who were amazingly talented but thoroughly inexperienced
when it came to animated series. On top of that, you had a sense that the fate of anima-
tion on cable television rested with the success of your next series.
Joe and I bonded in these early years—it was animation grad school for us. We
both showed up for Rocko young and idealistic and full of notions about how we
would change the world; we came through it experienced and a lot more knowledge-
able. We went into Camp Lazlo (the next cartoon we worked on together) slightly
more seasoned but possibly more idealistic. This time, we reasoned, we knew what
could go wrong, we knew what we wanted to do differently, and this time it would
be exactly the way Joe wanted things to be, and it all would be great. Actually, Camp
Lazlo, in my opinion, was one of the funniest and most artistic cartoons I had seen in
7
a long time. I should note that as I type this, my daughter is sitting on the floor of my
study playing with a set of Camp Lazlo bobbleheads.
Ultimately, much of what Joe writes about in this book is about optimism. Optimism
is what gets us through the process of pitching a series, no matter which side we’re on.
The artists must believe they are pitching the next great cartoon, and we on the other
side of the desk must begin every day believing that today is the day we will receive the
pitch for the next great life-changing series. Optimism is probably the most crucial in-
gredient for anyone working on an animated series at any step of the process.
If I were about to create a series, Joe is the person I would go to for advice. Joe
has shown that it is possible to hang on to your vision and your integrity while work-
ing in television. He is proof that you can create and produce two series and still be
just as upbeat and idealistic about the animation industry as ever—maybe more so.
And he is generous enough to want to share his experience and his knowledge. There
are myriad other reasons to take Joe’s advice: The Rocko and Camp Lazlo series bibles
were two of the best I have ever seen. The Rocko production team remains one of
8 the best teams I have ever worked with. In my small file folder of “favorite drawings
ever” is a still-funny panel from an early Rocko storyboard showing a character flying
Foreword
out of a truck and about to land in a junkyard that says, “Old utensil graveyard. Please
bury your utensils pointy end up.” I still find myself humming “R-E-C-Y-C-L-E, recycle!”
from Rocko’s musical episode “Zanzibar.” And I am thankful I was able to work on se-
ries that have been so well liked and memorable.
As someone who still vets series pitches every week for my job, this is a book to
which I know I will be referring people. The future of television animation remains a
cause for optimism indeed.
© nickelodeon
8
Introduction 9
Introduction
Q: “You’ve been in TV animation since 1993.
How do you feel it’s changed since then?”
A: “The kids that were watching the stuff we made in ’93 are now
the new generation of show creators.”
—Steve Hillenburg, creator of SpongeBob SquarePants
With newly emerging Internet media opportunities and countless cable channels,
the dream of creating your own animated cartoon series has never been more
in reach. If making cartoons is a significant part of your own personal journey, I
would love to help you get there. More important, I want to help you get there
with your vision and your soul intact.
I have often witnessed highly talented people with big dreams come into
this sometimes intimidating business without enough preparation for what
they are about to experience. I have seen their great ideas stumble and fail in
situations where a few pointers may have helped. After receiving many letters
asking me for advice, I decided to write this book. It is merely my advice . . . my
approach . . . what I have learned from creating and producing my two shows.
You should seek other advice as well.
Pursuing your vision is not just about making a cartoon, however. I have
no interest in helping you create your own animated series that will get lost
in the clutter of mundane media. Instead, I want you to create something that
inspires, stands out, breaks ground, and invokes conversation or debate; a series
that is your own artistic expression but that can also earn a great income for
9
you—as the title states, a cartoon with character. I mean this in the sense of great
characters, but also in the sense of you the creator having integrity and character
while producing it. If you can accept this challenge, then I believe you can find
the inspiration to embark on this path.
Cartoons are sometimes looked upon as just zany craziness that constantly
flies in the opposite direction of structure or that lacks process. This could not be
further from the truth. It’s like assuming that the troupe Monty Python must have
been on drugs to create their comedy, when in reality it was extremely hard work
that couldn’t possibly have been done under the influence of any mind-altering
substance. (And they have said as much repeatedly.) I’ve also been accused of
being on drugs or in the throes of insanity while writing and producing some of
my stuff. I can tell you for a fact that the first one is not true, while the second
one is open to interpretation. . . .
My main goal in this book is to guide you in defining a process whereby you
can find your level of self-expression and pursue your craft with honesty and
10 do so in the belly of the beast called “the commerce of entertainment.” In other
words, enable you to bridge the gap between your unique artistic vision and
Introduction
producing a commercial cartoon. Sound like a difficult task? Challenging, yes;

impossible, no.
Let me say this up front as well: This book is more for the “auteur” approach
to an animated cartoon. In this approach, more of the creator goes into each
episode, and it is one that takes risks and takes full advantage of the whacked-
out world of the animation medium.
While writing this book, I have tried to give you my honest, no-holds-barred
perspective on my experiences in the industry. It is my hope that in conveying the
stories to the best of my recollection, I have not offended or caused grief of any
kind. I am merely putting my experiences out there so that someone who aspires
to be part of this world can learn from both my mistakes and my victories.
I had learned many lessons from making animated independent films, but
when I came into a series environment, there were all new lessons to be learned.
Most of these were taught by veterans of The Simpsons and other shows coming
over to my show and helping me learn the ropes. (Yes, I constantly learn from
people I manage.) Sometimes I challenged the ways things were done, and always
fought for a better way. Often I was flying by the seat of my pants and being
surrounded by the best talent and minds in the business. I have been fortunate
to include interviews with some of these great minds in this book. Some are able
to cast a rare illumination into the dark corners of making a series.
As well as having created and produced more than fifty hours of television,
I also bring marketing and design expertise from my time working in advertising;
experience from running my own studio and working with clients; twenty years
of managing others in a creative environment; and my adventures in writing
and illustrating children’s books with recurring characters. My background
in design and marketing has helped me develop the materials I needed to
10
successfully pitch two shows. This book is a way of sharing what I know about
telling your own stories and creating characters that live and breathe in an
animated series environment, whether on TV, the Web, or in film. (In film?
you ask. Yes. For example, Wallace & Gromit started as a short animated film,
became a successful, though short-lived, television series, and went on to
become a successful feature film.)
I don’t claim to have invented any of the methods I describe in this book.
Rather, I’ve assembled all of the lessons I’ve learned and formulated them into
preferred methods, which helped ensure that the vision of my two animated
series arrived safely on your screen, on schedule and on budget. Perhaps you
can learn from this book and formulate your own methods in order to meet your
goals. I sincerely hope so.
How to Use This Book 11
Introduction
You can either read this book from start to finish or tailor the information to your
situation. If you want more insight into developing characters for your various
projects or books, chapter 4 will be very helpful. If you want to create your own
series idea but don’t want to sell it to a network (which I totally understand),
skip the pitch proposal part and move on to chapter 8. If you are developing a
show that you hope will become a series for a network or studio, it’s beneficial
to read chapter 8, “Series Production,” before starting development, because the
knowledge of how a story line fits into a volume context, rather than a single
episode, will be very helpful while you are designing your show and characters.
This chapter will also be valuable if you are looking for work in animation, seeking
to get your foot in the door, because it offers insight into all of the various jobs
that go into making a cartoon. For instance, a particular job may scream out at
you as the perfect place for you to hone your skills while you develop your own
show. The main thing is to have fun with your endeavors, and again, to keep
your vision, your integrity, and your sense of expression while maneuvering
successfully through the market-driven world of entertainment.
We all have the characters and stories in our heads. How do we successfully
transfer them to a series and develop the story to where it starts to take on a
life of its own? How can we continue to raise the art form to a place where it
inspires as well as entertains? That’s where I hope I can help, in sharing what I
have learned.
I want to end this introduction with the open letter to the Rocko’s Modern
Life staff that I posted at the beginning of the show’s bible (you will find out more
about what a show bible is in chapter 7). I think it exemplifies what we were
trying to do and, even if we didn’t entirely hit our mark, what was then, and still
is, possible.
11
1993 televi-
K O ’S STAFF n id e a for a
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OPE N
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Nickelo as imp ite, wa ted
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imat e d e t lo
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w a n t ed to e n d e nt film
nt. I e p . -
an ind hen ap
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differe feel of MODER ays w
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12
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Introduction
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Chapter
1
A Brief History:
My Path to Cartooning
and the Dawn of
TV Animation
13
13
A Brief History
“The Artist must create a spark before he can make a fire, and
before art is born. The Artist must then be ready to be consumed by
the fire of his own creation.”
—Auguste Rodin
It was the fall of 1993. I was sitting in a Los Angeles eatery awaiting the prime-time
premiere of my own Nickelodeon animated series Rocko’s Modern Life with both
nervousness and shock. My crew of fifty (the ones who had survived the previous nine
months) were with me, also eager to see whether my challenge would come true—the
challenge that I had laid out at the beginning of the journey, of
creating a show we would all be proud to watch and that would
thoroughly entertain us. It was, after all, television animation,
one of the roughest canvases any artist could ever work on.
As the sometimes-grumpy producer and director of this
amazing crew in LA (and a crew of two hundred in Korea),
I had never experienced a year in which I felt so creatively
energized, engulfed, pushed to the limit, and proud of the
artists working side-by-side with me. In short, up to that
point in my life, I had never felt so totally alive. While we
were waiting, I began to think, how did I get here—an
independent animated filmmaker with no TV experience,
producing and directing my own show on a well-known
cable network?
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My Path to Animation
and Television
A TV fell on my head when I was five. No harm done
physically, but it may explain the slightly dislodged view
my brain later had of the world. I grew up in the turbulent
1960s, and from our cookie-cutter tracked house—nestled
safely in an agricultural valley in Northern California—I
watched the world change. We lived on a small slab of
suburbia plopped in the middle of an oasis of apricot
and prune orchards in San Jose, a suburb that grew like
a weed until there was no oasis left, except in the eyes of
developers.
I wanted to be an artist from as far back as I can
14 remember. My dad didn’t like the idea. The region, which
would eventually become known as “Silicon Valley,”
Creating Animated Cartoons with Character
had its future in technology, and my dad didn’t see any

purpose or stability in a life of art. But I was a rebellious,
tenacious kid. As I experimented with different forms of
art, cartooning became a growing obsession. I worked to
“Every child is emulate every

an artist. master cartoonist I could find, from
The problem is Walt Kelly to Charles Schulz. I stole,
how to remain
borrowed, and copied ideas so that
an artist once he
my cartoons began to look like
grows up.”
theirs. I felt a career as a cartoonist
—Pablo Picasso was my calling, so from an early
age I began sending off batches
of my strips and political cartoons
to newspapers and syndicates
looking to be published, but there
were no bites. My mother always
encouraged my art, but she also
focused on my code of conduct
in the world. She taught me to
value honesty above all else and
to never sacrifice it to get ahead.
I also learned a lot about business
and a strong work ethic from my
father, and I thank him for those
One of my cartoons
from my high school lessons, which I continue to use in
newspaper, 1978. my career.
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15
A Brief Hist0ry
When I was eleven or twelve, Saratoga Cigarettes ran a cartoon contest in a Jimmy Carter was one
of my heroes, but also
magazine that was one of those “We supply the caption and you come up with the the subject of many of
cartoon” challenges. The caption was their long-standing tagline, “Wait until I finish my my more unflattering
caricatures, this one from
Saratoga” (apparently touting how long you could smoke one). The cartoon I entered
1977.
showed someone being revived after being cryogenically frozen for a hundred years,
saying, “Wait until I finish my Saratoga.” Well, to my great surprise, I won the contest,
and the prize was a big cash award. However, I had to fill out a form stating that I was
over eighteen in order to receive the award. After all, it was a cigarette ad. I brought
15
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the dilemma to my mother, saying all I had to do was say I was over eighteen and
the money was mine. She left it up to me, but told me no accomplishment was worth
anything if it was achieved dishonestly. Sadly, I put down on the form that I was only
twelve, and of course I was disqualified. It was a hard but valuable lesson.
My eccentric, belly-dancing grandfather was also an enormous influence on
me. He was anti-establishment and a prolific writer, and when he couldn’t get
anyone to buy his writing, he published his own newspaper and distributed it
himself. He was the first to buy my cartoons for his paper when I was eleven and
helped me to publish my own newspaper when I was twelve, called Teen Vibes. It
gave me my own place to show off my cartoons and my weird writing, and I made
a few bucks off it. I even finagled a field-and-dugout-access press pass from the
San Francisco Giants baseball team by sending them a few issues and saying I was
doing a story on them. You should have seen their faces when a kid showed up.
They say when you are on a determined path, unseen hands guide you along
the way. For me, one of those “hands” was an art teacher named Mark Briggs, who
16 mentored my early years and helped me earn a scholarship at a San Francisco art
college when I was fourteen. Another was a teenage girl, who will probably never
One of my political
cartoons from
know how much she helped me on a fateful summer day in 1977. I had just turned
The San Jose Sun, 1979. sixteen and was finally able to work legally. My dad told me I needed to cut my
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teeth (and my hair) on some The cover illustration to

a book of my cartoons I
real jobs, like fast-food joints
published in my senior
and car washes. I applied year of high school,
in earnest at these places entitled Classless Clown.
for summer work, but to no

avail. Almost at the point
of defeat, I saw an ad in the
local paper for a caricature
artist at a local amusement
park called Frontier Village.
Figuring it was a long shot,
since I had never done such a
thing before, I redrew some
Mort Drucker caricatures
out of Mad Magazine and
sent them in. To my shock, I 17
was hired.
A Brief Hist0ry
I did my first caricature
of a subject who actually sat
for me on my first day of work at Frontier Village. It was so awful that the lady
tore it up and refused to pay for it. As I looked for my supervisor to inform her
that they’d hired a fraud and that I should leave, a cute girl my age walked up to
my little gazebo booth to find an insecure artist cowering, trying not to make eye
contact. She gave me a big smile, with her blond hair shimmering in the sun, and
asked for a caricature. I explained my situation and offered to draw her for free.
I was nervous, but her laugh put me at ease. I finished the cartoon and showed
it to her, half expecting the same reaction as from the previous woman. But she
liked it and paid for it; then I turned around to see that a line had formed for more
caricatures. When I looked back, the girl had disappeared. I finished that day and
spent a magical summer there employed as an artist.
That same summer, one of the editors of a local paper called The San Jose Sun
got tired of my continuously flooding him with batches of political cartoons and
finally hired me as their weekly cartoonist for their editorial page. Eventually that
job veered into an offer from an advertising agency to do cartoons for car ads,
which led to an after-school job, and later a full-time gig. My high-school years
found me pumping out volumes of comic features for the weekly school paper,
producing my weekly political cartoon for the Sun, and then driving to the ad
agency straight from my last class to do a cartoon for a local car ad or bank.
I started wondering how my cartoons might look if they moved. Although
Disney animation always fascinated me, it wasn’t until the “alternatives,” such as
Ralph Bakshi’s Wizards and Bruno Bozetto’s Allegro Non Troppo, wandered into my
line of sight that I really became intrigued by the medium of animation. I dabbled
with the idea of turning my political cartoons into animated clips for TV news but
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soon learned that the time element of animation would prove that impossible.
Until then, I had always envisioned a life on the comic pages, so animation was
going to have to wait. Heck, college was going to have to wait. I was going to be
a millionaire comic-strip artist, and fast! Comic strips were going to save me from
spending the rest of my life in corporate America selling cars and “hot ’n juicy”
Wendy’s hamburgers with my cartoons.
Reality burst my dream bubble, however, and I realized I needed money for rent
and food while I created the next Peanuts comic strip. I figured out that I could sell my
cartoons and illustrations directly to businesses and other ad agencies for a lot more
than I was getting paid by the small firm I was working for, so at age twenty—full of
blind bravado—I decided to start my own business. Without any confirmed clients, I
rented a small studio space and hit the pavement with my portfolio. Soon I couldn’t
keep up with the rent on my apartment, so I ended up on a friend’s couch for a year,
subsisting on the leftovers from another friend’s catering business. The newspaper
for which I was cartooning stopped doing editorial work and became an advertising
18 tabloid. I became the clichéd starving artist.
I soon realized that sustaining my own illustration business required much
more than my ability to draw well, so I started direct-mail marketing and created
a business plan. Business slowly started to pick up. The building boom in San Jose
was fueling the local economy, and blossoming Silicon Valley became host to an
array of new businesses. This was good timing for me: Apple Computer, IBM,
Hewlett Packard, Tandem, Activision, and Hyatt Hotels all became clients, as
well as the San Francisco Giants, San Francisco Chronicle, and many magazines,
ad agencies, and design firms. I also did a line of greetings cards with Pet
Rock entrepreneur Gary Dahl and illustrated a couple of
children’s books.
When my business expanded into a larger studio space,
I found myself hiring a staff and learning management
skills. I took business classes and public speaking from Dale
Carnegie, while enrolling in investment classes to manage
money and finance. Running my own studio, doing mostly
Illustration I advertising illustration work, was stable, but I felt unfulfilled
completed for an without expressing my creative side or making someone laugh with
Apple Computer ad
campaign in 1989.
my cartoons. I continued to pursue syndication for my comic strips, but
each attempt was met with encouragement and no contract. On the
last strip, I got a call from a syndicate editor who said I was
trying to do too much with a small strip. “You always
seem to run out of room,” he said. “You try and
tell stories that are too big for a comic strip.
Have you ever considered animation?” “No,”
I grunted, and thanked him for yet another
encouraging rejection. What I didn’t know
then was how prophetic he really was.
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I had a bit of an epiphany when I realized I had to expand my file space to

house all the rejection letters I was getting for my comic strips. Was a comic strip
something I really loved doing? And, if I really loved it so much, wouldn’t I be doing
it anyway, even without a big syndicate signing me to a contract? I began to picture
my life doing comic strips everyday, and I didn’t know if I even liked the idea. Maybe
my ego had sucked the inspiration out of my comic-strip work, and it was no longer
about something I loved. I decided to stop chasing a dream I thought I was supposed
to be doing and began looking for an art outlet I really enjoyed, without monetary
gain or fame as a factor. My small illustration studio was doing fine paying the bills,
so I thought that perhaps I could find something that would feed me artistically while
I made money drawing advertising illustrations of dancing computers and singing
tomatoes. I surrendered to the search for something inspirational. My new wife and
I scraped together enough money to buy a small house, and together we lived a life
of frugality and environmental advocacy. It was a nice, simple life, and I was grateful
for that.
One night, I went to a touring animation festival with some friends. I sat in 19
the theater mesmerized. Never before had I seen independent animated shorts
A Brief Hist0ry
before. (I believe Bambi Meets Godzilla by Marv Newland was a favorite that night.)
The San Francisco Giants
A light went on in my head. I used to be fascinated by animation and the thought baseball team was a great
of making my characters move. What had happened to that? Maybe I could tell client.
19
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The first appearance of

“The Bigheads” in my
regular feature Rizzo
the Art Director for the
Western Art Directors
publication.
20
my stories with animation. Maybe that syndicate guy was right. After all, the medium
offered a great combination of my love of gags and characters. Plus, I thought, it could
be fun. I immediately enrolled in an introductory animation class at De Anza College in
Cupertino, near my studio. Soon I was having a love affair with all of my assignments.
As a final assignment, I was supposed to create a character and make a short
film bringing him in and bringing him out—a very simple concept. I illustrated it
on typing paper with a felt pen and shot the whole minute-and-a-half on an old
16mm Bolex film camera without any registration. The short was about an old
married guy who has trouble putting out his wife’s very fat cat. One thing I’ll always
remember about doing that first film was that I lost all sense of time working on
it. When I screened it in the basement of the college with a noisy projector, the
small classroom laughed, and the instructor, Kim Tempest, told me I needed to add
sound to the film and get it out on the festival circuit. “You’ve got to be kidding,”
I said. “It’s a quickie assignment.” She handed me an old reel-to-reel tape recorder
and a microphone and said, “Go find the sounds.”
20
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So I recorded my lawn mower, the inside of my freezer, the sound my cat made
when I squeezed her, and a San Francisco Giants baseball game off the TV (a major
sin that you are warned about at the start of every baseball game when listening
on the radio). With broken-down equipment on loan from the film department, I
added sound to a now expanded two-and-a-half-minute black-and-white film and
titled it The Chore. When my instructor saw the new sound edit, she said, “You
need to enter this in student film competitions.” It seemed like just another crazy
thought, but I did, and about five months later, I received a call from the Academy
of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences that my film had won a Student Academy
Award for animation in an international competition. My little film went on to win
a Focus Film Award, was picked up for distribution, and was selected for one of
those very festivals where I had seen my first independent film a few years earlier.
When The Chore got picked up for distribution, I realized that I had used
the recording of the baseball game without consent. I was terrified that the cost
of getting the rights to use it could bankrupt the whole deal, so I called the San
21
A Brief Hist0ry
An editorial illustration of
one of my least favorite
presidents, 1986.
21
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A still from my first film,

The Chore, which was
drawn on unregistered
typing paper.
22
Francisco Giants and told them my plight. I sent them a copy of the film, and a
few days later they called to say they loved it and I could buy the rights for one
dollar! So I dodged a major bullet and learned a big lesson. What really blew me
away was that this little inspired piece of art done without the goal of earning
money actually went on to earn what was quite a substantial amount for me at
the time. I decided to reinvest the money in my new passion. I bought a video
pencil-test system and was immediately hooked. I couldn’t stop animating. I loved
it! I started offering animation services through my studio and began doing some
commercials as well as a few MTV ID spots. I knew that animation offered me a
Winning my student
Academy Award for my different form of narrative expression, but I really didn’t want to fall into the same
first animated film, The
trap with animation that I had with illustration, where a majority of what I did was
Chore, 1989.
in the service of selling something.
I immediately began writing and animating my second
film, My Dog Zero, about a lonely man who adopts a brain-
dead dog from the pound and finds that the love of a pet
exceeds his dog’s ability to fetch the morning paper.
Suddenly the advertising illustration and animation work
I was doing in the studio became mostly a way to finance
my films. I wanted this next film to be longer, with an actual
story, and to be in color, with painted backgrounds. It took
me close to a year to finish all the hand-drawn animation.
I would work on two or three illustration jobs a month in
Oscar © A.M.P.A.S.
order to pay the bills and then go back to working on the

film. My pencil-test system became my animation teacher. I
would do whole scenes and test them; if they didn’t work, I
would toss them out and start over.
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When I finished the animation, I refilmed all the scenes on 16mm to create a
rough work print. But now everything needed to be prepared to film it in color. I
realized I was going to need some cash, because backgrounds needed to be painted.
Cels had to be hand-inked and painted back then (this was before digital ink and
paint). Next, everything needed to be shot on film, with long-pan cels, followed
by adding the sound and postproduction. I wanted all aspects of the project to
be significantly better than my first film. To drum up some funds to complete the
film, I sent a work print of Zero to festivals and distributors to see if they would
prepurchase the film or at least give me some money to finish it. They were not
interested. “Couldn’t you do one of those little quickie black-and-white films again?”
they asked. “We like those.” It would have been easier and more cost-effective to
do a film the way I had the first one, but I needed more of a challenge. My interests
were tending more toward what I could learn about animation and color, rather
than just earning a buck. Plus, I loved pushing the humor to do whatever I wanted.
At the time I thought the humor was cutting-edge and a bit risky, but it was nothing A still from my MTV ID spot
produced in the 1980s with 23
compared with what would come later in TV. the help of Mark Millard,
Determined to finish the film my way, I applied for grants and sent copies of Rob Ripplinger, and Scott
A Brief Hist0ry
Shearer. This spot featured
the film to anyone who would take a look. I casually mentioned my need for cash to an early version of Heffer
my New York accountant (whom I still have), and he suggested sending a copy of the cow.
© joe murray studio inc.
23
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A still from my second

film, My Dog Zero.
24
the film to one of his clients who was an executive at a small cable channel for kids
called Nickelodeon. So I did, adding it to the list of many copies that had already
gone out. One day I got a call from a woman named Linda Simensky, who was in
charge of developing original animated series for Nickelodeon. My film had been
passed along to her, and she liked it. She asked whether I would be interested in
developing My Dog Zero as a televised animated series. Now, keep in mind that
the 1970s and ’80s were not exactly the golden era of television animation, so I
had no reason to think a new kids channel would be any different. I politely told
Linda I wasn’t interested in working in television animation. Lucky for me, Linda
did not take no for an answer and told me they were looking for “smart cartoons,”
something with a different appeal. I agreed to think about it and left it at that.
At the same time, the progress of my indie film was almost as brain dead as
the lead character. A fellow student at De Anza College, a great filmmaker and
artist named Nick Jennings, took an interest in my project and offered to paint
backgrounds. But he was to turn into more than a background artist. There was
never any aspect of the film he wasn’t willing to jump in and help out with. Nick
later ended up playing a big role in the success of Rocko’s Modern Life as well as
Steve Hillenburg’s monster achievement, SpongeBob SquarePants, acting as art
director on both. Nick’s positive attitude frequently helped me through a lot of
rough spots. I’ll always be indebted to him.
My thoughts continued to wander back to my conversation with Linda from
Nickelodeon. I went to the library and started researching the new network to
find out what they were about. Geraldine Laybourne, then the president of the
network, wanted to change the face of children’s television to reflect a cooler,
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hipper identity. It didn’t seem like she wanted to do the cheapo, quickie Saturday
morning stuff that was so common on the networks then. She gave kids credit
for intelligence, and I liked that. The late 1980s was a time when animation as
a medium was starting to break open. The industry was starting to take risks
and try cool new techniques. Since Nickelodeon was owned by MTV/Viacom,
I thought maybe they would be cool too. I was protective of my films as self-
expression, but I also felt that I had something to say with them. If I could transfer
that attitude to a series for television, maybe that would work. I loved making
a point with an exaggerated view, as I did with my political cartoons. Maybe
I could make a comment about “modern life” and how the littlest things had
become huge dramas for us. Maybe the main character would be experiencing
day-to-day life, as in taking out the garbage. Since he was new to the adult world,
maybe it could become exaggerated, a caricature. . . . Maybe he could encounter
anthropomorphic animals. . . . Maybe I could make certain types of animals
to match the personalities this character had to deal with. . . . I started to get
excited about the possibilities. Maybe through this creative narrative I could 25
make a small contribution to television animation. Maybe, maybe, maybe. . . .
A Brief Hist0ry
Out of my sketch pads, I pulled a character that I had created for a comic
strip: It was a wallaby named Travis. I had seen these tiny kangaroos at the zoo
called wallabies, which seemed oblivious to the noisy elephants and chimpanzees Travis the wallaby, shown
here in yet another comic
nearby, and I thought one would make a great character set within the eye of a strip attempt, was the
hurricane called life. (Read more about this in chapter 4.) I figured, as long as I inspiration for Rocko.
25
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26
© nickelodeon
The first Rocko from proposed exactly the kind of show I wanted to do and didn’t stray from my vision,
the proposal I sent to
what could it hurt? If they didn’t like it, I would be totally cool with that. In fact, I
Linda Simensky at
Nickelodeon in 1991. really doubted that a show as warped, weird, and edgy as this one would ever make
it onto television. I changed the wallaby’s name to “Rocko” because he sounded
more like a fighter. I added a cow named Heffer, some cane-toad neighbors called
“The Bigheads,” and a brain-dead dog (maybe a cousin of Zero) named Spunky.
I went to a local copy service to type up a presentation on one of those fancy
26
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new Apple computers that had the latest graphic capabilities. I hand-painted My second independent
film, My Dog Zero, 1991.
some cels with the designs and colors of the characters and sent off a package
to Linda at Nickelodeon. Maybe I’d get some development money out of it, and 27
that could help me finish my film, I thought. Who knew? I also started to realize
A Brief Hist0ry
that all my previous experience in doing comic strips, graphic design, marketing
and advertising, writing, running my own studio and business, and, of course,
animation, was coming together in helping me to polish this proposal. Even the
life-drawing lessons from art college were not going to waste!
After the package went off, my attention returned to my film, as I had secured
a small grant from the Film Arts Foundation to complete the background painting.
I asked around to find out what kind of painting service I could afford with this
meager amount of money and soon realized it wasn’t enough to achieve the level A publicity still from My
of quality I hoped for. Nick Jennings stepped in and said Dog Zero, 1991.
what he would repeat many more times in the course of
our working together: “Why don’t we do it ourselves?”
We went back to the college where I had done
The Chore and asked students to come on weekends
to paint my film in exchange for free breakfast, lunch,
and dinner (if need be), plus all the soft drinks and
coffee they could consume. I showed the pencil
footage I had of the film and, to our surprise, got
some students to agree to it. We ended up painting for
twelve weekends in a row, using the grant money to
fund the food, drinks, cels, and paint. We usually had
a good crowd show up each weekend, and I was able
to personally supervise each cel (only the beginning
of what a control freak I turned into!). The painters
dubbed themselves the “Earneck Division” (inspired
by the constant jokes about the lead character,
Mildo, growing ears out of his neck). It was from that
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Rocko’s Modern Life

pilot storyboard. Linda
Simensky had to educate
me about what the
standard television
animation storyboard was
supposed to look like.
28
experience that I met George Maestri, who became one of my writers on Rocko.
After I had finally shot and added music and sound to Zero, I started sending
it off to animation festivals. One of the distributors who had originally passed
on the film in its work-print form was in San Francisco with one of their touring
festivals. I showed up at the Palace of Fine Arts with my film in a can under my arm
and attempted to convince his group that they should show it to their audience
that night to see how funny it was. They hemmed and hawed but finally agreed.
They screened the film first. I sat there with some of the people who had helped
on it and watched it with an audience for the first time. My relief was immense
28
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29
A Brief Hist0ry
© nickelodeon
when people started to laugh. Based on the positive response from that night, the
distributors admitted they had been wrong initially and now wanted to add the
film to their festival.
Meanwhile, a few months had passed since I had sent my Rocko proposal to
Nickelodeon. From all my experience of trying to get a comic strip syndicated, I was
used to getting rejected after a long wait, so I had pretty much forgotten about it.
But one day I returned from lunch to find a message from Linda Simensky that they
wanted to put Rocko into development. I was shocked—and elated! I went through
two lawyers to negotiate with the network a deal that I was happy with, and the
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Original title card from

the Rocko pilot.
© nickelodeon
30
whole time I dared not tell anyone (except my close colleague Nick Jennings). Who
would have believed that a network was considering doing a television series with
an independent filmmaker with no prior TV experience? I waited until they agreed to
fund a pilot through my studio before I told anyone else about it, and then I started
developing the project further, creating a storyboard for the pilot.
I expanded my studio to include more offices in the funky building in Saratoga
where I worked. I brought on co-producer Marty McNamara and started scouring
the Bay area for talent, snagging the likes of George Maestri, Robert Scull, Tim
Bjorklund, Sean Murday, and many other extremely gifted animators and artists
to work on the pilot. We animated it all in-house using freelancers. We shot much
of the footage in the studio on a hastily built camera stand with a 35mm Mitchell
camera. (“Why don’t we shoot it ourselves?” said Nick once again, which translated
to, “Why don’t we shoot ourselves?”) So we would shoot all night, drive to San
Francisco in the morning to drop the film at the lab, watch dailies of what we shot
the day before, and drive back to continue animating and shooting. I eventually
rented a room at a motel down the street so we could have a place to shower and
sleep if we needed (the couch in the studio was getting particularly grungy).
Just after we finished the pilot, I flew off to Canada, to the Ottawa International
Animation Festival, where My Dog Zero was showing. It was there that I found out
that Nickelodeon loved the pilot and that we were moving forward with the series.
I remember having lunch with Linda Simensky on the trip, where she said, “You
know, your life is going to change, big time.” I didn’t know how right she was.
But first things first: How was I going to take on the huge endeavor of producing
a series in my small studio? I knew I was going to need more people, so while at
the festival, I made the quick decision to scout talent for my animated television
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© nickelodeon
© nickelodeon
series. At one of the screenings, George Maestri, Nick Jennings, and I saw a film Cels from the Rocko’s
Modern Life pilot,
called Wormholes by a Cal Arts student named Steve Hillenburg. We all agreed shot in my studio in
that this was the type of animator we needed, so I approached Steve about this the middle of the night. 31
new cool show we were going to do. He agreed to come to my studio in San Jose to
A Brief Hist0ry
discuss it. (As you may know, following Rocko’s Modern Life, Steve went on to create
and produce a little-known cartoon called SpongeBob SquarePants.)
Ottawa was in September, and Nickelodeon wanted to start production in
January. Thus began a mad rush to put a crew together in earnest. We soon realized
that we would need another crew in Los Angeles to supplement our studio in
Northern California, so we hired more directors for the Southern California unit
and made plans for me to shuttle back and forth from San Jose to Burbank to
oversee production. I even negotiated to take over an entire building in Saratoga
as the Joe Murray Studio Production offices. Everything was coming together.
Then, that November, a horrible personal tragedy struck that changed my life
forever—the death of my wife. I won’t go into detail about it but will say that I
felt that if I could survive it, I could probably get through anything. After such a
blow, one of the first decisions I made was to get out of San Jose: There was just
too much pain there. So I closed up the studio and convinced a lot of my crew to
relocate to Los Angeles so the Northern and Southern California units could all be
together. In early January, still in shock from my loss, I walked into a rented office
on Ventura Boulevard in Studio City and turned on the lights. A chapter of my life
had closed, and production of Rocko’s Modern Life had begun.
With the crew from Northern California, along with seasoned animators who
came over from The Simpsons, Ralph Bakshi’s Cool World, and Richard Williams’s
crew on Who Framed Roger Rabbit, we proceeded to boldly move forward. I was a
little intimidated by this group of talent, but it taught me an early lesson: Surround
yourself with people you can learn from. It was like the Wild West, with all of us
shooting from the hip, blazing new frontiers, and falling on our faces, only to get
up again and climb back on our horses.
Which leads me back to that day when I was waiting for the premiere of the
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first episode and questioning how I got there. But the real question is, How did
television animation ever get to the point of allowing this to happen? I know, I
know. You’re probably saying, “Do I really need to know this background? Can’t we
just start making cartoons?” Trust me—it will help you. I’m no animation historian,
but I’ll do my best. So, let’s rewind to. . . . Huckleberry Hound? No, farther.
The Dawn of
Television Animation
In the beginning, there was light. No, not that light, but the flicker of Felix the Cat’s
face on the first-ever television transmission in 1928. It may have been a precursor
to today’s animated cartoons, but it would take a long while for cartoon producers
to see television as anything more than a novelty. Theatrical cartoon shorts
32 featuring the antics of Mickey Mouse, Bugs Bunny, and Woody Woodpecker were
the order of the day, and remained strong into the 1940s and early 1950s. It wasn’t
“Let the TV party

until the cinema double feature rang the death knell for these cartoon shorts that
begin!”
television became a viable and respectable medium for cartoons. At the very least,
—Heffer, from ROCKO’S the owners of these animated properties respected the dollar that could be made
MODERN LIFE episode
from TV. After all, what else were they going to do with all of their animated film
“Boob Tubed”
stars once they were cut from the movie houses? It soon became commonplace
for studios to bundle packages of previous theatrical shorts in an early version of
syndicated cartoon blocks to fill the vast emptiness of television air time.
© 20 th Century Fox
Jay Ward’s Crusader Rabbit

leads the way!
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It became apparent in the late 1940s that the children’s television

market could attract a multitude of sponsors, and that animation
would do a good job of gluing those young eyeballs to the
screen. However, the first difficult reality of this medium
(that television animation still struggles with to this day)
reared its ugly head: TV eats up product fast; it’s
a beast that must continuously be fed in order
to thrive. Surely the supply of theatrical shorts
would someday run dry. The revenue from TV also
© cbs/terrytoons
made it financially prohibitive to duplicate the quality level of those
old fluid and fully realized theatrical cartoons.
Enter a young real estate man named Jay Ward, who, with Alex Anderson
(nephew of Terrytoons’ Paul Terry), created an extremely limited animated
series called Crusader Rabbit. The year was 1949, and each half-hour episode
Tom Terrific from Terrytoons
cost a bargain-basement price of $2,500. The result was very jerky, limited and CBS.
animated characters stumbling through serialized story lines. But the audience, 33
entranced with the newness of the static visual medium of television, bought the
A Brief Hist0ry
crudeness. The older theatricals were still getting sold to TV, but the new model
of fast and cheap television animation, or “Short Cut Animation,” as it was called,
was beginning to grow lungs and walk on land.
The packaging of the old shorts continued through the 1950s, burning through
the backlog of Disney gems, Looney Tunes, Popeye, and Heckle and Jeckle. It
was a cartoon party for the baby boomers, who were embracing television and
its window onto an endless stream of animated mayhem. Merchandising was a
significant part of the theatrical cartoon, and television was able to link product
and character together like no other medium could. Commercials for the likes of
Kellogg’s, Hasbro, and Mattel became as much a part of the experience as the
cartoon itself. But in 1957, networks could see the writing on the wall and the limits
of the current animation methods. Therefore, they tried to find ways to design
around the challenges of nonfluid movement.
While NBC was airing the clay-animated Gumby by Art Clokey, CBS asked
the small cartoon firm United Productions of America (UPA) whether they would
be interested in turning a 1951 Academy Award–winning animated short, Gerald
McBoing-Boing, into a television series. The film itself, written by Dr. Seuss and
produced by Phil Eastman, Bill Scott, and John Hubley, was already designed and
animated as a departure from the Disneyesque fluid animation. Its simple style
lent itself to the medium of more limited animation. UPA accepted, committing
to a short run of McBoing-Boing episodes, but UPA took it as an artistic challenge
rather than an economic burden. The McBoing-Boing series expanded into The
Gerald McBoing-Boing Show, which was also able to serve up UPA’s cartoons
Dusty of the Circus, Punch and Judy, and the Twirlinger Twins. Although limited in
its approach, the cost was still too high, and the series was canceled after three
months. These episodes still stand the test of time, and the Cartoon Network
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recently revived the series with new episodes for the short-lived
“Tickle-U” block of young programming. Another series of note to
debut in 1957 was Tom Terrific from Terrytoons (which aired on CBS
during Captain Kangaroo), which carried a similar, pared-down style
and was done on a “TV” budget.
Meanwhile, around this time on the MGM lot, a couple of artists/
writers named William Hanna and Joseph Barbera were being shown
the door because MGM felt it no longer needed new Tom & Jerry or
Droopy cartoons. The newly unemployed creative team decided to
open up their own shop—Hanna-Barbera Enterprises, later renamed
© ClassicMedia
Hanna-Barbera Productions. With the premiere of The Ruff and Reddy

Show in 1957 on NBC, Hanna-Barbera became the first truly dedicated
content provider of television animated properties, and the first
factory of truly “limited” animated fare. HB followed in 1958 with the
syndicated series The Huckleberry Hound Show, which introduced a
UPA’s Gerald McBoing-
34 Boing. picnic basket–stealing bear named Yogi and his little sidekick, Boo Boo.
The Huckleberry Hound Show became the first animated cartoon show to be honored
with an Emmy Award and is credited with putting Hanna-Barbera on the map.
In 1960, a prime-time cartoon premiered on ABC, hurtling a prehistoric
Honeymooner-type family named The Flintstones into animation history. Not only
did this show air during the 8:30 p.m. time slot (traditionally seen as the cutoff point
for child viewers), but it also featured commercials depicting characters Fred and
Barney happily puffing on the sponsors’ Winston cigarettes. Television animation
was beginning to hit its stride as a crossover medium. Soon all the networks were
following suit, filling prime-time slots with Jay Ward’s Rocky and Bullwinkle Show,
Warner Bros.’ Bugs Bunny Show, and Ross Bagdasarian’s The Alvin Show, which gave
© Hanna Barbera/Time Warner
Huckleberry Hound with

Pixie, Dixie, and Mr. Jinks
the Cat.
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© Ward Productions Inc.
35
A Brief Hist0ry
birth to Alvin and the Chipmunks. Jay Ward’s Rocky and
Bullwinkle Show.
The early sixties also marked another milestone. Since all the major studios
were closing down their film animation divisions, the migrating herds of highly
talented animators began making their way to the only oasis on the horizon—
television. But with the seasoned animation staffers came the cartoonist union,
demanding well-deserved pay for their members’ skills and experience. True to
form, American businesses responded with the all too familiar “sucking sound.” As
a result, Jay Ward was the first to truck his animation process across the border to
Mexico, beginning what would become the common practice of outsourcing labor
to reduce costs. With the popularity of Japanese animation, as of Astro Boy and
Speed Racer, and the Asian animation labor pool, Japanese-style limited animation
was beginning to look attractive as well.
By 1965–1966, the passion for the television cartoon business was beginning
to weaken. The Flintstones was canceled, and the Hanna-Barbera factory output
began to look uninspired. Since the prime-time glut had been played out by
then, cartoons were once again ordered to the sandbox. Several factors caused
the malaise that infected the animation industry during this time. Economic
realities led to more and more outsourcing of animation, and new and dangerous
creatures lurked in the lagoon with the dangling legs of cartoons in their
sights: The National Association of Better Broadcasting (NABB) and Action for
Children’s Television (ACT).
There had long been debates over the responsibility of television to regulate
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its violence on the airwaves. As the real-life street violence and assassinations
of the sixties began to escalate, action groups began to look for places to point
fingers—and classic cartoon violence was in their crosshairs. What started as mere
editing of old classics turned into outright censorship: the dictation of content
of new cartoons and the approving of storyboards. These crusaders demanded
that educational content and public service information be injected into children’s
cartoons. During the late sixties and seventies, the animation industry struggled
to find a balance between creating programs kids would watch and those that
would get by the regulators. Larry White, head of NBC’s daytime programming,
was quoted saying, “We shall be applauded by many, and watched by no one.”
Thus blossomed the highly inaccurate, unfortunate attitude that was to plague
cartoon animation for the next twenty years: “Kids don’t seem to care what the cartoon
looks like. They’ll watch anything.” It’s more than a little ironic that Flintstone vitamins
were a big sponsor of Saturday morning cartoon blocks at the time, because that’s
what the shows amounted to—something good for kids that’s shaped like a favorite
36 character and laced with sugar to help it go down. A writer for Variety magazine called
the cartoons of the 1970s “Almost unanimously witless, heartless, charmless, tasteless
and artless.” Even the action groups, who were blamed by many for straghtjacketing
the industry into mediocrity, criticized the lack of substance. It was a classic case of the
chicken and the egg. The final burst of fluff came in the early 1980s, when The Smurfs
were transplanted from Europe to prance around the airwaves along with My Little
Pony, The Care Bears, and Rainbow Brite. The 1980s may have been called “Morning in
America” by some political pundits, but if the animation of the ’70s and early ’80s was
a bad dream, TV animation was about to wake up to some strong coffee.
First, the Reagan Administration extended its hands-off, big-business
platform to the Federal Communications Commission (the FCC), relaxing most of
the regulations on television that had dictated content. Then, when home video
invaded households, it allowed adults and kids alike to rediscover the old classic
cartoons without the watchful eye of regulators. These trends, coupled with a
new regime at Disney Studios, generated renewed interest in the old animated
characters as well as a desire to create new animated features. In fact, home video
was credited with making possible a movie like Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, with its
trip down cartoon memory lane.
A new interest in independent animation cropped up in the late 1980s—
quite possibly as a result of the artless fare that was then on TV—along with
touring festivals such as the Animation Celebration and Spike & Mike’s Festival
of Animation, which brought alternative cartoons and animation to average
filmgoers everywhere. This time also marked the growth of a new outlet called
cable television, the largest factor, in my opinion, in the rebirth of the medium.
Niche channels such as MTV, HBO, and Showtime began to appear. Ironically, the
media watchdogs thought this new move would allow for channels that would
cater to the soft, responsible programming they were seeking. One such channel
on which they pinned high hopes was a small station called Nickelodeon, whose
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main content was commercial-free lively programming and puppet shows.

Soon cable channels began experimenting with new animation from elsewhere
on the globe, and small Hollywood studios such as Klasky Csupo (founded by
Hungarian-born animator Gabor Csupo and his American animator wife, Arlene
Klasky) began producing cool animation in the form of commercials, shorts, and
station ID for the American market. MTV began scouring the festival animation
circuit for films to show on its new program, Liquid Television. Along with shorts
from Colossal Pictures of San Francisco, Liquid Television would run independent
shorts such as Frog Baseball by then little-known animator Mike Judge, starring two
dim-witted teenagers named Beavis and Butt-head.
By 1987, animators were constantly calling each other with the latest, “Ya
gotta see this!” One such moment was in February 1987, when Ralph Bakshi (Fritz
the Cat, Wizards) produced his own version of a Mighty Mouse animated series
for CBS. Bakshi brought in a young talent named John Kricfalusi to supervise the
production, leading to the highly controversial Mighty Mouse: The New Adventures.
Although this show was short-lived (nineteen episodes), it launched a revolution 37
and made shock waves that were felt throughout the industry. Why? Because it was
A Brief Hist0ry
a new animated show that actually looked like a cartoon! Finally, fresh, edgy, and
smart entertainment was being offered that the cartooning world had not seen for
decades. Plots were written in storyboard format rather than scripted. The artists
had newfound freedom that had been suppressed for too long. Although a line was
crossed, and the show got canned because of alleged “drug references,” the ship Dexter’s Laboratory by Genndy
Tartakovsky was one of the
had sailed, and there was no turning back.
shining stars to emerge from
From there, the party escalated. A young new network called Fox decided to Cartoon Network.
make a go at prime-time animation for adults by pulling a series of shorts called
“The Simpsons” from The Tracy Ullman Show and giving
them their own half hour. Together with
producer James Brooks (Taxi, Terms of
Endearment), Life in Hell cartoonist
and Simpsons creator Matt Groening
pulled off a deal that would make
others envious: No notes from
the network. Fox agreed to it.
The show, initially produced by
Klasky Csupo, who did the shorts,
and later by Film Roman, went on to
make animated history.
Meanwhile, media conglomerates began
buying the cable networks. Viacom bought MTV
© cartoon network
and Nickelodeon. Turner Broadcasting purchased

Hanna-Barbera and its whole library of properties.
(Later, in 1996, Turner would merge with Time
Warner, turning Bugs Bunny and Scooby Doo into siblings.)
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What emerged from the combination of relatively young cable channels with the
deep pockets of big-daddy conglomerates was the ability to produce and own their
animated shows.
Having a television network and its advertisers fund production was very
commonplace, but not since Tom Terrific in the early sixties (owned by CBS) did
a network actually “own” a series and its characters’ copyrights after production
was completed. With Viacom in the syndication business, this made good business
sense. Vanessa Coffey and Linda Simensky embarked on a new strategy at
Nickelodeon with the blessing of President Gerry Laybourne: Sign up breakout
talent, let them produce their own shows, start an animation library, and make a
big cartoon splash. In other words, have the networks become their own content
providers. Nickelodeon commissioned Klasky Csupo to produce a show they
created called Rugrats, John Kricfalusi (from Mighty Mouse) to produce the amazing
Ren & Stimpy, and Jim Jenkins to produce his show Doug. They didn’t make just a
splash, but a tidal wave that pushed everything else out of the way.
38 The newly formed Cartoon Network moved forward with the hit shows The
Powerpuff Girls by Craig McCracken, Dexter’s Laboratory by Genndy Tartakovsky, Cow
and Chicken by David Feiss, and Courage the Cowardly Dog by John Dilworth. These
were all extremely well-designed and hilarious shows, which established Cartoon
Network as the place for smart, progressive animated mayhem. Nickelodeon
Steve Hillenburg and continued to churn out their animation output. After their animation production
Nickelodeon hit the

mother lode with
arm “Games Animation” merged with my studio to produce Rocko’s Modern Life,
SpongeBob SquarePants. they solidified into Nicktoons Studio and put out Hey Arnold by Craig Bartlett and
© nickelodeon
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another show that was a bit of an experiment, called CatDog by Peter Hannan.
There were two reasons why CatDog was experimental. First, as far as I know,
all the creator-driven cartoons up to this point had been crafted by an artist/writer
with animation experience. Peter Hannan had some beautiful and funny illustrated
books to his credit, but when Nickelodeon picked up CatDog, the Nicktoon Cartoon
Factory merely placed Hannan, the outside creator, at the helm of the talented
animation team they had already established. This move began to expand the pool
for bringing in creators. The second part of the CatDog experiment, in my opinion,
failed. By that time, Nickelodeon had begun “stripping” the shows that had been
in production since the early ’90s. “Stripping” means to run a different episode
every day of the week (rather than once a week, which is the norm when a show is
in production). This is possible when you have a good amount of episodes in the
can, like 52 or 60. It also makes a good syndication block. So what did the powers at
Nickelodeon decide was a good experiment? To start the show out by stripping; in
other words, to create as many episodes as possible as quickly as possible and start
out airing a new one every day of the week. Then it could move into syndication 39
more quickly, which is a big moneymaker for Viacom. I know a lot of the artists who
A Brief Hist0ry
were on that team, and I think they are still scraping their brains off of the floor
from that experience.
When former Rocko’s Modern Life director Steve Hillenburg produced his pilot
of a little yellow sponge named SpongeBob, he had seen the CatDog experiment at
work and decided to convince Nickelodeon to slow down the pace of production.
By the second season of SpongeBob SquarePants, this humble cartoon character
was well on its way to being one of the most powerful, recognizable icons in the
history of the medium. Of course, we went on to experience the continued output
of Fox with Family Guy by Seth MacFarlane, and Comedy Central’s monster hit
South Park by Trey Parker and Matt Stone.
There is one other huge milestone in the journey of the animated cartoon
series. Much like the transition from movies to television, the Internet began
to play a new role in the history of the character-based animated series. At the
beginning, little cartoons like “Doodie.com” amused the most juvenile of minds,
and were not really taken seriously as any inroad into cartoon distribution. While
the dot-com boom came and went, for the big-money media people with sites like
Icebox.com, cartooning on the Internet went stealth and slowly began leeching
away the lifeblood that had been sustaining the television cartoon business—
viewers and advertising dollars. It wasn’t done maliciously; it just unfolded by way
of what we call technology and progress.
As of this writing, advertising revenue for television is shrinking, which is
leading to more outside productions of cartoons and to a growing field of niche
cartoons for the Internet, such as Seth MacFarlane’s Cavalcade of Cartoons. These
“webisodes” have opened up cartoon production to anyone with Flash animation
and sound effects software.
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Conclusion
Okay, that was a lot of history packed into a short timeline. But I’m sure what’s on
your mind now more than ever is, How do you arrive at the place where you are
able to do your own show, especially if you are someone outside of the Hollywood
animation circle? There are many different paths one could take on the road to
creating an original series. And, although I personally never set out to work in
television animation, sometimes your true path just unfolds in front of you. As
Joseph Campbell says, “We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept
the one that is waiting for us.” This was the one that was waiting for me. My path
is only one of them. Maybe you’ve noticed in your own path that not having things
go the way you expect them to isn’t always bad. The disappointments can all be
stepping-stones to something different, something greater. When it’s a matter of
creating your own cartoon, success all comes down to being the person with an
idea and having the motivation to see it through.
40 I believe that what I’ve learned on my journey to TV, as well as my experience
creating and producing more than one hundred episodes (that’s fifty-six hours)
of animation, has given me insights into the ways you can develop a show and its
characters for the best chances of success. It’s these lessons that I would like to
share next.
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u
Chapter
Chapter
2
Part of Aspiration
Is Inspiration:
41
Why Do YOU Want to
Part of Aspiration Is Inspiration

Create a Series?
“Do you really want a series? Do you want to live with this thing
nonstop for the next couple of years? Do you want to eat, sleep, and
dream about it? Do you want to cry over it? To fight over it? There’s
very little real glory, and it’s going to consume every moment of
your life, so you had better be in love with this show.”
—Rob Renzetti, creator of the Nickelodeon animated series

My Life as a Teenage Robot
Every journey needs a motivational force to pull you through the challenges that
lie ahead. Look at me as a guide whose job it is to lead you through a jungle to
the treasure hidden within. I would be shirking my duties if I didn’t inform you
about the snakes, piranha, and gorges hung with booby-trapped bridges you may
encounter on your adventure. I do so not to scare you but to prepare you. This
chapter will help you pinpoint why you want to create your own cartoon, mostly
so you can fall back on that reason when times are tough and know that it’s
strong enough to catch you. You will also need to know how to pack your bags in
preparation for this expedition. If you are expecting a luxury cruise rather than
a rough hike, you should probably bail out now. The luxury comes only after you
survive the trek and discover the treasure stashed along the way.
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42
© nickelodeon
Your Motivation
Most of you have positive and passionate reasons for wanting to do your own
show. You love cartoons, and you would love making them—that’s a given. But
there are other reasons I’ve heard over the years that have set off some alarms,
such as:
• “I want to be famous.”
• “I want to make a lot of money. Money is the only thing that will make me
happy.” Or, “I want to make a lot of money to show others that I am better
than they are.”
• “I want to control everything.” (I can relate to that one.)
• “I want to be in charge of a lot of people.” Better yet, “I want to be able to fire
the people who have screwed me in the past.”
• “My [fill in blank: dad, wife, husband, peers] will never respect me unless I
have my own show.”
• “So-and-so has his/her own show, so if I don’t get my own, that looks like
he/she is better than me.”
• “I don’t know anything about animation or writing, but I know if I just come
up with a cool character, I can sit at home and collect checks while everyone
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else does the work.”

• “I’m a sad, insecure artist, and the only way I will love myself is if I have my
own show.”
• “It’s the only way I’ll get a girlfriend/boyfriend.”
• “I have an idea for a show based on a toy I created.” (I have trouble speaking
to this, as I’m not generally a fan of toy-based shows.)
Your reasons may not be any of these (or maybe you’re telling yourself your
reason is not listed here). Be honest with yourself. Some of these reasons involve
a conflict with ego, a chip on your shoulder, or a deep resentment of some sort. I
don’t want to play armchair psychologist here, but you should probably take care
of those issues before putting in all the work that goes into developing a show.
Or, if you want to make a show based on extreme neuroses and insecurities, you
may be able to use those issues to your advantage! Just get some clarity on your
motivations first, for the best way to achieve your cartoon vision is to have a strong
vision in the first place. As I said earlier, your reason for launching your show will 43
keep you going through the hard times, when you will need to stick up for your

vision many times down the road. Think of it as the strap you hold onto when the
bus goes over the big bumps.
So, what are some of the potential challenges you’ll need this strong reason
to overcome? Although having your own show is rewarding, it’s also extremely
hard and stressful work. The workday and workweek are long, with very little time
to attend to life’s needs. (I sometimes had to hold meetings while I was standing
at the urinal.) It will test the strength of your marriage, relationships, family ties,
and more, to their limit. I’ve known show creators who have suffered severe
depression when the show and its production are over. Some people may end up
hating you. You will be gossiped about. A network may end up owning your series
and then putting it on a shelf whenever they want, without your ever being able
to touch it again. Money in the form of royalties may not show up for years, if at
all. If your series does become a big merchandising hit, products inspired by your
characters will be contributing to society’s mass consumerism, sweatshop labor,
and environmental damage (unless you can somehow offer alternatives).
All that said, do you still want to do it? Good, because I’m not done poking
holes yet. I want you to feel as though this is something you really want, beyond
a superficial reason such as the desire for fame. For example, do you think you
will be able to support your show to the network if all you want to do is become
famous? That’s how people end up selling their souls. My goal is to help you create
a show and not sell—or lose—your soul in the process, to produce a show with
integrity. I believe that you have to get outside yourself to really make the best go
at this process; your reasons for doing a show will be challenged with every hurdle
you jump over. It’s not my intention to talk you out of pursuing this passion; I just
want to give your show and your characters the best chances of success.
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Reality Check
Let’s take a closer look at some of the motivations that may not hold up so well in
your pursuit of a career in animated cartooning.
Fame
So yes, it is cool to sit at a table and sign autographs and draw pictures for little
kids. And yes, some people will put you on a pedestal in admiration for what you
create. But let’s put things in perspective: I don’t want to take anything away from
cartoonist as a noble profession, but we need to get over ourselves. We’re not
curing cancer, nor will we end up even remotely resembling Mother Theresa at
the end of our lives. If you want to achieve some level of fame through your work,
there are plenty of other avenues and creative arts through which this is more
44 likely to happen. But keep in mind, the payback you get from achieving fame is very
short-lived and scant icing on what otherwise could have been a very enjoyable,
rewarding cake. On a creative note, pursuing a career as a cartoonist merely to

achieve fame means you will be operating directly from your ego, and the ego can
be rocky creative soil when what you really need is rich, fertile ground. My belief
is that the ego “edges genius out.” How so? Your ego can be a hindrance just when
you need to be a good leader of the team who is collaborating on your show. I’ve
seen creators who are too busy with publicity interviews and photo sessions when
they should be in the trenches with their crew. This dynamic totally shuts down the
creative flow. And trust me, someday the show will be over, and your fancy fame
carriage will turn back into a pumpkin in no time. Then the most important thing to
you will be your real friends—who, one hopes, will still be there, if you didn’t lose
them while you were gazing at yourself in the mirror.
That said, fame can and does come with the territory if you have a successful
show, and you may find yourself with legions of adoring fans someday. But a
better use of your fame and the fact that those people look up to you is to bring
attention to causes you believe in as well as helping others, by visiting children’s
hospitals, donating art to charity auctions, supporting environmental awareness
and education, and other worthy causes. In this sense, fame can be a force for
good. But 99.9% of the time, fame and all its benefits won’t be in the forefront of
your mind, because you’ll be working hard on your show; therefore, you need a
stronger, more lasting motivation.
Money
Let me say at the outset that of course I want you to make money from producing
an animated series. I want you to score big time. When it comes to your contract, I
want you to get the best possible deal and to be able to support yourself doing what
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Rocko in a still from the

episode “The Good, the Bad
and the Wallaby.”
© nickelodeon
45

you love. Money will always be part of the equation, and you should be well paid for
your efforts. But remember, this is not a “get rich quick” book; it is about creating
and protecting your art. I remember from the moment I became a professional
artist that people interested in such a career were always asking me whether I
made a lot of money. I always replied, “If you are getting into art worrying about
whether you will or won’t make a lot of money, don’t do it. Art is too difficult a
career. The rewards outweigh the monetary benefits.” In my experience, you make
money because you are creating a work that is inspired, something that makes
other people feel, laugh, cry, and get hooked on it. You make money because you
are doing something you love to do!
I’m not saying I haven’t made a fair amount of money from my work. I’ve
reached a point in my career where I can trust that money will be there when I’m
striving in the right direction. Money makes a lot of wheels turn in my world. But
if you create a show solely to make money, you won’t. Ernie Zelinski, author of
The Joy of Not Working, said it best when he stated, “Sadly, some people who have
excessive designs on bettering their financial positions allow themselves to be
manipulated, humiliated, and degraded while in the pursuit of money. Moreover,
unrealistic expectations for what money can do for them lead them to experience
the negative emotions of envy, deprivation, dejection, and disillusionment.”
I feel this quote lends itself beautifully to the entertainment business, because
disillusionment runs rampant in this industry, and this sorry state is what I would
like to help you to avoid. Doing a show just to make money leaves you wide open
to manipulation and humiliation—I’ve seen it happen again and again. Also, what
is enough money? What are your values? What sacrifices are you willing to make
to see your dreams come alive? If you need a little more guidance setting your
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priorities, I highly recommend the book Your Money or Your Life by Joe Dominguez,
Vicki Robin, and Monique Tilford.
The really big money in children’s television is usually the result of a huge
merchandising hit (think SpongeBob SquarePants), but it’s not as common as you
might think. The first, most important element is to have a great show; after that,
basically a lot of planets have to align and deals be negotiated. Other possible
income streams may open up, depending on your contract. Network show creators
can derive a good income from successful international syndication, DVD sales,
residuals, and various forms of high-tech online download distribution. The
marketplace can be a tricky playing field, so my advice is to get a good lawyer or
agent to protect yourself and to stay inspired. That strategy more than anything
will bring in the money.
Power Trip
46 Your crew is your lifeblood. If they smell a massive ego bent on throwing its
weight around and taking all the credit, you’re in for a lonely ride. Animation is
one of the most collaborative art forms out there, so you need to get over yourself
and move forward as a team. You are working to lead your crew; at times, you
are actually working for them. Read about the explorer Ernest Shackelton and his
crew on the Endurance to see how a good leader puts the crew before himself.
Also, trying to impress people usually invokes envy, disdain, or open animosity,
none of which is a good basis for lasting work collaborations or friendships.
Another suspect motivation that falls under the Power Trip banner is the old
“I’ll invent the character and then sit at home and collect checks while everyone
else does the work” attitude. I actually hear this a lot. Although creating a series
is possible no matter your level of talent or experience, you still should not
abdicate your role as leader and guiding light. It would be like the captain of a
ship sitting in his quarters without giving orders or headings; before you knew it,
your crew would be drunk below deck as your ship careened off icebergs, like a
ball in a pinball machine. I’ve seen firsthand productions with absentee creators
trying to make a go of it, but unless the show is based on an established book
series or other source material, it doesn’t work. A crew needs your vision, and
the production needs your direction.
I’m not the best character designer, the best writer, editor, or director—there
are much more talented specialists out there. However, I do have well-rounded
filmmaking and producing experience, which helps me create projects and
characters and inspire the crew to bring them to life. But it’s my vision that keeps
all the pieces flying in the same direction. If you want to sit at home and collect
checks, put in the work to make your show a hit, and then enjoy its long run of
hilarious episodes.
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Reasons to Plow Ahead

So, now that we’ve had a closer look at the reasons not to get into animated
cartooning, what are some of the strongest, most powerful reasons to forge ahead
on this creative expedition? You may have your own well-considered motivations,
but here are some examples I can speak to:
• You have characters in your head who are just screaming at you to breathe
life into them. They want to live, and you have no other choice but to build
a series around them!
• You believe that your core talents reside in seeing through your compelling
vision in the midst of a hectic environment. Personally, this has been when
I have felt the most alive.
• Creating a great series, whether on TV or on the Web, can be very uplifting
and have a powerful, positive impact on the lives of kids and adults alike.
47
• Storytelling is at the core of our being, and this medium is an obvious

extension of that. You feel that the best fit for your artistic inclinations is
their expression in an animated series.
• Creating a series makes jobs for all types of artists and an atmosphere of
collaboration.
• Working on a series is a good stepping-stone to bigger things in life you
may want to do. With Rocko, not only did I feel I could do something
unique on television, but I also wanted to sock away as much money from
the series to invest in my independent films afterward.
• As the creator of a show, you have the opportunity to promote and
nurture a positive work environment, a place where people look forward
to coming to work. You will have a strong impact on whether the schedule
and environment are humane and worker-friendly.
• Your series can give a viewer pause, whether it’s something personal to
relate to or a societal issue, such as the importance of recycling. (I say this
as a winner of the Environmental Media Award, thank you very much!)
• If you do make money from your show, you can share it with various
causes (for example, 1% for the Planet, the Hunger Project, or Children
International).
• Maybe the animation industry is in the doldrums once more, and you feel
like your show could shake it up and pull it out. You could inspire others to
take more risks in this regard.
• A successful animated show gives television networks and studios a
reason to pick up many more shows. Do you know how many networks
have asked, “Where’s my SpongeBob?” We all need to applaud and
support one another, because what’s good for one show is great for all of
animation.
• As the creator of a show, you can be a catalyst for change in this culture
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of hyperconsumerism, and you can make an impact on the ethics of

the media industry. Become a champion for artists’ rights, for example,
or a watchdog for fair labor practices in the production of your show’s
merchandise.
• Best of all, you can make people laugh! Doing volunteer work at hospitals,
schools, and fundraising events can lift so many spirits. Trust me, sitting
in a child’s hospital room watching that young patient view your television
series in fits of laughter is the best feeling in the world. Then you get to
say, “Get out of that bed soon so you can run and play outside!”
Are You Prepared?
48
© cartoon network
It’s hard to be fully prepared for everything that comes your way when doing your
own animated series, but several key factors help one to be well-rounded for all
of the various skills that come into play. These are the attributes I feel are most
beneficial, but that’s not to say that if you’re not skilled in these areas you won’t
find success. These are preferable based on my experience, so if you feel a bit
inexperienced or out of practice in any of these, you may want to brush up or take
a few classes first.
• The ability to draw, preferably fairly well. Writers who can at least sketch
will have a leg up on writers who can’t draw at all.
• A talent for creative writing and a library full of works by the literary masters.
• The ability to animate your characters and general knowledge of how
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things move. It may surprise you how many people neglect this important
skill.
• A curious, observant mind, one that absorbs each detail and files it away.
• Some travel knowledge and experience. This comes in very handy when
you are referencing other parts of the world in your story lines. Being the
creator of a successful show often results in a fair amount of international
travel.
• A commitment to hard work and a willingness to delegate.
• A general knowledge of the theater arts, specifically, how to tell a story to
an audience. Vaudeville is also a valuable area of study.
• A certain level of film fanaticism. It’s great to know every camera angle
that Stanley Kubrik or John Ford has ever used—it will come in handy when
you’re revising storyboard layouts at three o’clock in the morning.
• Knowledge and appreciation of a broad range of music genres. (Or better
yet, being a musician!)
• Knowledge and appreciation of art history and the great masters. 49
• A familiarity with radio actors, voice-over work, and the ability to sell a

character and story with narration.
• The ability to immerse yourself in the realm of imagination, no matter
what cruel realities are begging for your attention.
These are some of the general traits that will benefit you in this career. When
it comes down to actually working and performing in the world of television
animation, there are many more steps you can and should take to be on your
toes, and one of them is what you are doing now: Reading up on the industry.
When I was considering pitching a series to Nickelodeon, I read every book I could
get my hands on about kids’ television, the business of television (and cable TV
specifically), and the business of animation, as well as every article I could find
about the people in charge of Nickelodeon.
In general, I always recommend education for any endeavor you undertake.
(Yes, the “school of hard knocks” is valuable too, but learning the most you can
from college or a trade school is highly recommended.) I learned animation from
a community college in the Bay Area, but there are many excellent animation
colleges out there, including CalArts in Southern California and Sheridan College
in Ontario, Canada, where you’ll get a well-rounded education in all aspects of
animation, which helps immensely when doing your own show. A strong foundation
in the arts as well as history and science can all be beneficial when writing for a
show. I also took public-speaking and business courses, and I know others who,
even though they were not pursuing a theater career, took acting, comedy, and
improvisation classes to improve their animated characters.
The one invaluable experience I am always touting to anyone who will listen
is the experience of writing, directing, and producing your own animated short
film. As I said earlier, I am constantly amazed at how many people working in
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the animation industry have never made their own film or even animated before
(especially today, when computer software has made it so much easier to do).
Aside from strengthening your overall skills, directing and producing your own
film gives you extremely valuable, hands-on experience in every area that would
come into play when doing your own show: writing the story and the gags,
designing characters, storyboarding, color, timing, layout, sounds effects, music,
and ultimately, selling your film. Doing a short film also looks good to anyone who
is buying a show or considering hiring you for animation work—it always sold me
when I was hiring, because it shows dedication and the ability to see a project
through.
Producing an independent film is very rewarding and one of the most fulfilling
avenues for your artistic talents. I don’t advocate doing an independent film purely
as a stepping-stone to getting your own show or finding work in the business. You
should do it because you’ll love it. And conversely, by doing your own film, you may
also find that you don’t like animating after all, which is good to learn early.
50 Another important way to gain insight into all the processes and to familiarize
yourself with the best artists for when you’re ready to work on your own show is
I continue to derive
tremendous enjoyment to start working in the animation business in any capacity you can. If you work on
from doing independent someone else’s series, hang out in the right spots, stay close to the action, and
films. This is a still from
my film Fish Head. keep your eyes and ears open, you’ll pick up a lot of information. On my series,
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there were always guys from the crew watching the process closely and asking me
lots of questions. I could tell their wheels were spinning! Plus, it always helps to be
on the inside when preparing for your own pitch, because you’ll have access to all
the most valuable—not to mention free—advice from your colleagues.
Do You Need an Agent ?

I’m sure agents who represent animators won’t like this answer, but I don’t
believe that an agent is necessary for getting a series in animation. For live-action
entertainment and in the publishing world, it’s preferable to have an agent to open
doors for you, but that’s not currently the case in animation if you’re just starting
out. (Later, when you get to the level of The Family Guy or The Simpsons, you will
need an agent!) I’m not saying there aren’t benefits to having an agent, such as
lining up meetings or fielding phone calls. But I don’t think one is essential because 51
these are mostly tasks you can do yourself. Simply call the networks or studios and

ask who’s in charge of development and whether they are accepting pitches right
now. You’ll usually be greeted by some helpful soul who will guide you to the right
person and answer any questions you may have. The key is to be persistent. Once
you start getting interest from a network or studio, get yourself a good lawyer fast.
(We will cover this topic in more depth later). If you can’t afford one right away,
some lawyers will work for a percentage of your future income. A good lawyer will
be a great investment. If you want to consider signing with an agent at this point,
just remember that an agent will usually take a 15% cut of your income for the
duration of a specific project, even long after his or her work is done. I didn’t have
an agent for either of my series, but that was my personal choice.
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Q&A STEVE HILLENBURG is the creator/

producer of Nickelodeon’s SpongeBob SquarePants
and was the director and season-four creative director
of Rocko’s Modern Life. He has a degree in Natural
with Steve Hillenburg Resources Planning from Humboldt State University
with an emphasis in Marine Resources and a Master
of Fine Arts degree in Experimental Animation from
California Institute of the Arts (CalArts).
Q:
similar production model on SpongeBob as the one
We all know you as the creator of the
I had learned on Rocko.
outrageously popular animated show
52 SpongeBob SquarePants on Nickelodeon. Most
Q:
people don’t know about your background as an
Do you feel it’s essential for a creator to
independent filmmaker and your education at

combine his or her interests and passions,
CalArts in experimental animation. Do you feel
like you did on SpongeBob with the ocean and art?
that these experiences and education prepared
you for creating and producing your own
A:
animated series? Were there others that also
I think having genuine interest in some-

made an impact?
thing helps you to have a point of view, or
perhaps something new to say. The funny thing is
A:
that I struggled for years to find a way to combine
SpongeBob SquarePants is without a doubt
these two interests (art and marine biology). I had
the product of combining two of my life-
a teacher in high school say, “Why don’t you paint
long interests—the ocean and art. My interest in
fish?” But I just thought that sounded boring. About
marine biology certainly had an influence on the
twenty years later, I found an acceptable solution.
cast of characters in SpongeBob, but my experi-
ences seeing and making animated films at CalArts
had a profound effect on what I thought was pos-
sible in the medium. The greatest thing about the
CalArts program was that you not only wrote and
drew your own films, but you also learned how to do Q: After the pilot and the first few episodes,
was everyone certain of SpongeBob’s
everything—from creating a soundtrack to dealing
huge success? Was the network?
with timing prints at a lab. You really got the whole
picture. The films I created at CalArts helped me to
A:
get a directing job on Rocko’s Modern Life. It was
No one was certain of anything. The network
actually while working on Rocko that I got the ex-
was hard to read (they are even more so
perience necessary for creating SpongeBob. Rocko
now that they determine success by the ratings). They
helped show me the necessary ingredients for cre-
took forever to announce the second season pickup.
ating a world that would have the right dynamics for
I was finally told we had been picked up by some
writing shows. Equally as important, I learned how
executive’s assistant or the sandwich guy, a week
to write shows using storyboards instead of scripts,
before they officially told me. It’s a weird culture.
meet people I later hired for SpongeBob, and used a
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Q: How do you juggle your artistic

integrity with being the father of one
Q: Do you feel that one could ever set out
to create a new show that would have
of the most widely commercialized properties the success of SpongeBob? Are there special
in the history of animation? How do you handle ingredients you could bottle?
the challenge of riding a huge merchandising
tidal wave and still focus on the task of
producing a quality show?
A: I didn’t set out to make a “successful”
show (well, maybe moderately success-
ful). I tried to make the show that I wanted to see on
A: My focus has always been on making good

shows; without that, you have nothing. Most
people don’t realize that when you sell your show,
the air. I figured there was a good possibility that
the viewers wouldn’t get it. My attitude was that I’d
rather fail trying something new than fail making
you no longer own it. This means that although you something old.
may have a “say” contractually, you really don’t con-
trol the merchandise. Of course this is painful at
times, and believe me, there are fights that I have 53
lost. After such instances, I try to remember this

quote: “If you didn’t want barbecue, why did you
bring your pig to the picnic?”
Q: There is a popular belief out there
(especially among networks) that an
animated show cannot be a breakout hit if it isn’t
Q:
I know that you initially backed off from script-driven. Yet SpongeBob is storyboard-driven
producing the show too quickly (which I [written within the storyboard, then scripted]. Can
applaud you for). Can you talk about that decision, you account for this freak of nature?
and how volume animation can be affected by
A:
an overly ambitious time schedule? Did slowing it
down allow for more steps to ensure quality? The Ren & Stimpy Show and The Power-
puff Girls were also storyboard-driven, so
I don’t follow that logic. I think one reason the net-
A:
works prefer a script is to make the approval pro-
Nickelodeon initially wanted to make
cess easy. It’s harder for some executives to read
SpongeBob a “strip show,” where you get a
through a storyboard. I learned how to write shows
huge order and create enough shows to air five a
with boards on Rocko, and that’s the method I’m
week. I foresaw disaster and declined. I said I’d rath-
most comfortable with. I absolutely think that it lends
er do one season of twelve shows with a month’s hia-
itself to a more visual or cartoony show. I will say that
tus before starting more. I figured this way we would
it’s hard to find gifted board directors that can board
get as much time as possible to improve the writ-
and write. There is no magic solution.
ing, etc. Without my experience on Rocko I wouldn’t
have known to do this. Nickelodeon respected my
decision, and we made a smaller number. What is
great about Nickelodeon is their emphasis on let-
ting the shows be “creator driven,” and I attribute
much of SpongeBob’s success to this.
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Q: You’ve been in TV animation since 1993.

How do you feel it’s changed since then?
Q: Here’s the most important question, with
which I end all these interviews: What
advice would you give an artist or writer who
wants to follow in your footsteps and create his or
A:
The kids that were watching the stuff we her own animated series?
made in ’93 are now the new generation of
show creators.
A: Try to make something you haven’t seen

before. Follow your interests. Surround
yourself with good people . . . and Tombow pencils.
Q: What is your opinion of the use of

agents in selling a show? How would you
describe a good lawyer when negotiating the terms
of a series agreement?
54
A:
I was already working at Nickelodeon, so I

got a lawyer and pitched to them directly. I
can’t really say whether an agent is helpful for sell-
ing a show, though a lawyer is absolutely essential
and will save you from making a regrettable agree-
ment. They are worth every penny. No matter who

you are, the network will try to give you the most
rotten deal possible and then work up from there.
get a lawyer
It’s business. Obviously, try to get llaw
awye
yerr who
who is
ct and the studios to
familiar with your type of project
he studio thinks your
which you plan on pitching. If the
n you probably have
lawyer is a pain in the ass, then
a good one. © nickelodeon
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u
Chapter
3
What’s the Big Idea?
How to Get Your Series
Idea Out of Your Head
55

and Onto the Page
“I didn’t set out to make a ‘successful’ show (well, maybe moderately
successful). I tried to make the show that I wanted to see on the air.
I figured there was a good possibility that the viewers wouldn’t get it.
My attitude was that I’d rather fail trying something new than fail
making something old.”
“Hey! Let’s make a show about deli meats!

Everybody loves deli meats!”
—Heffer from Rocko’s Modern Life episode “Wacky Delly”
Deciding why you want to do your own animated series is akin to clearing land and
© nickelodeon
making sure there are no earthquake faults on it. But the main foundation you are
going to build on is this: the series idea. Maybe you already have one, or perhaps
not. Or maybe for now it’s just a little fuzzy. In this chapter I’d like to help you pull
out an idea and start breathing life into it. Explore it. Poke at it. See if it has legs.
Like every other step in this book, it should have inspiration. I can tell you what
will kill inspiration right off the bat: Seeing other successful shows and coming up
with the same idea and the same types of characters. I know this sounds like a no-
brainer, but you’d be surprised at how often this happens.
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These sketchbook pages

show Rocko beginning to
hatch, 1991.
56
© nickelodeon
Is there an idea for a show that you feel only you can do? Your show should
reflect who you are, your interests, and your style. You will attract others to it
because it is your vision, and no one else can realize it better than you. Consider
this: Steve Hillenburg had a background in marine biology. Who else but Steve,
with his incredible talent for storytelling and animation as well as his fascination
with and knowledge of marine life, could come up with SpongeBob and all those
other great underwater characters? Matt Groening, creator of The Simpsons, used
his own family as models and inspiration for his hit show (yes, Homer was his
dad’s name).
Not quite sure where to start? Close your eyes and envision turning to an
animated show on TV or the Internet that you’ve never seen before but that
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57
© nickelodeon
makes you stop and think, “This has me written all over it.” What does it look like?
How do the characters act? Does it recall a sport or a hobby you love, a place you
live, or the friends you have? Or is it just so weird and crazy that it makes little
sense to anyone but you? Don’t worry about structure for now, just go with your
vision. This show cracks you up, and you want to visit with these characters again
and again. Don’t think about what will make someone else laugh right now, just
what will make you roll in the aisles. Next, pull out the secret tool—the one that
never fails to magically gives birth to of all of my cartoon series and films—called
a sketchbook. Yes, just an old-fashioned sketchbook. (I use ones made of 100%
recycled paper. Try not to kill a tree in pursuit of your idea!)
Next, draw, doodle, or scribble as much nonsense as possible without the
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thought of someone seeing it. In fact, don’t even lay down preliminary sketches.
Use a black felt-tip pen and just go at it. (In fact, doodling while on the phone
is an old trick taught in art school to release the drawings in your head that are
waiting to be born.) Play around with your characters and your ideas, letting your
brain drool on the paper, and see what comes out. The characters that want to live
will come forward. Do you see yourself drawing a certain character over and over
again? What does this show that you saw playing in your head look like? What are
the personalities of the characters? Can you start to see them? Now, don’t break
a blood vessel in your brain over this; if it’s not flowing or is no longer fun, put the
sketchbook down and come back to it later. Let the characters take the stage for
a bit, and they may start telling you what they want to do, acting right in front of
you and spouting lines of dialogue.
Another question to ask yourself when you are developing the main concept
is why it needs to be animated and why the structure of a cartoon is the best
58
© cartoon network
My character Lazlo flowed

from a good pen . . . and
some strong coffee.
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Rocko needed a lot of

squashing and stretching.
How else could you depict a
character free-falling while
seated in an airplane?
© nickelodeon
59

showcase for this idea. My shows have always been anthropomorphic and visually
very stretchy. Is your idea something that can be celebrated as an animated
show? Even The Simpsons, which relies a lot on quick-witted dialogue and writing,
still requires animation to achieve its comic effect. Some shows can almost be
thought of as illustrated radio, such is the importance of the story. So utilize the
medium—really stretch and push it to its limits with your ideas.
Eventually you will start whittling down your ideas to a core concept—the
main theme that makes it a different kind of series and uniquely yours. This is
extremely important since you will be living with this idea and its basic direction
very intimately. It should be a part of you, something you enjoy learning about
and drawing; maybe you even watch other movies or documentaries about it.
Perhaps it revolves around the main character’s conflict with life. Let’s say you
love cooking; what conflict could be there? If you were a rat who loved cooking, as
in Pixar/Disney’s film Ratatouille, then that would be a problem. Or let’s say you’re
a family of superheroes who have to live a normal life because they keep getting
sued, like in The Incredibles. Your core idea will go through many changes, but
what’s important is to start thinking about the most standout concept, which in
entertainment is usually called the “hook.” This hook will be the basis for building
the story and is a keystone that supports your whole series.
The Hook
A show idea usually has a “hook,” which can be thought of as the germ of the idea that
sticks with the viewer. When I was pitching my idea for my series Camp Lazlo, I heard
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an executive say, “I’ve never heard of an animated show about summer camp before.”
That was good, but it wasn’t the whole hook. The hook also involves the conflict: It’s
not “friends hang out together in the neighborhood.” What about the friends in the
neighborhood? If you have “friends in a neighborhood are actually top-secret spies
who go on dangerous missions,” as in Tom Warburton’s Code Name: Kids Next Door,
then it gets interesting. Characters have hooks too, which we’ll cover more later, on
page 68. You, as the creator, obviously already know about your special character and
all the wacky, crazy stuff he will do since it’s all in your head, and you may be tempted
to say, “If I could only get to a storyboard I’d show you how funny and zany he can be.”
That’s skipping ahead, and it won’t work. Storyboard development comes later. So for
now, for your own sake, and the sake of the busy people you will be talking to, find an
angle that sticks out and is memorable.
The hook for a show can be its synopsis and should be easily described in one
sentence. For example: “A happy, free-thinking monkey and his two odd friends
wreak havoc on a very structured scout camp.” Or: “A young wallaby with an
60 overactive imagination moves out on his own and experiences the daily chores of his
modern life in hilarious ways.”
How do you arrive at a hook? With Camp Lazlo, I started thinking about the fun I
had at scout camp when I was a kid. It was so innocent and simple, and there were so
many weird personalities there among the different campers that I was inspired to
start drawing a monkey, and then an elephant. . . . Then I remembered the fun we’d
had with the scoutmaster, and how we all thought he was just a transplanted city
guy with a stick up his butt. I saw how an obsessive scoutmaster trying to control
campers out in nature—especially an unpredictable, happy-go-lucky camper—could
have comedic possibilities. So I broke down the basic premise: A scout camp. The
main character, happy and disorderly. The conflict: Happy Chaos versus Boring
Structure. If you can’t break down the hook to a simple sentence, you need to rethink
it a bit. Simplify it, but don’t lessen the impact. A good hook should have something
people can easily relate to, like the fact that everyone likes to consider him- or
herself rebellious in the midst of too much structure. Try to state a simple conflict in
a sentence. Humor is about conflict. Here are other examples:
Three overly cute kindergarten girls change into superheroes when needed, fight
nasty villains, and return to school before recess is over.
(The Powerpuff Girls)
A hard-working yellow sponge in tight brown pants tries to fit in with his undersea
community, much to the dismay of his neighbors.
(SpongeBob SquarePants)
Simplicity in your overall concept will be helpful when someone is just sitting
down to watch the show for the first time, and can immediately figure out what is
going on. This is conveyed not only by the strong, simple idea, but by the design
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of the characters and the show. You shouldn’t need a program to know who the
players are and what game they are playing.
The hook is also the theme around which you will build your show’s look, style,
presentation materials, and more. Since my character Lazlo was at summer camp
in the woods, I built the style around colors you’d find at camp, twigs and leaves,
wood cabin design, etc. Rocko’s show was about the chaos of modern life, so the
look, style, and colors we used reflected that feeling and worked to communicate
that core hook. Think about how Cartoon Network’s Samurai Jack series featured
that beautiful Japanese design and how SpongeBob’s look is distinctly nautical and
you’ll get the idea.
One thing I have learned about the hook is that you hang onto it tightly at first,
but eventually it becomes less the main focus and more of a stage. For instance, on
Camp Lazlo, we started using camp activities as the basis for some episodes, such as
swimming, fishing, or having a pet llama. . . . (okay, that one was a little strange, but
our story editor actually had llamas at her summer camp!). As the series progresses,
the characters, if developed properly, begin a process of discovery that brings 61
their personalities forward as the dominant focus. This process shouldn’t lead you

away from overall character and series consistency and the familiar aspects of
your series hook, but you will find that the characters begin to flesh out their own
episodes within the structure you have set up. For instance, on Rocko’s Modern Life,
the friendship between Rocko, Heffer, and Filburt began to overtake the hook of
“modern life” itself.
The Overall Design

It’s helpful to start visualizing the look of the show sooner rather than later, while
you’re still in the early stages of creating the world in which your characters will live.
Your show’s appearance should never be an afterthought. This is your chance to really
push it, to make your animated world look different from anything else out there—to
make it yours, something no one else can do! This will be your visual hook. Your show
needs a great look that stands out from the pack, one that could never be mistaken for
another’s. This should go without saying, but never copy another show’s design, and
especially not one from the network you are pitching to!
As discussed above, your hook and your characters will help you discover the
look of your show. But first and foremost, what are your personal preferences and
style when it comes to your art? What do you gravitate to? Everett Peck (Duckman
and Squirrel Boy) had already achieved a distinct style early in his highly successful
illustration career that he then tailored to a detective film-noir look for Duckman,
and to a happy suburban look for Squirrel Boy. Both are unique, but both are Peck
through and through. My overall design for Camp Lazlo differed from that of Rocko’s
Modern Life, but my style is easily recognizable, and so I don’t mind viewers saying,
“Hey, that’s the guy who did Rocko!” when they see it. At the same time, I always
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want to push my style in a new direction. If you feel you want to bring in an outside
designer to help you with this, that’s fine. Just try to retain your personality in your
work and make it distinctive. We will get more into the design of the show later (in
chapters 7 and 8). For now, I want you to start linking your conceptual hook with
your visual hook and considering whether your story and characters can easily live
in this design world or whether they’ll get lost in it. Your animated universe does
require some rules. But just because the stage needs to be set for acting doesn’t
mean it can’t also be cool and distinctive.
Rules for Your Universe

Another concept to start thinking about at this stage is, what are the “rules” in this
world you are creating? By rules I mean what forces govern the environment and the
62 characters’ actions? Can anything happen? For instance, when I was considering doing
a show with animals living in the woods at summer camp, I had to figure out if Lazlo,
a monkey, would interact with a bear in the woods as an animal or as a character. It

became like Goofy, who is a dog, taking Pluto, who is also a dog, for a walk; very strange
rules, but you have to figure them out and be ready to explain them, especially to
development folks at the networks. I don’t recommend proceeding with the “anything
goes” approach, because an audience needs consistent rules in order to follow the
characters and story. We will touch on this subject in more depth in chapter 4. So once
you start developing this germ of an idea, your hook, and your design, it’s time to start
discussing the most important aspect of your series: character.
An early development version

of Camp Lazlo called
“3 Beans.”
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Q&A EVERETT PECK is the creator of the Cable

Ace Award–winning and Emmy-nominated animated
series Duckman on USA Network, and Squirrel Boy
on Cartoon Network. He is also a highly acclaimed
with Everett Peck illustrator and comic book artist, with illustrations
appearing in The New Yorker, Playboy, Time, and
Rolling Stone.
the work of contemporary penmen like Ronald
Q: We all know you as one of the most

highly accomplished illustrators of our
Searle, Gene Holtan, and Ed Sorel. By my senior
year, I was more interested in illustration as a career
time, who made the transition to animation with than animation, so I entered Long Beach State as an
Duckman in the 1990s on the USA Network, and illustration major. It was there that I was influenced
later with Squirrel Boy on Cartoon Network. by underground comic artists, especially Robert
Could you fill us in on how you added “animated Crumb and Victor Moscosco. I also liked the artists 63
series creator” to your résumé? And what of Push Pin Studios.

experience helped you to fulfill that role? After I graduated from college, I began my ca-
reer in illustration and worked pretty much continu-
ally for twenty years. It was a fun time for illustration,
A: As long as I can remember, I always loved

to draw. I grew up in a small beach town in
but I always maintained my interest in animation and
collected as many old 16mm cartoons that I could get
Southern California, which was great for surfing but my hands on. But contemporary animation seemed to
didn’t have a lot going on with art museums. So, like be in the doldrums.
most kids of my generation, my biggest early art influ-
ence was watching Saturday morning cartoons on a
Q:
black-and-white TV. I loved all that stuff. In those days
there really wasn’t the tightly organized programming You paved the way for other illustrators,
that there is today, so they threw all kinds of cartoons at such as Gary Baseman, to transfer the
kids. In one hour you could see everything from Yogi characters from the printed page and paintings to
Bear to an old Popeye or Betty Boop, topped off with animation. What were the challenges of making
Clutch Cargo. But my very favorite was Disney. So I that leap? What were the obstacles, if any, that you
made up my mind at an early age that I would become didn’t expect?
an animator and go to work for Walt Disney.
As I got older, other forms of art started to have
a pull on me, especially print cartoons and illustra-
tion: Mad Magazine with all the great artists in there, A: Illustrators work with characters and situ-
ations. When you create an illustration you
especially Don Martin and Mort Drucker; Rick Grif- are basically using characters to create a world to
fin’s work in Surfer magazine; Jack Davis’s Monster convey a concept, a scene. You’re telling a story
cards; and Virgil Partch’s cartoons. There was also visually. That’s what you do with animation; you just
the all-pervasive work of Big Daddy Roth, Von Dutch, use a lot more scenes and characters. So it wasn’t
and the lesser-known Basil Woolverton. When I got that big of a leap conceptually. There was a stylistic
into high school I was determined to master pen- challenge for me in that my style tends to be quite
and-ink drawing and was heavily influenced at that loose, with a lot of lines, sort of “searching” around
point by nineteenth-century pen-and-ink illustrators until I find the form I want. I also use a lot of cross-
like Heinrich Kley and John Tenniel. I also followed hatch and other line combinations to build up vol-
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ume. Of course that won’t work for commercial

animation, so I had to simplify the line. I did a similar
thing with color, especially for Duckman. When I do
Q: How do you feel the animation and TV
business has changed since Duckman?
a painting, I use a lot of brushstrokes and gradations. Was your experience different with Squirrel Boy?
At the time that was very difficult to do within televi-
sion budgets, so I had to go with flatter color back-
A:
grounds. By the time I did Squirrel Boy, technology I think today’s prime-time animation market
had advanced enough so that we could use all the is considerably more narrow and formulaic
gradations and textures in the backgrounds that we than it was ten years ago. There are a few very suc-
wanted. cessful shows that have reinforced a formula of sitcom
family formats full of pop references and flat graphics.
Because they’ve been successful, it’s very difficult to
introduce something that departs from that formula.
Q: I know from my experience as an illustrator

and later as an independent filmmaker,
Kids’ TV and feature animation, on the other hand, uti-
lize lots of different conceptual and visual approach-
how hard it is for a team of people, including the es, your Camp Lazlo being one of them!
64 overseas studio, to suddenly start drawing like you. It
was hard enough for me to make my own characters
look right, and now I had to tell others how to make
them look right. How was that for you?
Q: Duckman, which started as your Dark
Horse comic book, was adapted for
television in the early 1990s, when TV was pulling
A:
Yeah, that’s sort of weird. As I mentioned, I did out of the candy-coated animation age and into
change my line to a more concise, thicker real-life edginess. Shows like The Simpsons were
one that’s easier to replicate. I also concentrated on making some waves, but Duckman really dove into
making the characters’ silhouettes as interesting as I the adult genre. Did you get flack for that? It now
could. I’ve been really lucky to have great people to seems commonplace, with shows like South Park,
work with who help me get my drawings in shape. but you guys really took some risks.
Jerry Richardson has worked with me on several ani-
mation projects, and he’s amazing at turning my squig-
gly drawings into something that can be replicated by
300 Koreans! When we were starting up Duckman, he
A: We never really intended Duckman to be for
kids; it was always intended as an animated
went over to Korea and spent a little time training the show for adults. I always wanted it to be as close to the
overseas crew on how to draw the characters. We also original comic as possible. By adult, I don’t mean just
spend quite a bit of time developing model books on gross stuff or sexual content, but we wanted to deal
how to draw the characters, showing poses, expres- with adult issues that kids don’t have a real grasp of.
sions, do’s and don’ts, etc. It’s really amazing how good I also wanted the world to be sort of dark and sur-
a job the overseas studios do, considering the process. real. Jeff Reno, Ron Osborne, and all the writers were
totally onboard with that. Because we were a “late
night” show on an obscure network, we were able to
get away with a lot of stuff. We didn’t really get a lot of
notes from the network; I’m not sure they really under-
stood what we were up to.
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Q: You also took a big risk with having

Frank Zappa do the music for Duckman.
Q: You just came out with a great DVD
collection of Duckman episodes. How was
What was that like? How did you feel that affected that experience? And how do you feel the episodes
the overall tone of the show? stand up? Because we did our series in the early
1990s, when the DVD format was still developing,
did you have to do any polishing to get it ready for
A: The owner of the production studio for the digital format?

Duckman, Gabor Csupo, was a friend of
the Zappas. When we were starting the show, Gabor
thought Frank might be interested in doing the mu-
sic. I thought that would be pretty great, so we had a
meeting and showed Frank the initial animation we
A: It was a really great experience when
we actually got started, but it took years
to get it up and running, with several false starts.
had done. He liked it and agreed to do the music. Finally, I got in contact with Ken Ross at CBS. He
Unfortunately, by the second season, Frank was pret- really got behind the project and helped me get
ty sick and not able to be involved personally, but he Duckman released on DVD. We had to make a few
allowed us access to some of his music catalogue. I editing choices, but overall I’m pleased with the fi- 65
was pleased with the Zappa music. It fit nicely with nal results and very happy that the show is finally
the sort of dark, odd world I wanted for the Duck- out there on DVD. Most of it translated pretty well
man series. Frank was a really great person. His son to digital, but I was kind of surprised. When I was
Dweezil was the voice of Ajax. doing Duckman, I was always a little disappointed
in the way it looked. I just couldn’t seem to get the
look I had in my head onto the screen. But after not
Q:
seeing a lot of the episodes for a while, I was sort
Are you a hands-on creator/producer, or of surprised by how rich it looked compared to the
are you able to stand back a bit? flatter shows of today.
A: I’m pretty involved with all aspects of pro-

duction, but I’m also a team player. I like to Q: How do you see the future of television
animation, or the future of animation
choose a group of super-talented people that I know,
in general?
trust, and whose input I value. It’s a much more en-
joyable process that way. That’s a big difference
A:
between animation production and illustration. Ani- I think prime-time TV animation is pret-
mation is very much a team activity that is infinitely ty stale at the present time, but that will
more complex than illustration. Illustration is much change. Someone will come up with a unique
more solitary and direct. Neither is better than the show that will break out into a new direction. Then
other, it just depends on what you like. there will be a rash of shows just like that one. But
I think there will always be a few new prime-time
animated shows on air. There are still a lot of very
inventive and original kids’ shows out there as well,
and there has never been a better era for feature
animation. A lot of that is directly attributable to the
very talented folks at Pixar. The important thing is
that animation is on the radar.
When I got out of school in the mid 1970s,
no one was thinking much about animation. If you
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wanted to see any interesting new animation, you

had to go to a little film festival. That all changed in
the early ’90s with the advent of The Simpsons and
A: Well, my first question to them would be,
“Is there anything else you’d rather do?” If
they insist on a path toward creating properties for
the release of Who Framed Roger Rabbit. I don’t think TV animation, then I’d recommend gaining as much
we’ll ever go back to the dark days of no animation knowledge about the business as possible: Talk with
on prime-time TV again. people who have had some experience creating a
show. I’d also suggest that they develop their prop-
erty as much as possible before presenting it to a
network. Comics are a good way to do that. Webi-
Q: What advice can you give to any writer

or artist who wishes to follow in your
sodes are okay too, but the jump from the Internet
to series television has not happened too often so
footsteps and become the creator of his or her own far, certainly not as much as people thought it would
animated series? ten years ago. The more fully your property is devel-
oped and established, the better deal you’ll be able
to make. You’ll also stand a better chance of keeping
creative control of your property. Good luck!
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u
Chapter
4
The Secret to a
Great Series:
67
It’s All About Character!
The Secret to a Great Series

“The creation of a character begins with what you already know.”
—Linda Seger, author of Creating Unforgettable Characters
“Whoooeeee! We found it! The penny has been in your butt crack
this whole time!”
—Chip and Skip, from CAMP LAZLO episode “A Penny for Your Dung”
So what’s the big deal about character anyway? Only that it’s the lifeblood of your
series. We’ve touched on the importance of the hook and the overall look for the
series, but let’s face it—you can have the coolest idea and the most inventive-
looking cartoon on the planet, but if the characters
are flat and have no appeal, it will never capture
an audience. The characters are the reasons your
audience comes back to watch. Think about any live-
action or animated show you love; you want to see
what the characters are going to do next because, if
they are developed well, they are alive in your mind.
Seinfeld the sitcom was about “nothing,” but we all
© nickelodeon
loved watching the characters because they were

both despicable and disturbingly familiar. A hook and
a premise for your show will take you only so far; well-
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“The only way drawn characters will live and breathe, inspiring you to feel for them and laugh
you can describe with them—and at them. When you take one character that is well-defined and
a human being put it in a room with another well-defined character, you should be able to see the
truly is by conflict right away. Hopefully, it’s hilarious.
describing his
By this time, you should already have a seed of an idea and some doodles of
imperfections.
the characters you want to work with. In this chapter we’ll start peeling back the
The perfect
layers and figuring out which are your main characters and what makes them tick,
human being is
uninteresting. as well as their hook and optimal design. I’ll walk you through the structure of the
Perfection is a character group, the protagonists and antagonists, the first-, second-, and third-
bore . . . it is the tier character frame, and how these personalities will interact with one another.
imperfections Finally, we’ll discover how to blend the whole ensemble into an entertaining
that are lovable.” animated series, from the first episode to the last.
—Joseph Campbell,
The Power of Myth
68 What Makes a Good Character?

What I want to know from the start is, Why are your characters interesting? Do I
care about them? Do they make me laugh? Can I relate to them? Most importantly,
do I want to invite them into my home? In the two shows I’ve done so far, I’ve
made my characters anthropomorphic animals, but they can be anything—human,
inanimate objects, you name it. Think about the people around you who attract
your attention. Are they bland chameleons, fading into the background? Or do
they have a distinct flair, something that sets them apart? A quirk? A tick? Strange,
obsessive habits? An odd take on the world? Are they like a car wreck you can’t
help but stretch your neck to look at? Or are they so appealing and attractive that
you can’t help but take notice? Think about how any one of those people could
make an interesting character. Start laying out the broad brushstrokes and then
filling in the details: What are their favorite foods? Where did they grow up? Why
do they have a fear of whipped cream? Look at Indiana Jones, for example; he’s
very brave, until he encounters a snake. Every character has his or her Achilles’
heel, and you should be able to zero in on it in order to propel the character into
interesting situations.
Character Hooks
The viewer should be able to understand a character and a situation even when
sitting down to watch the show for the first time. This is where an easy hook
comes in. I’m not saying your characters should be shallow, but their depth
can be explored later on. For example, Samson from Camp Lazlo is a whiney
germophobe with a cleanliness obsession and nose spray. The audience can
pick up on this right away, even if they haven’t seen the show before. Heffer,
from Rocko’s Modern Life, is the lovable, obnoxious friend who likes food. Camp
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69
Samson, from Camp Lazlo, Lazlo’s Edward is the short, know-it-all bully who’s
was richly neurotic. always butting in. Skip and Chip, the dung beetles,
are the gross, dim-witted brothers who always lend
a dumb, silly humor to any situation. These over-the-
top character traits create the immediate friction
and give texture to the show. We all remember
Wile E. Coyote from the Looney Tunes cartoons,
whose entire motivation in life was to catch
the Road Runner. Who knows what he would
have done if he ever caught him? (Some
have wondered why, if he could send away
for Rocket boots, he couldn’t send away
for a frozen Road Runner steak—one of
many unsolved cartoon mysteries. . . . )
© cartoon network
Great characters are defined by their
70 wants and the obstacles to attaining
them. For instance, I love the little squirrel
named Scrat from the Ice Age films; all we

know about him is that he wants to get the
acorn, and it never quite happens. It’s a very
one-dimensional setup, but it’s funny. Play around
with weird quirks for your characters. Consider possible deformities, obsessive-
compulsive traits, or extreme materialism (or extreme simplicity). Look at favorite
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foods or food allergies. Maybe you see a Richie Rich–type character, but one that The Wolfe Family from 71
Rocko’s Modern Life is
likes to lick the pavement, or a character with his face always in a book who has

the typical model of
an odd fascination for something crazy, like roller derby or Mexican burlesque dysfunction.
wrestling. Other traits may be revealed as you move forward. Rocko’s Heffer the
cow was adopted. This character detail created a bit of a stir when it was revealed
and was acknowledged by the Los Angeles Times as being “groundbreaking”
(which cracks me up). They said nothing about the fact that his adoptive family
was a pack of wolves that originally wanted to eat him and tattooed a butcher’s
© cartoon network
Scoutmaster Lumpus and

Samson from Camp Lazlo.
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diagram on his hide to show where the best steaks were. The character hook can
be fun to watch and relate to, but it is often the friction he or she creates with
other characters that inspires the humor. In other words, if the characters are
defined by their desires, the comedy is usually sparked by another character or
situation presenting an obstacle to the first character getting what it wants.
Protagonists versus Antagonists

Because attempting to overcome obstacles in any story is often fodder for humor,
defining the roles of protagonists and antagonists becomes very important.
Protagonist is a Greek word meaning “One who plays the first part, or chief actor
or actors,” while the antagonist is the one who “creates or represents the obstacles
the protagonist must overcome.” Most stories have one of each, if not more, to
set the plot in motion. For instance, in Camp Lazlo, Raj can be the protagonist
who loves marshmallows, but Lazlo is the antagonist who cuts Raj off because
72 he’s addicted. Scoutmaster Lumpus (protagonist) just wants to sit and relax in his
lounge chair, but the scouts (antagonists) are constantly disrupting his solitude.
These desires are windows into these characters’ personalities but also an
immediate hook into who they are and what they are about. What is fun about
setting up an immediate hook for a character (such as Edward in Camp Lazlo
being a macho bully) is to go in and set up a conflict to play off that character
hook. Take, for instance, the time when Edward had a doll that he secretly played
with that would ruin his reputation if anyone knew about it. Or when the dung
beetles were hung upside down and suddenly became smart because all the
blood rushed to their heads. With that in mind, let’s see how these characters fit
into your series. First, let’s look at your main character.
Ingredients for a Main Character

By now, I hope you’ve spent some time doodling in your sketchbook, playing with
some personalities, and maybe finding one that you keep coming back to. If you
are gravitating to this character, then take note of it—it may become the core of
your series. The main characters of a series have several functions. Primarily, they
are the glue that holds the cartoon together, the representative graphic (quite
often the first impression anyone has of your cartoon is a dynamic drawing of your
main character). They often become a figurehead, the hub around which the rest of
the characters revolve. Your main character sets the flavor and tone of the whole
series, so he or she needs a strong hook, an appeal that fills the screen and leaves
you coming back for more. But the most important function of a main character
is to be your voice, as the creator, to say something with your show, to give it a
reason to be on the air, and to warrant an audience. The main character in many
ways represents you, or an important aspect of yourself. It’s my opinion that your
main character shouldn’t disturb your audience but be welcomed into viewers’
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Hair
either
hangs to
the front
or to the
right
© cartoon network
73

homes to entertain them. A main character should have the ability to transform Sometimes finding the
right character design
his or her surroundings, to leave an impression.
is a long road, as you
Main characters can also offer us comfort; we feel more protected when can see from the many
incarnations of Lazlo in
we know they have gained a little more control over their antagonist in what is
these sketchbook and
usually a situation of good triumphing over evil in some way, or the protagonist model sheets.
overcoming his or her obstacles. Edgy characters are fine as supporting cast, like
Edward, Daffy Duck, and Squidward, as we quite often can relate to them. But I
would have trouble watching a whole episode of Daffy Duck without the calm,
confident Bugs Bunny hanging around to offer contrast. Victims and weak-boned
characters usually don’t bode well for main characters. (Although simpletons
who can walk through war zones unscathed are often successful, such as Forrest
Gump.) Sometimes this protective and “do good” nature of my main characters
drove my writers nuts, because it’s actually easier to write an episode in which a
despicable character is just acting rotten without boundaries. I remember several
occasions in the writing room on both Lazlo and Rocko where some crazy character
would be running over the other characters, and we would all be laughing. And
then I would say, “But what is Lazlo doing this whole time? He wouldn’t let that
happen.” And the writers would slouch in their chairs and answer, “Can’t we just
lock Lazlo in the closet for this episode?”
This is not to say that my main characters didn’t get into trouble themselves,
though. They did, and often. But overall, the main character should help the
viewer feel somewhat secure. It’s usually someone with whom we identify or
aspire to be more like. Being easy to relate to is important. Rocko found himself
in the eye of the hurricane, the gentle soul who was sane in an insane world.
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It’s important to explore (Don’t we all feel that way at times?) Lazlo was a hard-working optimist, often to
and explain every aspect
of your main character. the point of being naïve. He broke rules, but not in a malicious way. He still drove
This is a detailed model others crazy, but there was usually a commendable reason for it in the end.
sheet of Rocko from the
production bible.
The main character is obviously crucial, but in order to consistently come
up with stories revolving around this character every week, his or her chemistry
with the rest of the cast needs to be in place. That’s where the secondary main
characters and multi-tiered characters come in. Relationships are very important.
After all, where would Lucy have been in I Love Lucy without her husband, Ricky,
and her best friend, Ethel? So first set up the series with your main character (the
protagonist), and then find the various players that will surround and feed the
main character: the secondary main character, the antagonist authority figures,
the bullies, and the crazy, deranged characters. (Actually, in the case of my shows,
all my characters are crazy and deranged.)
Secondary Main Characters

An animated series can really only exist with one main character. If you are creating
very short cartoons, then the Road Runner versus Coyote model of two main
characters could work. But if you are writing longer stories (my shows were eleven-
minute episodes with three-act structures), then I would recommend a deeper
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character base. I find it most interesting within a series to have a supporting set
of secondary main characters who form a duo with your main character, or better
yet, a trio. (Or, in the case of Codename: Kids Next Door, five main characters work
well.) Sometimes these secondary main characters blur the distinction between
the actual main character and the rest of the ensemble. A small group of main
characters creates the possibility of conflict or love within a narrow focus. Often
these duos or trios are operating as a collective protagonist unit, which, if split up,
are not as strong in their efforts to overcome the antagonistic obstacle. Haven’t we
all seen the movie where a team starts self-destructing right before they have the
opportunity to overcome a major obstacle or win a big game? It’s usually because
conflict within the group is setting them against each other, but not so much as to
destroy their overall chemistry. So how does this work?
First, flesh out the attractions the characters hold for one another. Maybe
there are misfits within the group (like Lazlo, Raj, and Clam). In the Emmy Award–
winning long-form TV movie Where’s Lazlo?, my co-writer Mark O’Hare and I went
back to the roots of the friendship among the trio. The only reason Lazlo, Raj, and 75
Clam became friends was that they were assigned to a cabin together. Initially

there was little attraction, but small insecurities stemming from being individuals
new to an already structured camp formed the basis of their compatibility. In the
case of Rocko and Heffer, Heffer was an overpowering presence that Rocko was
never able to shake off. Rocko was probably the only character that was polite
enough to tolerate Heffer, and this trait developed into a soft spot of compassion,
then friendship.
Next, identify the conflicts and the contrasts that create friction within the
group. At the beginning, Raj and Clam were at odds with each other. Raj was a
spoiled rich kid with several phobias, obsessive-compulsive quirks, and fears
of nature. Clam was a strong-willed rebel who never let go of his toaster (his
security blanket). Lazlo came in as the catalyst that would transform not only
Raj and Clam but also the whole camp. In Rocko’s Modern Life, Filburt had his
phobias too. Although Heffer’s fearless “bull in a china shop” approach to life
often overshadowed Filburt’s fears, Heffer would also sometimes add to Filburt’s
woes (like the time Heffer accidentally sat on and killed Filburt’s beloved pet bird
and then tried to hide it). Heffer and Filburt would also butt heads by fighting
for Rocko’s attention. In both shows, friendship is what triumphed over all of the
conflicts, a core value within the series. Kids (and adults) gravitate to characters
that can be good friends. Even if characters are crazy and don’t always get along,
if friendship wins out in the end, it’s appealing and desirable. People connect with
it, because it can add a touch of warmth to a frenetic, edgy world.
Finally, identify the ways in which the characters will be able to transform
one another. In Camp Lazlo, Lazlo and Clam were able to help Raj get over his
phobias so he could enjoy camping in nature. In the episode “Swimming Buddy,”
Lazlo and Clam actually teach Raj how to swim. In Rocko’s Modern Life, Heffer’s
fearlessness often expanded both Rocko’s and Filburt’s comfort zones to achieve
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© cartoon network
Raj from Camp Lazlo growth. On Halloween, Heffer was able to coax Filburt to go trick-or-treating,
provided a great nervous but then Filburt’s overconsumption of sugar led to some disastrous results. One
contrast to Lazlo’s relaxed
nature. of the factors of the long-form Where’s Lazlo? that I really liked was that Lazlo
spends a lot of time helping Raj and Clam transform and become more carefree in
order to enjoy camp, but in the end, they pull together to teach Lazlo that being
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Rocko, Heffer, and Filburt

had great chemistry as a trio,
as seen in the Halloween
episode “Sugar Frosted
Frights.”
© Nickelodeon
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too carefree can result in friends being left behind. The complete transformation
encompasses all of them and results from being together and learning from one
another.
Inner- and Outer-Circle Characters
Now that we have the main character and the secondary main characters set up,
we need a support base consisting of the inner and outer circle of characters. I like
to set them up as first-, second-, and third-tier characters (depending on the show’s
main premise, you may not need a third tier). I use the tiers to coordinate story
consistency and on-screen time for individual characters so that the audience can
get used to a particular cast and so that the character well is deep enough that we
don’t have to venture to outside circles in order to create interesting stories. Our
goal was to involve the first-tier characters in every story in the first season of a
show, while letting the audience slowly get to know the second-tier characters. By
the second season, we started weaving some second-tier characters into the main
story lines, and by the fourth season, the audience had become used to the third-
tier characters, so we could even wrap some stories around them. This structure
gave us a way to “hire from within,” so to speak.
The first tier of characters always includes the main and secondary main
characters, as well as a main source of conflict. In the case of Camp Lazlo, the
first tier included Lazlo, Raj, Clam, Scoutmaster Lumpus, and Slinkman. In Rocko,
it was Rocko, Heffer, Filburt, and Ed and Bev Bighead. Notice that both first tiers
included an antagonist. In Lazlo it was Scoutmaster Lumpus; in Rocko it was Ed
Bighead. These characters always had some beef with the main characters. You
can usually pick them out easily on other shows: On SpongeBob SquarePants,
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© Cartoon Network
The first- and second-tier SpongeBob and Patrick are in the first tier, as well as Mr. Krabs and Squidward,
Camp Lazlo characters.
the antagonists. In The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, Bullwinkle the Moose and
Rocky the Squirrel were the main characters, and Boris and Natasha were with
them in the first tier as villain antagonists.
The second-tier characters will initially add support to the stories revolving
around the main and first-tier characters. These characters should have great
hooks and easily definable traits that add texture and memorable comedic
moments. In Camp Lazlo, the second tier consisted of Edward, Samson, the
Lemming Brothers, the Dung Beetles, as well as the Squirrel scouts Jane Doe,
Patsy, Gretchen, Nina, and Miss Mucus. You will notice a mixture of antagonist
and protagonist characters here. When the second tier started flexing its muscle,
Edward would become an antagonist and turn the camp against the main
characters Lazlo, Raj, and Clam. This would create a power struggle in which the
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other campers would either support Edward or cross over to

the other side. This dynamic gave power to Edward, who
© cartoon network
couldn’t exist as a bully without the support of other
campers. Edward would become a brown-
nose and squeal to Scoutmaster Lumpus,
knowing that doing so would ultimately
get the others in trouble. The Dung
Beetles and Samson were initially
comedic caricatures of stupidity
and whiney neurosis, respectively
(Samson being a young Truman
Capote–like guinea pig). Later we
had whole episodes revolve around
them, but the audience needed to
get to know them first. In Rocko’s Modern
Life, the second-tier characters were the Chameleon 79
Brothers, Earl the Tough Dog, Really Really Big Man, and

The Squirrel Scouts
the Hippo Lady. offered strong second-
tier character texture.
Be careful not to fill up the stage too quickly. It’s best to maintain simplicity
in the beginning, and let the richness unfold gradually. It’s too easy to fall into the
trap of running to different characters for new ideas, and it takes real discipline
to stick to the players you already have.
Third-tier characters are incidental, part of the background. They fill up
crowd scenes but also provide important services to the first- and second-tier
characters. Examples include McMuscli the camp cook, and Pothole McPucker,
the Mayor of Prickly Pines, from Camp Lazlo. When you are first fleshing out
your animated world, it’s good to think about whether you will need recurring
background characters; otherwise, they can be developed as the series progresses.
Some characters on Camp Lazlo started out as background characters and then
moved up as the series evolved. Harold the walrus was a background character
who was given a few lines in one episode. We liked him so much, we gave him
larger roles as the series progressed. The running joke about Harold was that
no one knew his real name, but that was okay by him. He was just glad to be
acknowledged by the main characters.
You may have noticed that I also colored the characters differently
depending on their tier, using brighter colors for the main characters than the
second- and third-tier characters so that the main ones would dominate the
screen when they walked into a scene. The hour-long Lazlo special Where’s Lazlo?
demonstrates the hierarchy of the characters pretty well and how all three tiers
combined to make a rich episode. Lazlo, Raj, and Clam are the outsiders, and
Scoutmaster Lumpus is the rigid rule-maker who is broken down to a sniveling
coward by the end of the episode with the help of the outsiders. You see the trio
of Lazlo, Raj, and Clam as the catalysts who disrupt business as usual. Raj at first
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resists admitting how different he is from the other campers and tries to fit in
The secondary
characters from Rocko’s
and not make waves. His conflict shows his insecurity about who he is inside, and
Modern Life. whether he should follow Lazlo, the troublemaking monkey. By the end of the
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episode, Raj realizes who his real friends are, and that knowledge, to him, is the
most important lesson. A good group of characters that inspires volumes of new
episodes and humor always contains personalities that rub up against each other
and cause conflict. Again, conflict is a source of humor—characters that always
get along are not funny or interesting.
Backstory
Every well-drawn character should have a backstory. Even if it is not visible at first,
there has to be a reason a character is who he or she is. My character Edward
from Camp Lazlo had older brothers who used to beat the tar out of him. This
scenario happened to be inspired by a guy I knew from junior high who was just
like Edward—he liked to bully other kids because he got bullied at home himself.
The fact is, knowing the backstory helps you predict how a character will act and
gives you an opportunity to weave those details into a story line—they don’t exist
81
in a vacuum. Heffer on Rocko’s Modern Life was a character based on a friend of

mine I grew up with. He loved to eat and often didn’t realize how big he was (in
size and personality). In a second-season episode, we find out Heffer is adopted
and that his adoptive parents were wolves whose original intent was to eat him.
This is a good example of a backstory that answers some questions about why a
character is so messed up. This episode was called “a high watermark for television
animation” by the Los Angeles Times.
Some backstories are revealed as the series progresses. Could we ever
have foreseen that Samson’s parents were spineless electric jellyfish? This
backstory not only explained his reaction to the jellyfish on the beach for that
© nickelodeon
Dad Wolfe feeding baby

Heffer in a home movie
from the Rocko’s Modern Life
episode “Who’s for Dinner?”
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episode, but his overall neurosis and nervous nature (imagine

getting a stinging shock every time you were hugged by your
mother as a child). A character’s backstory can become a process
of discovery: Tom Kenny (who voiced over Scoutmaster Lumpus,
Heffer, SpongeBob, and many other characters) was so involved
with Scoutmaster Lumpus and brought so much to that character—
he lived and breathed him. During one recording session where Lumpus
was an extraordinarily diabolical, deviant sociopath, Tom joked that at
the end of the series, we should reveal that Lumpus had locked the real
scoutmaster in the closet and that he was really a patient from the
local asylum. “Hmmmm,” I remember saying. “Can I use that?” So
of course, in the last episode of the series, the truth did come out.
What I really wanted was for the scoutmaster who had been locked
© cartoon network
away the whole time to be Heffer. But the network wouldn’t sign
off on that plan, so we used a subtle facsimile that resembled an old,
82 wrinkled distant cousin of Heffer’s. I think that Rocko fans got the joke.
Voice
Once you’ve developed the character’s personality, start playing around with
the voice. (I discuss this in greater depth in chapter 7.) Street-smart characters
The diabolical like Edward do well with New York–style accents. Samson sounds like a young
Scoutmaster Lumpus Truman Capote. Accents and voice inflection can add so much personality to a
from Camp Lazlo.
character; Southern accents are fun to play with, as are uppity sophisticated
drawls. It’s helpful to think of an actor or actress who has portrayed a similar type
of character and use that as a jumping-off point. Just be mindful of ethnic and
cultural stereotypes when choosing voices so as to avoid causing offense. When
I was first developing Scoutmaster Lumpus, I was hearing a bumbling Minnesota
accent, but when Tom Kenny started trying it, the Minnesota accent made Lumpus
sound too nice, not nearly crazy enough. So we tried a Don Knotts voice, and that
didn’t work either. Tom and I continued to play around with this trait for a while,
and we finally reached a cross between Richard Nixon and W. C. Fields that seemed
to work. A great voice actor may give you an even better sound than what you were
originally looking for.
Character Design
By now I’m sure you have lots of great doodles and sketches of what your
characters look and sound like and are formulating them in your head. Next it’s
time to start narrowing down how they look for the pitch. In Rocko’s Modern Life
and Camp Lazlo, I used anthropomorphic characters. This device is not necessary
for your show, but it worked for me, as I could use the personality of each character
to define what kind of animal it was. Rocko was a quiet little wallaby. Filburt was
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BS
BS
83

a neurotic turtle. If your show features human characters, you should sell their Sometimes finding the
right voice for a character
personality along with the design. We’ve already talked a bit about the overall look can be as challenging as
of the show, so now it’s time to design the characters with that look in mind, and finding the right look.
then to distinguish each character with recognizable yet exaggerated features.
Play with the teeth and the posture, maybe giving a slightly insecure character
a slouch. Characters with big egos tend to walk like they have a stick up their butt.
Your character’s hook could be a really grotesque, exaggerated physical flaw—look
at Pothole McPucker from Camp Lazlo. Okay, don’t look at him. . . . I know it’s
painful!
Set up your characters as though they are in a police lineup, and play
with their primary basic shapes. Their silhouettes should immediately
distinguish them from one another. When they get on stage, their personalities
need to pop out immediately. I also like to play with asymmetrical designs.
Heffer’s two nostrils are different shapes, and so are his eyes. Lazlo’s eyes are
dissimilar as well. Characters are more interesting with imperfect faces and
bodies. Once I developed a lumberjack beaver with a missing arm. I figured that
a tree had bitten it off, leading him to devote his life to cutting down forests.
Work this kind of physical flaw into the backstory. Do something to give each
character his or her own zany appearance: Throw an eye patch on one; make
another pull his pants up to his armpits. A character I developed for my film
Fish Head was blind and had an uncanny sense of smell, so I decided to give him
three nostrils, which was his body’s way of compensating for his lack of sight.
Then I called him “Three-hole Jack.”
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Here’s a final note to keep in mind for character design:

The more complicated your character design is, the harder it
will be to correctly duplicate it, especially in a series production
environment, where episodes are put together in a large-
scale assembly line. Complex characters are also more time-
© cartoon network
consuming and expensive, so the simpler the better. Remember
that every piece of clothing and every accessory has to be
designed, colored, and animated, so if you can get away with
one button rather that two on someone’s shirt, that will help.
The attractive Pothole

McPucker, Mayor of
Consistency
Prickly Pines in Camp
Lazlo. After you have developed your character with its unique personality, design,
manner of speaking, etc., you need to lock it in as much as possible. This will come
into greater play later in the process, when you actually start writing for the pilot
84
and the series, but I want you to understand it now so you don’t run into trouble
down the line. Obviously, if the development process calls for it, you will need
to play with and finesse your characters, but only if you believe it absolutely
necessary. A certain amount of evolution is predictable since you’ve worked hard
to create structure and chemistry among your characters (case in point: all the
A production model
sheet for Ed and Bev versions of Rocko and Lazlo that we went through). For the most part, this work
Bighead from Rocko’s
Modern Life.
© nickelodeon
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A Funny Note on Hooks

When I was doing ROCKO’S
MODERN LIFE, the executives
at Nickelodeon started get-
ting heat about the fact that
their cartoons didn’t portray
any positive female role mod-
© Nickelodeon
els. They came to me and asked

whether I could fit one into our
show. My response was, “Are 85
there any positive MALE role

Dr. Hutchinson from Rocko’s Modern Life.
models? And who uses a cartoon
character for a role model, anyway?” But I agreed to think it over
and try to fit in a strong female character. “Oh, and can you give her
a strong hook?” they asked.
I shared this request with my directors, and we came up with Dr.

Hutchinson, a dentist who eventually marries Filburt, and they have
children together. And Doug Lawrence designed her with… well… a
hook. An actual hook for a hand in place of the one that had appar-
ently been bitten off by a crocodile patient when the good dentist
hit a nerve. Enough said. It served her well.
should be done before preproduction begins. Once the show airs, unless you
view a small change as a natural progression for the character, don’t mess with
the way the audience expects a character to look and act. Plus, when you get to
the production phase, you want everyone to be on the same page, and you can’t
do that if you keep changing the characters. Unless a story calls for a special
outfit, every design element needs to remain consistent.
Sometimes, as a show progresses, there is the temptation to start playing
with a character’s personality in order to write new jokes. Do not sacrifice the
consistency of a character for a joke! To me, that’s just lazy writing. Sure it’s funny
to have Spunky suddenly start talking for a few frames, but you have just messed
with the inherent traits of this character, and the audience will wonder what just
happened. What are the rules? If they can’t rely on Spunky not talking, what else
might happen that they’re not expecting? Leave the surprises to the story twists
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© Cartoon Network
© cartoon network
This is an illustration and keep a tether to consistency within characters. We will cover more of this
of how Camp Lazlo
character designs were
subject later in chapter 6.
distinctive. There was an old rule in the Looney Tunes universe that when you squashed
or stretched a character, or had them get hit with a mallet, you had to have them
revert back to their original form as quickly as possible. It’s a kind of cartoon violence
agreement: If the characters pop back right away, some cartoon violence is allowed
by the networks. With changes in personality brought on by some outside force, as
in the case of Samson touching the jellyfish and going crazy in the episode “S is for
Crazy,” it’s best to bring him back to status quo by the end of the episode so that he
is the same old Samson in the next one. If you are creating a character for a one-shot
film, it’s okay to use an arc such as a character losing his sight halfway through the film
as part of the story. It won’t work in a series, however, unless suddenly having a blind
character works within the dynamic of the cast.
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© Cartoon Network
The “do’s and don’ts”

page for animating Lazlo
from the Camp Lazlo
production bible.
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Transitioning Characters
to Film
In my opinion, Aardman Animations’ Wallace and Gromit are the best examples
of successful characters that survived a short episodic series and then went on to
great success in a feature film. First created by Nick Park as a student independent
film, the chemistry between this eccentric English inventor Wallace and his more
intelligent and grounded dog, Gromit, is brilliant. It set up a formula for the two
to embark on many adventures together. I feel that the most important aspect
of Wallace and Gromit is their companionship and universal appeal. You want to
hang out with them—to invite them over for tea and crackers. Nick Park kept
his characters consistent throughout the short films and the feature film. I also
admire the way that Park and Aardman Studios kept the entertainment media
wolves at bay with regard to protecting their property, and they still prospered
88 from it! They also showed that a series does not have to be long to be successful.
Wallace and Gromit had a very successful merchandising life based on just a few
films.
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Last Word (for now)

on Character
The most important question you need to ask yourself about the characters you
create is, do they feel alive to you? Do you care about them? Do you want to
set up a world in which they can live? Do you see many possible stories and gag
ideas stemming from their very makeup? I suggest taking these characters and
your show concept and coming up with possible premises, or “episode ideas.”
Do they come quickly? Or are you stuck already? You shouldn’t start scratching
your head for show ideas until episode fifty, which, if you do eleven-minute
episodes like we did, would be the one-hundredth episode. If you find yourself
not immediately coming up with ideas for these characters, you may want to
rethink their personalities or the entire series idea. I want you to put some
sample episode premises in your pitch materials, so start writing them. If you
have your series hook and premise in place and your characters fleshed out, 89
and you are still convinced this show needs to be made, then you are ready for

the next step.
Writing for the Dung
Beetles (from the
storyboard for “Parasitic
Pac”) always made me
smile.
© cartoon network
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Q&A t o m wa r b u r t o n is the creator and

producer of the Cartoon Network’s animated series
Codename: Kids Next Door. He is a veteran of the
animation business whose work has appeared on
with Tom Warburton Nickelodeon, Disney Channel, and MTV. He recently
authored and illustrated a children’s book titled 1000
Times No for HarperCollins Publishers.
was doing that, I was helping Sue Rose on her fledg-
Q: We all know about your great animated

series Codename: Kids Next Door on
ling “Pepper Ann” pitch and working on my own
show ideas. Eventually, Pepper Ann got picked up by
Cartoon Network. Could you give us a brief Disney, and my own pilot, ”Kenny and the Chimp,”
90 history of how you became a creator of your own got green-lighted by Cartoon Network, so I left JJSP
cartoon series? What kind of experiences and to be the character designer on Pepper Ann (from
education prepared you for this? home!) and work on my show idea. After the sto-
ryboard for “Kenny and the Chimp” got approved,
Cartoon Network sent me out to LA for a couple of
A: Well, I kind of did that whole “start from the months to make the pilot, which was an amazing ex-
very bottom and work your way up” thing perience, but I kind of got the feeling it wasn’t going
that you sometimes hear big-super-giant-mega CEOs to get picked up as a series. So I came up with Plan
talk about. B: a pitch about some of the side characters from
When I graduated from school (Kutztown Uni- “Kenny and the Chimp”—the five kids who lived
versity [in Pennsylvania], a school without an ani- next door. Thus, the “Kids Next Door” were born!
mation program), I headed to New York City with And Cartoon Network [CN] liked it, so we started
Animation Magazine’s list of studios they used to the whole pilot process again!
publish and just started pounding the pavement.
Eventually some suckers (Buzzco Associates) gave
me my first opportunity, and I became an intern do-
ing all the things like making copies, making deliv- Q: I remember your telling me a bit about
how the series got picked up. It was part
eries, and cleaning coffee cups. But when I wasn’t of a competition, correct? Could you tell us a bit
doing that stuff, I was learning the nuts and bolts of about that experience?
animation. That’s where I really received the basic
skills that I took from job to job. And from job to job
I went, since animation in NYC is, and always has
been, a transitory occupation.
I was laid off after only ten months but soon
A: Codename: Kids Next Door was part of
CN’s second “Big Pick Weekend,” where
the viewers get to pick which pilot becomes a se-
found myself working as a layout artist on the first ries. The first one consisted of only three shorts, but
season of Nickelodeon’s Doug. Five months later, this one had ten! And mine was the first one done,
it was on to J. J. Sedelmaier Productions, where I so I had to wait a year for the others to be finished.
worked on a million commercials as well as Beavis I was lucky enough to get a job on Mo Willems’s
and Butt-head, Schoolhouse Rock, and Saturday Night Sheep in the Big City while I waited for the competi-
Live’s “TV Funhouse.” That’s when I really came into tion to begin. Finally, FINALLY, they started running
my own and started directing and such. But while I the shorts for an entire summer, and then the vot-
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ing began on a weekend in August. And why retype seasons of KND in which to really explore the kids
that story when you can just go to this old blog post and learn more and more about them.
about how it all went down? http://kidsnextblog.live- Another way to develop characters is to put
journal.com/41952.html. Possibly the best day of my them in situations that will draw out who they are. A
life . . . but also a scary one. Now I had to actually favorite example of mine is the basic theme behind
make a series—something I had never done before! the movie Castaway: What happens when a man ob-
sessed with being on time, who lives by the clock,
suddenly finds himself with nothing but time on his
Q: Your show was one of the few done

outside the LA studio system (along
hands? That’s a really interesting question. Maybe
not the best movie, but a great situation to put some-
with Ed, Edd n Eddy), but it was still part of the one in.
network family (that is, not an acquisition). What As far as basing the characters on people
was that like, and what were the good aspects, the I knew, I kind of realized as the show went on that
bad, or the most challenging? each of the KNDs held little parts of me in them:
Number One’s tenuous hold on leadership, Num-
ber Four’s toughness (all show, of course), Number
A: I think the part I missed was being around Three’s overly optimistic view of the world, and so 91
other people who were in the same lonely on. But then again, if you stare at something long
boat as me. I would have loved to be able to run up enough, you start to bond with it anyway.
a flight of steps and ask another show creator how to
handle something. But instead, we were our own little
island, just chugging along, trying to figure it all out.
On the other hand, it was great being by ourselves, as Q: Could you fill us in on the process of doing
your series? Were you script-driven or
we didn’t have to deal with all the giant-studio politics storyboard-driven, and how did that work?
that invariably happen, and we didn’t have artists sud-
denly shifted to another production or have to share
editing suites and stuff.
A: As with most things in my life, I kind of
made up my own weird, not quite nor-
mal process to craft our episodes. We didn’t write
Q: Could you elaborate on the process of

developing your characters? How did you
full scripts (which I feel are often cold and lifeless),
and we didn’t leave it up to the storyboard artists
come up with their personalities? Were they based to write the episodes from outlines (mainly because
on your own, or on people you knew? I don’t think massive cinematic, plot-heavy stories
lend themselves to being storyboard-driven). So we
did “skroutlines,” a kind of hideous cross between
A: To be honest, the characters in Kids Next

Door [KND] have always been your ba-
sic, stereotypical “team” personalities at their very
script and outline. They read like fun short stories
and gave the storyboard artists all the freedom they
needed to do exactly what I wanted, and the story-
core—you know, the fearless leader, the brainy in- board teams really ran with them. Kim Arndt, Matt
ventor kid, the airhead, the tough guy, the cool Peters, Jesse Schmal, and especially Guy Moore all
chick, etc. But in developing the characters beyond found ways to make each episode into a huge mini-
that, it’s how you take those basic, boring traits and movie that leapt off the page. But who knows if I’d do
play upon them. That’s what defines who they real- it that way again. Each project lends itself to a new
ly are and what makes them interesting: How is the way of working, so I’ll wait and see what kind of thing
tough guy weak? How is the dumb girl smart? What I’m making next.
is the fearless leader afraid of? The best way to find
out these things is over time. Fortunately, we had six
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Q: How do you see yourself juggling an

animated series’ being your artistic
Q: If you could give any advice to the
up-and-coming writer or artist with
expression and at the same time a commercial dreams of doing his or her own animated series,
property? Do you have any conflicts with the what would it be?
business side of doing an animated series?
A: I’ve always come from more of the com- A: I’m going to steal some words from the
mouth of My Life as a Teenage Robot’s cre-
mercial side of things. I was a graphic de- ator, Rob Renzetti, that I read a long time ago. He said
sign major in college, and I worked in commercial that the first thing you should ask yourself is whether
animation for years and years, so I always knew that you really want a series: Do you want to live with this
we were serving two masters—a creative one and a thing nonstop for the next couple of years? Do you
commercial one. I’ve never had any problem realiz- want to eat, sleep, and dream about it? Do you want to
ing that, when it comes right down to it, we’re making cry over it? To fight over it? There’s very little real glo-
a product. A network isn’t spending millions of dol- ry, and it’s going to consume every moment of your
lars to further your artistic vision—they’re doing it to life, so you had better be in love with this show.
92
make money. But that’s not to say that you can’t make If the answer is “Yes!” then go for it. Take it out
really cool art at the same time. You just have to re- to the world and show ’em whatcha got. Just make
alize that the pendulum between art and commerce sure it’s the right show for the network you’re pitching
will be constantly swinging, every step of the way, and to. Don’t bring a show about satanic, foul-mouthed
if you’re not careful it will crack your skull. Can you ninja nuns to the vice president of preschool shows
live with that? at Nickelodeon. It sounds obvious, but you’d be sur-
prised what some people pitch.
© cartoon network
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u
Chapter
5
Pitching Your Series:
Preparing the Proposal
93
Pitching Your Series

“Confidence is preparation. Everything else is beyond your control.”
—Richard Kline
“Luck favors the prepared, darling.”
—Edna Mode, from the Pixar/Disney movie The Incredibles
I hope that by now you feel confident that your idea for an animated series will
blow everything else out of the water. (If you don’t, go back and repeat chapters
3 and 4.) It’s crucial to feel confident with your concept in order to move forward.
With that in hand, now it’s time to prepare materials that will sell your idea in
the form of a proposal. If your goal is to get a series funded and/or produced by
a network or studio, then you must compose the best proposal possible to reach
that goal. Look at it as a sales tool that will persuade potential development folks
to offer your great idea and your amazing characters a place to live and breathe.
If you’re not interested in having a network or studio connected with your project
(which is a viable option), then you can skip this chapter. But if you need someone
to help finance your project, even if it’s Uncle Harold, it’s good to be able to present
strong reasons, both written and visual, for why this series is the best damn thing
that will ever be produced!
Since most of the people who will be reading your proposal also read
thousands of others, they don’t need much of an excuse to toss yours aside and
move on to the next. This chapter will guide you in getting your foot in the door, so
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© Nickelodeon
94
please follow along closely. I lay out some critical guidelines and pointers that will
help you formulate your idea into a salable artwork and a convincing investment
opportunity, which will help you move on to the next steps of development,
producing a pilot, and ultimately, putting your own series into production.
Know Your Audience

This section is not about who you are pitching to (though you should know that too);
it’s about the specific audience you are targeting with your project. You should have
a pretty good idea by now about who would represent the best viewers for your
cartoon. Which audience would be the most receptive to your idea? If your show
is kid-focused, what are their ages? Do some research on which networks cater
to the age-group your show will target. If it’s aimed at adults, consider a network
such as Fox, home to The Simpsons, or perhaps a cable channel such as Comedy
Central or Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim that show South Park and Robot Chicken,
respectively. Maybe your show is meant for the Web instead of television, in which
case check out Mondo Media’s Happy Tree Friends at http://htf.atom.com/. Figure
out exactly to whom you are targeting your cartoon. This will help you focus in on
that niche and save time when you’re choosing the right studio or network to pitch
to; your sales tool should reflect why your cartoon will bring in exactly the viewers
they are looking for. To put it plainly, don’t pitch a show with the edginess of South
Park or The Family Guy to the Disney Channel; your research should have told you
they’re not the appropriate outlets for that type of humor.
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Television Demographics
The term demographics may feel a little like reading “sodium tripolyphosphate”
on the side of a mac-and-cheese box, but it’s important to learn. A television
demographic is the categorized viewership of a particular network or channel.
It will often pinpoint age, gender, income bracket, spending habits, hobbies, and
more, which allows a television network to target their main products. You mean
the product is not the hit show? No, it’s advertising in the form of commercials,
just like in the old days when newspapers signed the most popular comic strips in
an effort to draw in more readers who would buy the paper, thereby selling more
advertising. TV networks likewise want shows that will bring in many viewers who
will watch commercials. For example, the Fishing Channel targets men aged forty
to seventy who have enough income to purchase a fishing boat and rod, or to
travel to Cozumel just to fish, so their advertisers may include travel resorts and
tackle and gear retailers.
But it’s not enough to bring in viewers—they need to be the right viewers. A 95
good way to know if you are a good fit with a particular network is to pay attention

to whom they target their commercials. A channel that caters to fishermen who
buy boats does not want a show that will bring in a preschool audience who are
interested only in plush fish that squeak. You need to sell the network on why your
show is right for their channel. To them, your job is to bring in the highest number
of viewers in their demographic, including repeat watchers and appointment
viewers (those who literally make an “appointment” to watch a show). Your pitch
and your proposal need to play to that target audience. As of this writing, the
Disney Channel’s demographic counts more girls than boys, while Nickelodeon
reports the opposite. But all of that could change tomorrow, so do your homework!
All About Impact:

Crafting Your Proposal
For my show proposals, I prepared a short, very professional looking spiral-bound
booklet that could accompany a verbal pitch or serve as a standalone piece for
mailings. Development people prefer to have something physical to pass around
if they like a proposal, so make it truly sensational! This is extremely important,
because the people you are pitching to are often very busy, and they’ve seen it all
before. They’re used to the boring old vanilla pitch and will pass it right by. So give
them what they really want—a whole new flavor brimming with lots of cool, tasty
chunks! Let’s take a look at the different elements that go into crafting a knockout
proposal.
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An Interesting Note
on This Subject
When Nickelodeon became inter-
ested in developing and picking
up ROCKO’S MODERN LIFE, they were
looking to break out of the pack
of mundane Saturday morning fare.
© Nickelodeon
They wanted edgier stuff, cartoons

that had a different look. Really
what they wanted was to make some
96 Rocko discovers why “laundry day is a very waves with their programming,
dangerous day.”
which is exactly what they did,
brilliantly, with the hit show REN

& STIMPY, by the very talented John Kricfalusi. The edginess of REN &
STIMPY brought Nickelodeon a lot of attention, both good and bad. At
the time, I was in the middle of doing the pilot for ROCKO when REN
& STIMPY debuted and immediately started pulling in huge numbers of

viewers (mostly college kids). So when ROCKO hit the air, it started
pulling in the same demographic. I was new to television then and
didn’t even know what “demographic” meant, but I learned quickly,
as ROCKO started leading the network in overall households tuning in
(meaning everyone aged six to sixty, but with the biggest spike of
college-aged males).
Cover and Series Synopsis

They say you can’t judge a book by its cover, but you have to admit that the cover
influences whether you pick up a book or leave it on the shelf. The cover of your
proposal will be the first thing anyone sees, so make it count and hit them with your
best shot—feature your main character in colors that will jump out from across the
room! Also make sure the name of the series is easy to read. A useful tip is to check
out the title and logo treatments of other shows to see how other creators and/
or marketing departments link the main idea of a show with the type style. With
all the advancements these days in computer graphics and laser printers, putting
together an amazing cover should be easy—a whole lot easier than when I pitched
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Then something interesting started happening: The advertis-

ing department called up programming and said, “We can’t sell
our advertiser’s toys to college students. Nickelodeon is a kids’
channel. Lower the target age! We need programs that appeal
to younger kids!” So, ironically, the same executives who at the
beginning were encouraging the edginess of ROCKO, were suddenly
telling me to change the show to tailor it more toward younger
kids. Soon they were yanking certain episodes off the air and
censoring others, and this was the beginning of the end. ROCKO
was what it was, and I wanted to stay true to that vision. I had
done my part of the deal—I had delivered the show as originally
97

pitched, and it had brought in good overall household ratings.
Further, it was produced on schedule and on budget. To me and my
many fans, it was a success. I’m still proud of it, but I also under-
stood their business dilemma.
Later, when I brought CAMP LAZLO to Cartoon Network, I had an
age group in mind to target, and I made sure Cartoon Network was
on the same page. I wanted it to appeal to six- to eleven-year-
olds but also to be smart and edgy enough for parents and adults
to watch. Ultimately I think we succeeded in balancing on that
edge without producing too much content to which parents would
object.
Rocko—so get familiar with software programs such as Adobe Illustrator or

InDesign, or another graphics program you feel comfortable with.
After the cover, you should include a title page and table of contents that
look sharp and professional. Try to use artwork from the show, such as your main
characters or theme designs, on every page. It’s a bit like a magazine, in that
graphics will entice the reader to turn the next page. Give the headlines a type
style that is related to the show, but keep the main text as easy to read as possible.
And—most importantly—there should be no spelling errors! The entire proposal
is a reflection on you. You don’t need to have been an English major with perfect
writing skills (God knows I’m not!), but absolutely everyone can and should master
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spell-check. It’s also a good idea to have someone

else proofread your whole proposal before
sending it off—fresh eyes catch more mistakes.
© nickelodeon
Next comes the series synopsis, in which

you hit them with the main idea of the show in
the first few pages. Remember when we broke
down your series idea to a simple sentence?
This is the place for that. Some executives or
development people will start to make a decision
about your idea based on the art of the main
character and the series idea, so make it grab
them! I used a simple sentence first, followed
by a paragraph that went into slightly more
detail about the show and its primary characters.
Highlight the main conflicts and why they would
98 lead to funny story lines. You don’t need to go into
the style of the music or the voices here, or how
“cool” the merchandising toys would look. Focus instead on the main
foundation for the series. Why is it solid? Why should they be interested
in connecting with this series? Should they want to read on? Of course they
The cover of the first should, because it’s an amazing idea that’s going to make smart business sense to

them. You don’t need to tell them that in so many words—just help them come to
proposal, 1991.
that conclusion after reading through your awesome proposal.
That said, don’t get too detailed with this first proposal. It’s okay to be explicit
about some elements you want to end up in the series, but sometimes development
people like to flesh things out in their own heads. They may have some good ideas
to add to yours, but you don’t need to start agreeing to any changes at this stage. If
you’re involved in a verbal pitch face-to-face, always remain calm and quietly stand
by your vision. Arguing about new ideas and changes and shoving your supposed
artistic genius in their faces will never end well. Just show them that you believe in
and respect your idea, and they will too.
© Cartoon Network
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Dwellings have
Look Out tower
lean, and warped
LEAKEY LAKE
perspective.
Docks & Boathouse
Assembly &
Mess Hall
Scoutmaster
Lumpus's Cabin 99
Bean
Cabins

Jelly
Cabin
(Lazlo's )
Road to the
town of
Bent Twig
© cartoon network
The Camp Kidney layout

Setting for the Camp Lazlo
production bible.
What I like to do next is to lay out the setting for the series. Where do these characters
live? It’s like the unfolding of a novel—you want the readers to start picturing the
scenes in their mind. Set the stage to sell the hook for the show and provide space
for your actors to have the room to be funny. Here it’s preferable to show a sample
painted background or sketched layouts of the background to give an idea of what you
are talking about. For Lazlo, I showed a painted background of a hilltop view of Camp
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100
© cartoon network
The brushy background Kidney to illustrate the setting. I already had an idea for the brushy style I desired for
style for Camp Lazlo was

established early on by
the backgrounds, so I displayed it, as well as describing the setting in words. You may
including in my proposal want to include more details, such as the smells and sounds of the environment. Don’t
painted background
make this section too long, though—one page will do.
examples like this one.
Main Characters
Show color designs of your main characters individually, with a one-paragraph
description next to or under each one. No need to include all of the background
characters, just the main and secondary mains that you’ve mentioned in your
synopsis and overview. Again, great designs and colors that pop will help out
a lot here. Make sure the specific pose of each character conveys some of the
personality you are trying to convey. It shouldn’t look like a mug shot—unless your
show is about fugitives.
Series Overview
By now your proposal should have them hooked, so start fleshing out the overall
idea in more detail by offering a series overview. Start discussing the dynamics
among the characters and how they work within the hook of the series. Describe
the protagonists and the antagonists, all of which should be accompanied by
the appropriate art. Most importantly, show why this animated series would be
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so funny. It’s not nearly enough to say, “When these characters start talking and
moving around, they’re going to be so hilarious!” I’m sure they will be, but you
need to lead your pitch audience to that point. The characters and the story need
to be funny right there and then, and not just in your own head. Your goal is to get
the pitch audience laughing, so try out your ideas on your friends first. Do they
laugh, or do they look at you puzzled? Play up any of the funny quirks that may
be a part of the series or the characters and be sure to highlight these pages with
designs and backgrounds from the show.
Sample Premises
A premise is a brief description of an episode (like the entries you find written
in TV Guide in an attempt to get you to tune in). Remember when I asked you
to come up with some sample premises? Those go here in your proposal. Offer
about six or more, but don’t put in six great ones and six stinkers just to show you
101
can produce volume. Stick with the six greatest ideas, and use a friend or relative

to help you weed out the rejects. When I pitched Rocko, one sample premise I
© nickelodeon
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102
© nickelodeon
These are marker proposed was: “Spunky falls in love with a mop.” This sounded funny, of course.
comps that I included in
my Rocko’s Modern Life It matched Spunky’s personality and helped sell the series, but when we actually
proposal. I was used to went to make the episode based on that premise, it was very difficult to keep that
doing these comps for
commercial storyboards
gag fresh and to wrap a story around it for eleven minutes!
and found that they
were a quick way to
show the network my The Conclusion
proposed color styling
and overall look. This is where you show that you’ve done your homework about the particular
network or studio and its market and that you know why your series would
be a perfect investment for them. The conlusion doesn’t have to be long, just
enough to summarize why you created this show and why it’s perfect for their
network or studio; it should be personalized to their needs, never cookie-
cutter. It should also support the fact that your idea is inventive and hilarious
and doesn’t look like anything else in their current show lineup; it hits their
target demographics; and you are just the disciplined, hard-working, incredibly
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creative person to pull it off. Go in there with that exact creed stapled to your
brain and you will do just great!
Brief Bio or Résumé

It’s beneficial to include a brief bio or résumé at the end of your proposal—
something that spells out what you bring to the party, aside from the great
idea. Have you had other animation jobs? Are you connected to any other
shows? Have you worked with independent films? Have you won creative
awards? Do you have any illustration or writing experience, perhaps for
children’s books? Even stand-up comedy or acting experience is good to list.
Keep to the experience or talents that support you as an accomplished creator,
someone who will spearhead your series to great heights. And here’s a bit of
advice on promoting yourself in person during a pitch meeting: Someone who
comes into the room with a huge ego and starts bragging about how wonderful
he or she is will be a total turnoff. You should be poised and confident and let 103
your ideas speak for themselves. If you’re questioned about your experience,

answer with honesty and humility, as you would for any job interview. That will
speak volumes about your character and integrity.
Contact Information
Here’s probably the most important advice of all: Make sure to include your
contact information on the proposal! Preferably on the back cover, list your
phone number, email address, website URL (if you have one), and your agent’s
contact info, if applicable. The last thing you want to have happen is for the
network to decide they want to develop your show but not be able to contact
you. Also, whether you’ve given your pitch in person or sent it by mail, be
patient. Development folks field up to a dozen pitches a day, so you may not
hear back right away. Don’t keep calling the minute you leave the meeting or
the day after you mail your proposal, but definitely follow up if you have not
heard anything after a few weeks.
Will They Steal My Idea?

This is a very common fear among creatives who have pitched ideas for develop-
ment or publication, be it for television, film, or book publishing. But rest assured
that most of the companies and people you pitch to are not in the business of
stealing ideas. They need you to carry out the idea if they are interested in pursuing
it. And if they became known for stealing ideas, they wouldn’t keep getting new
pitches for long. Also, in the very litigious society we live in, the last thing anyone
wants is to spark a lawsuit. But does that mean it will never happen? No. I’ve seen
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too much weirdness in this industry to be able to say for sure, so here are a few ways
you can protect yourself.
First, put a copyright notice on your proposal in plain view, both on the title
page and on the back cover. For example:
All materials, concepts, and characters © 2010 Joe Murray Studio Inc.
All Rights Reserved.
This line will protect your copyright. Some lawyers recommend other pre-
cautions, such as having the recipient sign a nondisclosure agreement whereby
they agree not to share the material with anyone unless you initiate a contract
or business arrangement. Sometimes a network or studio will make you sign a
waiver stating that you won’t sue them if they produce a show that is similar
to yours. This may seem dodgy—who’s to say what defines “similar?”—but with
all due respect to your idea, there’s a chance they’ve seen something just like
104 it at least thirty times before, so I say, go ahead and sign it, but keep your
copyrights intact. Another form of protection is to mail yourself a copy of your
pitch materials before you start submitting them and leave them sealed in the
envelope—this serves to document the date of your materials, made official by
the postal cancellation stamp.
If, by chance, a show hits the air with characters and an idea that bears more
than a passing resemblance to yours, and it started development after you pitched
your show, you may have a legal case against the network or studio currently airing
it. You would need to show evidence that the idea was conceived and pitched by
you before their show went into development, or that the show took a turn toward
your idea after you pitched it. However, this is the very reason they have you sign a
waiver, so it could get very complicated. Personally, I think this is the least of your
worries. In most cases, there is no logical reason why a network would not want the
person who conceived the idea to be the one to carry it forward.
Rejection and Revision

If your first pitch or even your first several pitches don’t seem to be getting any
bites, take a second look at your idea. Is there a better way of presenting it? Does
the main idea or characters need to be revisited? It’s important to remember that,
just because you can’t get a development person to move forward on it does not
mean it’s a bad idea. Stop for a minute and reread that previous sentence. There
could be several reasons the network or studio isn’t interested, but often it’s
simply because they may be looking for something different at the time. If you
believe in your idea, and you know that the universe is screaming out for you
to do this show, you just need to keep trying. Or, do it yourself. By that I mean,
if you feel you could sell your show better if they could only see what you are
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trying to describe, then create your own pilot episode, or create a short film with
the characters. Just don’t give up on it! I’ve been in a situation where someone
pitched a show about sports, but an executive above the development people
hated shows about sports. Then, after that executive left the network, a new
one came in and said, “Find me shows about sports! I love shows about sports!”
Ideally, in that situation, the sports pitch is still sitting on someone’s desk and
can be resurrected. Sometimes it’s all about timing, so keep the faith!
Or consider this scenario: Let’s say an executive looks at your idea and says,
“We like it, but it’s blue. If it were red, we might consider it.” (This example is very
basic in order to make a simple point.) If you say, “Sure—red, purple, hot pink, I don’t
care! Hot damn, I’ll do whatever you want!” then that demonstrates a lack of true
vision, and that you are too eager to mold your show to whatever shape someone
else wants it to be. Although you may think this is what they are looking for, they are
not. Most likely what would happen if you went away and changed it to red is that,
when you came back, you’d find a new executive in charge of development who
despises red. In this scenario, it’s important to stress the importance of your vision 105
and your commitment to it. I’m not suggesting being totally inflexible, only that

you use your best judgment. If you’ve already worked out the balance and concept
to be best suited to blue, then politely say, “Thank you for your time, but it needs
to be blue,” and move on. If it doesn’t adversely affect the concept to change it to
blue, suggest revisiting that thought, and maybe you’ll see if it’s a change you could
work with. If they are really interested in your idea, and not just stringing
you along, they will be fine with that response. My main point is,
don’t be too quick to revise your whole concept based on an
off-the-cuff observation. Be confident in your ideas, and
your confidence will be infectious.
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Q&A C R A I G M C C R AC K E N is the highly

accomplished creator of the hit shows The Powerpuff
Girls and Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends on the
Cartoon Network. He also served as art director on 2
with Craig McCracken Stupid Dogs, director on Dexter’s Laboratory, and was in
charge of Cartoon Network’s development program,
the Cartoon Institute.
for the festival. I had just started the first semester
Q: The Powerpuff Girls and Foster’s Home

for Imaginary Friends really built the
of my third year at CalArts when I got a call from my
friend Paul Rudish, who was working at Hanna-Bar-
106 foundation for Cartoon Network. But before that, bera at the time. Paul said they were looking for an
you did independent film work, as well as being art director for this new show called 2 Stupid Dogs.
involved in several productions at the old Hanna- So I brought in my portfolio, showed it to the produc-
Barbera (H-B) studios. Could you fill us in on your er Donovan Cook, got the job, and never went back
rise through the ranks to become one of the most to school. I had never worked a day in the indus-
successful cartoon creators? try, I had never art directed anything other than my
own films, and here I was designing the look of this
new show. Actually, the whole Dogs crew was made
A: Well, my independent film work was kind

of a fluke; it was never something I actively
pursued. During my freshman year at CalArts I pro-
up mostly of a bunch of young kids who were just
starting out in the industry. When Donovan asked
me if I knew any storyboard artists, I recommend
duced three student films, each titled “No Neck Joe”, my friends from school, Genndy Tartakovsky and
that were just these really dumb jokes about a guy Rob Renzetti. H-B crammed all of us into this funky
with no neck. Spike and Mike (Craig “Spike” Deck- trailer on the parking lot and we learned on the job
er and the late Mike Gribble), who ran the Festival how to and how not to make TV cartoons. We were
of Animation, saw these films and approached me really lucky to start out at H-B because they had
about adding them to the festival. At the same time, production down to a science. There were a lot of re-
they said they’d pay me to make some more. I was a ally helpful and experienced people there who took
nineteen-year-old kid with nothing better to do with their time to show these punk kids the who, what,
my summer, so I sort of became an in-
dependent filmmaker overnight. With
this initial interest in my work, I started
thinking about what my second-year
film would be, and that’s when I first
developed The Powerpuff Girls, then
called Whoopass Stew!
Fast-forward a year later. I had
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finished the Whoopass film, and

Spike and Mike were interested
again, so they paid to color it. I spent
another summer polishing that film
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where, how, and why of TV animation.

A while later, word got around that Fred Siebert,
the president of H-B at the time, was looking for new
Q: As you just mentioned, Foster’s was
produced in Adobe Flash, making it one
ideas for shows, so I took my Whoopass film and of the first widely distributed shows to do so. Were
pitched it to development. They really liked it. They there any pitfalls to that method? And how do you
showed it to Fred and he really liked it, so we start- see the future of Flash in series television?
ed negotiating for a series pickup. This was in 1993,
four years before the show was actually picked up
A:
by Cartoon Network. If you’re looking to produce a very or-
While I was in contract negotiations, Cartoon ganic show, where it’s all about the draw-
Network partnered with H-B to produce the What ings changing from scene to scene, then Flash is
A Cartoon shorts program. Series negotiations not the way to go. But if you’re interested in a very
stopped, and Whoopass became part of the shorts tight, graphic, crisp show, then Flash is great. Flash
program. At the same time, a producer at H-B, Larry animation is built on the concept of building a library
Huber, suggested that Genndy pitch to the program of animated assets that can be repurposed over and
his student film about a kid scientist and his annoy- over again. The better and fuller your library, the bet-
ing sister. So I pitched Whoopass, Genndy pitched ter and fuller the animation in the show will be. The 107
Dexter’s Lab, and we both got the green light for pro- only pitfall that I found is that when a scene called for
duction. So Genndy, Paul Rudish, and I got to work some complex animation and extra poses needed to
making what turned out to be two Dexter shorts and be generated, there wasn’t always someone to pro-
two Powerpuff (the title Whoopass didn’t fly, sur- duce those new assets. But one major benefit to do-
prise, surprise) shorts for Cartoon Network. Dexter ing a show this way is that, the more episodes you
do, the bigger your library becomes, and the faster
was greenlighted as Cartoon Network’s first origi-
nal series. I art directed and storyboarded and was the show is to animate. For example, a typical hand-
sort of the second-in-command after Genndy on the drawn, twenty-two-minute show takes about sixteen
first four seasons of Dexter. After the successful run weeks to animate overseas. When Foster’s was in full
of Dexter, Cartoon Network wanted another show swing with a hearty asset library we were animat-
from our crew, so they turned to Powerpuff. Genndy ing a twenty-two-minute episode in just two weeks!
and I switched hats (he became my second-in-com- So considering that networks always want stuff faster
mand) and we got to work producing Powerpuff. and faster, I can see Flash, or something like it, being
a big part of TV animation production in the future.
Q: Was there a difference in how you

approached producing Powerpuff as
Q: One of the factors that impressed me
about seeing the early Cartoon Network
opposed to Foster’s as an animated series? shows, led by Powerpuff and Genndy Tartakovsky’s
Dexter’s Laboratory, was the attention to design
and style that really raised the bar in modern
A: In my mind Powerpuff is much more of a

“cartoon,” whereas Foster’s is more like an
animated sitcom. Powerpuff is shorter, more gag-
animation art. How did you approach the design,
and what were your influences? Why do you think it
was that the Cartoon Network shows were so much
driven, and the characters are slightly more two-di- more beautiful to watch than, say, the Nickelodeon
mensional, while Foster’s is much more story-driven shows that were out at the same time?
and the characters are a bit more complex. From a
production side, Powerpuff utilized hand-drawn ani-
A:
mation produced overseas in Korea, and Foster’s was Outside of the simple fact that Genndy and
animated digitally in Flash both here and in Ireland. I just love the look of bold, graphic cartoons
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Q:
made at studios like UPA [United Productions of
America], early H-B, and Jay Ward, the design style You’ve been involved in television
we utilized was really chosen for practical reasons. animation since the early 1990s. What
We realized that we didn’t have the time or money was it like then as opposed to now? Where do you
to produce animation that you might see in a classic see it going?
Warner Brothers short or a Disney feature, so we de-
cided to design the shows to work within the limita-
tions that we were under. Nothing looks worse than
full design animated on a limited budget and sched- A: When I was at CalArts, the idea of selling
your own show didn’t even exist; it was not
a job option for a young artist entering the indus-
ule, so we didn’t try to shoot for what we couldn’t
achieve. Plus, in all honesty, we wanted our shows to try. But today it’s a career path that a lot of up-and-
be different than what was on Nick and Disney, so we coming artists strive for, and that’s a huge difference.
utilized a style that we knew would stand out and pop! Back then, the idea of creator-driven cartoons was
a novel idea to networks (even though it was once
the standard), and no one really knew what could
come from that approach. Because there weren’t re-
108
Q: What is your opinion of the overall
volume-animation production process?
ally any expectations, it was a time of creative free-
dom and experimentation. We were allowed to just
What are the challenges, and in what ways can it try stuff and see what worked. Today, the pressure is
be improved? on the artist and the networks to create and find the
next SpongeBob, so there’s a lot more fear involved
than when I started. Ironically, the next SpongeBob
A:
It’s frustrating at times; you’re always wres- isn’t going to look like, feel like, or be anything like
tling with quantity over quality. Most anima- the current SpongeBob because I truly believe audi-
tion artists I know dream about having the time to ences always desire and want something new and
hand-craft each cartoon to perfection, like they did different. But oftentimes “new” and “different” are
in the golden age of animation (1940s–1950s), but scary to the networks.
we just don’t live in that world anymore. If I’m not
mistaken, most units back then produced about two
cartoons, or fourteen minutes of animation a year.
Today we’re delivering twenty two minutes every Q: Could you talk about your process of
developing your characters on both of
two weeks. It’s not the same game at all. I doubt net- your shows? Foster’s had a huge ensemble cast
works are going to go back to those days, so the that seemed to add a challenge to the chemistry of
only hope that quality has is that some magic tech- everyone involved, whereas Powerpuff followed a
nological advancement comes along that gives art- tongue-in-cheek “superhero” approach complete
ists more control to craft their work exactly the way with very eccentric villains. How did you develop
they want and faster. all of these?
It’s possible that the concept of TV and net-
works may change altogether. After seeing the
trends of video content on the Internet, I wonder
if perhaps someday, audiences will not demand A: It sounds stupid, but I am still in touch with
that energy and enthusiasm I had for car-
toons when I was a kid. There’s a real drive to get it
the same quantity that we’re used to today. Maybe
people will be satisfied with just a few episodes of out of my head and make it a reality. I think I’m con-
a well-crafted cartoon and won’t need or desire mul- stantly trying to make the cartoons I wished I had
tiple seasons of a show. seen when I was young. With Powerpuff I wanted
to make a show like the Adam West Batman series,
where a kid could watch it for the action and adven-
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ture of it and an adult could watch it for its campy

silliness. Foster’s was just the opposite: I wanted to
make a show where kids and adults could enjoy the
Q: I know you are a hands-on creator/producer
but that you also put together very talented
exact same thing at the exact same time, very much teams. Any opinions on when a creator should step in
like The Muppet Show was for my family and me. and when it’s good to back off?
My process starts with drawing and drawing
and drawing, trying to find some character or per-
sonality that I can connect to. Sometimes I might have
a concept or a theory, but it never comes alive until I
A: The real trick I’ve learned is that if you want
to survive production and not go insane, do
figure out the characters. Once I have them, I just start not try to do everything yourself! It’s really tough at
putting them in situations on paper and in my head to first, but over time I’ve learned to pick one area of the
see how they relate to/play off each other. The more show that I really focus on personally and let the other
I do this, the better I get to know them. My goal is to aspects be handled by people I really, really trust. For
know them so well that they kind of write themselves. me, my main focus is story, so I put all my energy to-
Once this happens, I feel confident that I can put them ward making sure the writing and storyboarding are
into any situation and know how they’ll react. the best they can be. Even though it’s technically my
show, it’s impossible to get it made without the crew 109
and me working together as a team.

Q: You were involved in the development of
Q:
new shows with new creators at Cartoon
Network. How do you see these new creators? What advice would you give to an artist or
Are there any trends? Are there consistent writer who wants to develop his or her own
mistakes that they are making, in your opinion? animated series?
It’s interesting to watch a wave of new talent that
A:
cut their teeth on our shows from the 1990s, as
Find your own voice, your own style, and
opposed to what were our influences of the 1950s
your own approach to making the cartoon
and ’60s.
you want to make, but at the same time realize that
animation is a commercial medium that is, after all,
A: What I like about a lot of the new, up-and- a form of mass entertainment. So focus on character
coming creators is that the stuff they’re doing development and storytelling so that your unique and
is so different from cartoons that I’ve ever seen be- individual ideas and perspective on the world can be
fore. It’s awesome and inspiring! Interestingly, when understood and related to by everyone watching. Oh
I was growing up, all the cartoons that I really loved yeah, and keep drawing!
were made before I was even born: Hanna-Barbera,
Jay Ward, and Warner Brothers. There weren’t a lot of
cartoons made by cartoonists for my generation. To-
day’s audiences have grown up with, and been ex-
posed to, such a wide range of animation. Whether
it’s The Simpsons, South Park, Pixar movies, anime, or
shows on Nickelodeon, Disney, or Cartoon Network,
this generation of animation fans has it better than any
© cartoon network
other in terms of sheer variety of content. Hopefully,

the current trend of creator-driven cartoons will con-
tinue into the future, because I can’t wait to see what
the newest generation of animators produce.
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u
Chapter
6
They Love It, Now What?
The Art of the
Development Deal
110
“If the studio thinks your lawyer is a pain in the ass, then you
probably have a good one.”
“Boy, I’m glad that’s over. Let’s get waffles.”
—Scoutmaster Lumpus, from Camp Lazlo episode “Where’s Lazlo?”
So let’s say the planets have aligned, and the network or studio
loves your materials and your idea and wants to put your show
into development. This is a huge step. It means you have successfully
communicated your vision, and the network/studio has seen the value of your
concept. So now what? Well, after you enjoy a brief celebration for getting
this far, there are several answers to that question. In this chapter, I’d
like to prepare you for the steps that follow, based on my experiences
and those of many other show creators I know. I’ll walk you through a
© nickelodeon
general development deal, examine the importance of having a good

lawyer, and break down what may be expected of you throughout the
development process.
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The Development Deal

First things first: Once you hear the words, “We have a standard contract we would
like you to sign,” politely say you look forward to receiving it, and then find a good
lawyer—fast! Don’t think for a minute that you can decipher all the contractual
fine print yourself; that’s what lawyers are for: to protect your best interests and
your future earning power, and to put the deal language into terms you can better
understand. Having done this a few times myself, I can offer a basic rundown of
the types of deals you may be offered. Network or studio interest in a project can
come in many forms:
• An offer to put it into development. This is usually a long process that

involves many steps; if you succeed with one step, the network has the
option to move to the next step. For example, after you have produced a
pilot storyboard, they have the option of moving forward with an animated
111
pilot (the next step) or saying “no thank you,” and that’s that.

• An offer to option the idea in exchange for a nominal fee. This means
that the network or studio wants to hold onto your idea while they
consider it, and during that time you cannot shop it around to anyone else.
• An offer to do a cartoon short. This could be a standalone cartoon short,
or it could act as a pilot for a series.
These options all have their pros and cons, but all of them will produce a contract.
Know this: There is no such thing as a “standard contract,” which is one reason
your lawyer will be so valuable in this process. You may get offered such a contract,
but what it really boils down to is a “this-is-what-we’re-going-to-offer-you-first-
to-see-if-you-take-it” contract. Everything is negotiable, and getting the best deal
possible ultimately comes down to your experience, your lawyer, and how much
the network likes your idea. Don’t be too scared by this deal-negotiation process—
it’s a good thing, after all! Just go into it with your eyes open, and remember these
tips:
• Find a good entertainment lawyer. As much as you love Uncle Josh

and the way he handled Grandma Millie’s probate, he may not be the
best person to protect your interests when dealing with networks
and studios. Ask around for referrals, and don’t be afraid to interview
potential attorneys about their previous experience with development
deals.
• Don’t sell or transfer ownership in your show idea or characters too
soon. These properties are your main form of leverage in your negotiations,
so don’t be too quick to hand them over to the studio or network, who of
course would like for you to do so right away. Generally, the earlier in the
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process you give up or sell your creative property, the less likely you are to
strike a good deal.
• Make sure there is a “turnaround option” in your contract. If the
network or studio passes on your project at any point in the development
process, you will want to start shopping it around again as soon as
possible. This clause will allow you to do so after a stated period of time;
try to ensure that the option won’t tie up your concept for a long period.
Sometimes networks or studios will say no to your project but then will
not want to give the opportunity to someone else, who might prove they
made a mistake.
• Don’t make a deal contingent on any future ideas or shows. Act like
this is the one. So if they say, “Take this deal we’re offering, and then
you can make a better one on your next show,” that should be a red
flag. You can’t predict the future, so don’t negotiate away a better deal
on your current project for what might happen with a hypothetical
112 future one.
• Make sure your contract covers all media formats, even technological
advances that haven’t been invented yet. When I did my Camp Lazlo
contract, there was no such thing as a podcast, and iTunes downloads
were still a thing of the future. Going further back, when I did Rocko’s
Modern Life, DVDs had not been invented yet. It’s important to make sure
your rights and back-end royalties cover any media that could potentially
exploit your characters.
• Don’t take contract negotiations personally. Contract negotiating
is a back-and-forth process. Some call it a game you’re expected to
play. Think of it like bartering for handmade crafts in a foreign bazaar—
no one expects you to take the amount first offered. Negotiating is
all part of that process, so get a good lawyer and then go with the
flow.
Overall, remember that the studio, network, or company that wants to finance
your project is not the enemy. Rather, they can be a valuable ally and partner
in realizing your goal of getting your series out in front of an audience.
You’ll also be getting the opportunity to work with a lot of amazing, talented
people from whom you can learn a great deal. But also remember that the
backer is not in business to further your artistic goals but to make money and
attract viewers. This doesn’t make them or their parent corporations evil; it’s
just what they are about—business. You both want the same thing—to get a
great show on the air, so stick up for your needs and desires while keeping
theirs in mind, and everything will go more smoothly.
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A Note on Surviving the

Thumbnails I drew for
one of the first three
Development Process
Camp Lazlo development
storyboards. This one was
for an episode named “The
The development process can be long and arduous, and depending on how you Weakest Link.”
structured your development deal, the money may come only in spurts and trickles
rather than a Niagara Falls of good fortune. Tom Kenny, the voice of SpongeBob
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114
One of the first color SquarePants, put it best: “I’ve developed some shows that have gone as far as the
versions of Lazlo, Clam,
and Raj for an early pilot stage, and it’s brutal to even get that far! Long hours, long gestation periods,
proposal. with no paychecks coming in.” Think long term and keep your eye on the prize
while keeping your other eye on your expenses (depending on the deal you made
with your lawyer, you may need any extra cash for legal bills). So my advice is to
wait to buy that new car until you get your second season picked up.
Development Materials
Once you have finished the negotiation phase, it’s time to start producing the
development materials. Quite often you will be asked to create and supply the
following:
• A series “mini bible”

• Pilot premises
• A script or outline of the pilot
• Pilot storyboard
If these steps go well, you will be asked to produce and direct a pilot episode or
animatic : (a preliminary version of a cartoon episode combining rough storyboard
panels and dialogue tracks; see page 142). This step includes finding the voices for
the characters plus developing the sound effects and music styles.
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The Mini Bible

No, not that bible (though you are called “The Creator”). When a show gets put into
development, generally a mini–show bible will be requested along with either scripts
or storyboards that can build toward a pilot. A mini bible, in animation industry
terms, is basically a show program designed to accompany the final pilot script
and/or storyboard in order to sell the series to the various people who will need
to sign off on it. It should present what the series is about, how beautiful it will
look, who the main characters are and how they will appear in full color, as well as
background samples and descriptions of the series’ setting.
A mini bible can include many of the items from your first proposal, except
in greater depth and detail, such as how you plan to approach your writing, where
you find the depth of your characters, and amazing full-color art representing the
look of the show. (The art is big and key!) Don’t confuse a mini bible with a full
115
Cartoon Network's

B
I
B
L
E
Mini- Bible
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J O E
Y R R AY
U
B
M
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A birds-eye view of Camp

Kidney. This was very
important so that all of
the writers, directors, and
storyboard artists knew
their way around the camp.
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© nickelodeon
production bible, which tells a large staff plus an overseas crew how to produce These are some of my early
sketches while working out
your show, down to the shapes of the leaves on the bushes. We’ll discuss that later the design style of Rocko’s
on page 172. Modern Life, 1992.
The development contract will usually spell out what is expected in the
development mini bible. With my experience in development, I suggest you go
the extra mile and give them more than they are asking for: go into greater detail
about the setting and the characters; do turnarounds of the characters; “rotate”
the character in four drawings so it can be animated from all sides (you will need
these views for the pilot); do more backgrounds; start picking out a color palette
for the show; go into detail about what you expect from the writing; and describe
the style of the animation. You want to go into as much detail as you can so that
the crew can easily move on to producing a pilot.
In my development mini bibles, I’ve included:
• Full model sheets (construction and turnarounds) and costume color

designs for each of the main characters
• Designs for all the background characters
• A chapter on writing and what I expected from it, including a guide to the
ground rules and the writing pyramid (see discussion on page 127)
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© Cartoon Network
• A character size-comparison lineup (who is taller than who in your world?)

• Sample designs of main props and houses, plus style sheets showing the
way trees and background elements will be designed
• A color palette you have in mind (for example, for Camp Lazlo, I put in old
camping and Indian-blanket colors)
• A chapter on background style with samples and descriptions of how the
backgrounds would be painted, or whether they would be done digitally
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• A chapter on production notes, including ideas on balancing the need for

quality with the requirements of working in a high-volume environment,
and how these ideas would be cost-effective
• A conclusion discussing how a series is a living and breathing thing, and
how sometimes bibles need to have amendments, like the Constitution
These are guidelines I’ve followed in the past, but a network or studio may have
their own way of doing things, so be flexible. Find out what they are looking for,
and then give them a little more than what they request.
Pilot Premises
In the development phase, you will be asked to create a few premises for pilots;
most likely, you and the network will decide which ones work best to move forward
to an outline, script, and/or a storyboard. A running joke in the industry holds that
most pilots suck. In my opinion, it’s because they try to do too much. They are 119
always trying to introduce all the characters, spell out everyone’s relationships with

one another, and mine all the possibilities for humor that could ever be derived
from that series, yada yada. Don’t make that mistake. My best advice is to do a
simple pilot, with your main character and just a couple of sidekicks or secondary
characters, and create a simple story line with lots of gags. Keep it in the main
location, and have the characters be extremely consistent with the descriptions
you set up earlier. Then make it funny. No—strike that. Make it hilarious! If your
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Camp Lazlo color palette.
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120
An early drawing of series is set up right, anyone viewing an episode at any time should be able to
Rocko’s neighborhood.
figure out the basic idea and the characters’ personalities quickly. In my opinion,
a strong pilot episode could be one that is just plain hysterical, and one that could
have been plucked out of the middle of the first season. Keep it simple.
Storyboards and Scripts

There are two camps (no pun intended) when it comes to scripting and/or
storyboarding for an animated series. First there is the “outline-driven” show,
which starts with a premise. The writers then go on to create an outline that
lays out the story beats. Next comes storyboarding, where the story gets fleshed
out with plenty of gags and the dialogue is written; lastly, a recording script is
typed from the finished storyboard. This is how Rocko’s Modern Life, Camp Lazlo,
SpongeBob SquarePants, Ren & Stimpy, and the old Bugs Bunny cartoons did it. This
method takes advantage of storytelling as a visual tool and allows the artist the
The Rocko walk cycle for
the Rocko’s Modern Life time needed for plenty of “squash and stretch” cartoony gags. The cons to this
pilot model sheet, 1992. method include finding enough great storyboard people who are also exceptional
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© Cartoon Network
writers. Lining them up just takes a little extra work.

Second, there is the “script-driven” show, in which a script is written from a
premise, and all the gags, screen direction, and dialogue are written into the script.
After the script is approved, storyboard artists add the characters and the layouts
to fit the script. This is the way The Simpsons, Family Guy, and many other current
shows are put together.
Either approach can work and be funny. I prefer the outline-driven method
because it allows for more visual “stretchiness” and for sight gags to take
precedence over dialogue gags. While I’m a big proponent of written story
structure, I love the freedom and process of sitting in a room full of other visual
storytellers to determine what will ultimately end up on screen. Not to lessen the
importance of good dialogue, but animation is organically a visual medium that can
take full advantage of artists being able to flex their lunatic muscle. It’s more fun
for me that way. A script-driven show holds the danger of becoming nothing more
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122
than an illustrated radio show.

It’s good to decide early on which method you want to use. Some networks
don’t want to use the outline-driven method because it takes more of a leap of
faith on the executives’ part to let an outline go to storyboard that isn’t completely
finished. Or perhaps they have more experience with live-action shows and thus
feel more comfortable reading a script than looking at a storyboard. This is the
time to hammer out the method, because if you know you’d be miserable doing
a script-driven show, and that’s the only type of show this network will allow, you
should find that out as early as possible.
Writing Story
By now you have your premise for the series and an amazing cast of characters with
warped personality traits. Aside from the depth of your characters, the strength of
your story is the most important key to the success of your pilot, and later, to the
success of the series as a whole. Although pilot episodes are probably the hardest to
write because you have yet to really get to know these characters, the pilot still has
to be highly original and knock the socks off the audience, the network, and anyone
else who screens it. Pilots can be a struggle. I try to stay away from introducing each
character and the premise in a “first day of school” kind of format. A good pilot looks
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123

© Cartoon Network
Storyboard from the pilot
episode of Camp Lazlo.
like you’ve taken it out of the middle of the first season, has a simple story line that
hangs from the hook you pitched for the series, and, if possible, includes only the first
tier of characters. For Rocko’s Modern Life, my pilot included mostly Rocko, Spunky, and
Earl the Tough Dog. For Camp Lazlo, it featured Lazlo, Raj, Clam, Lumpus, and Slinkman.
I’m going to talk about the process I used for writing both of my series
that continued from the pilot through series production. I will discuss more of
the challenges of pumping out good writing on a week-by-week basis in chapter
8. But for this chapter, I want to approach the craft of writing for a cartoon in
general. There used to be a school of thought among Saturday morning cartoonists
that story was not important, and that kids would watch anything. I sure didn’t
feel that way in the 1960s, and my two kids don’t now. Younger viewers are much
more particular about the quality of entertainment they are willing to accept, and
the average audience as a whole is looking for something highly original. The one
technique I always ran away from was formula. Not only can an audience smell it
from a mile away, but it also bores me to death. Why would someone put so much
effort into a trite, worn-out story idea? I wanted cartoons out there that broke new
ground, that rode the edge, and that offered the unexpected.
On Rocko, I deliberately hired writers who had never worked in animation
before, because I wanted to bring a fresh, somewhat warped approach to the medium.
My writers have always come from comedic backgrounds outside of animation, such
as being improvisational actors and comic-strip artists. If any idea ever smacked
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of a Saturday morning theme we had all seen before, or if anyone could predict
where the story was going, it was thrown out immediately. But note that formula is
different from structure: Structure is the skeleton from which you hang the rest of
the nonformulaic, unpredictable story. You can go way out there, getting as hilarious
and off the wall as you want—as long as you have a tether to a structured base and
don’t lose the consistency of the core character traits or the internal rules of your
universe. This story is what makes everything else work. This relates back to what I
was discussing earlier: that one element failing brings down with it the rest of the
production. The best and coolest design in the world is not going to save a bad story.
There are times, however, when a good story can make up for other weaknesses.
So how do we try to minimize the chances of having a bad story? In the Rocko
or Lazlo eleven-minute episodes, I preferred to work in a three-act structure. (Two
eleven-minute episodes made up a half-hour show, with a commercial break in the
middle.) We also did this for half-hour episodes and for the hour-long Camp Lazlo
special. Here’s how it works:
124 Act I: Set up the story: Whose story is it, and what is the basic conflict? What
is the catalyst for the conflict?
Act II: Set up the hilarity that ensues as a result of the conflict from Act I,
with an escalating action that is almost resolved by the end of Act II.
Act III: Kick the episode into higher gear with a new twist that often seems to
come out of nowhere, usually causing a fury of activity that leads to a final resolution.
The plot lines were always kept rather simple to allow for as many sight gags
as possible. For example, when we started Camp Lazlo, we had a list of camping
activities around which we wanted to build episodes. The pilot involved one close
to my heart: fishing, and the lack of fish one usually catches. Another activity was
river canoeing. As we approached this, we thought, “What happens? What is going
to make canoeing interesting?” Our next thought was, “How do we do it without
making parody jokes about the movie Deliverance?” So we built it around the
character Raj, and it looked like this:
Act I:
1. Raj has a retainer that he loves but only a short time left to wear it. He
sets it down on his mess-hall tray while he talks about how excited he is
about that day’s canoe trip.
2. Raj loses his retainer in the garbage and thinks he will now have to live
forever with crooked teeth.
Act II:
3. Raj is despondent, but Lazlo and Clam convince him to go on the
canoe trip anyway. His overly dramatic blues prompts Lazlo to sing a
song on his banjo, acting as a catalyst to pull Raj out of his funk.
4. Raj decides that he has gotten over his retainer and finally starts
enjoying his canoe trip, only to discover his retainer floating past him on
a mess-hall tray.
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Act III:
5. Raj goes berserk and risks his friends’ lives chasing his retainer through
dangerous rapids and over a massive waterfall.
6. Raj decides that his friends are more important than his stinky retainer,
but it doesn’t really matter because they all lost their teeth falling over
the falls anyway.
This story has many successful elements to it:
• It stays consistent with Raj’s obsessive-compulsive character and builds a
story around it.
• It stays consistent with the camp setting by featuring an outdoor activity
(canoeing).
• Aside from the familiarity of summer camp, this story has a common
theme kids can relate to—losing your retainer.
• There are many built-in opportunities for sight gags, as well as a very
catchy song that Lazlo plays on his banjo that restores Raj’s good humor.
• It ends with a touching note about friendship, though we defused the 125
sappiness by having all their teeth fall out before we faded to black.

Here’s another simple idea: Some days at camp are terribly hot.
Act I:
1. Lazlo, Raj, and Clam are baking in the sun and ask the great “Scoutmaster
in the Sky” for a brief break from the heat—a small drop of cool.
2. A “Freezy Breeze” air conditioner drops out of the sky and almost kills
them. Their prayers have been answered, and they accept this gift from
the heavens.
Act II:
3. They smuggle the air conditioner back
into camp, plug it in, and start enjoying a
winter wonderland.
4. The rest of the camp, also baking in
the heat, catches on to the Jelly Cabin’s
source of relief. For the entire night,
the coveted air conditioner is stolen
from one cabin to the next, creating
a montage of sweaty, self-centered
campers.
Act III:
5. After waking to find their air conditioner
missing, Lazlo, Raj, and Clam realize they
made a big mistake by not sharing Freezy
© Cartoon Network
Breeze with the rest of the camp. A big

fight breaks out among the angry mob
over rights to the air conditioner. The
Jellies grab it in the commotion.
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6. The Jellies climb to the top of the tower with the air conditioner and
threaten to smash it if everyone doesn’t agree to share. They agree. At
that moment, Lumpus grabs the air conditioner from behind and floats
up to the sky attached to some weather balloons, causing it to snow. This
of course solves the heat problem. There is a great climax to this episode
where Lumpus keeps floating up with the air conditioner and is spotted
by the airplane from which the air conditioner fell in the first place.
Don’t Sacrifice Character Consistency

and Story to Get the Funny
Every story is designed to get from one story beat to another in the funniest way
possible, with as many gags possible, and without sacrificing the story and its
structure. When you do your pilot, you will be tempted to bend the characters a
126 bit because you came up with this great gag that you know will impress the head
honchos—don’t do it. You may find yourself locking in a character trait that you never
intended and later come to despise. In approaching story writing, I use a pyramid
graphic. It builds a foundation on the consistency of the characters and the ground
rules for the story universe; the next level represents the story itself, while the top
level—the star on the tree—represents the particular gag or joke. To get to the top,
you have to work your way up while maintaining each level of foundation.
There are many cartoon purists out there who insist that a cartoon can consist
of a mouse hitting a cat over the head with a frying pan for seven minutes—who
needs story? I won’t argue that those seven-minute classic cartoons weren’t
brilliant—I loved them! And my first short animated film—all two minutes of
it—amounted to nothing more than a conflict and a series of gags to go with
it. However, I feel that expanding to an eleven-minute format calls for more
substance. The characters need more story to hang on to while they bonk each
other over the head with frying pans. When you expand to a half hour or an hour,
then your story, not just the gags, really has to pull you through.
Writing Gags
Most animation aficionados would say the gag is the core of a great cartoon. I
would agree that it’s the meat in the cartoon sandwich. However, the structure
and story hold a cartoon together even while the gags are what viewers really
remember. In the shows I’ve produced, we wrote the story structure first and left
most of the gags to the storyboard teams—an extremely important responsibility.
Some gags are inspired by a character’s personality (like Clam spitting water back
into a cup and offering it to a thirsty Scoutmaster Lumpus, or the Dung Beetles
losing a penny in their butt crack). Others are the result of a previous setup
that builds to an ultimate payoff; for instance, in the last episode of Camp Lazlo,
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“Lumpus’s Last Stand,” the gag we used to reveal that Scoutmaster Lumpus had
locked the real scoutmaster of Camp Kidney in the closet probably had the longest
setup in the history of series animation.
The basic structure of a gag can be seen in my first-ever animated film. The
simplicity of the gag shows my inexperience at the time, but it still works. I set
it up with a grouchy husband watching baseball and not wanting to be disturbed.
His wife asks him to put her cat outside. A series of smaller gags escalates the
resistance to the conflict: The cat is too fat to be moved, and the husband struggles
to budge the pudgy feline, but to no avail. Frustrated, the husband leaves the
frame to search for a rubber tire tube, goes out to the porch, nails the tube to the
porch beam, and stretches it around the cat. For a split second, we know what’s
going to happen, and the cat knows too. The cat gives a sheepish grin, hoping
for a reprieve, but the husband ruthlessly lets go, sending the cat flying. That is
the main gag, which is then enhanced by the sound of the cat crashing through a
window, inflicting even more pain on it. Then, what is commonly called a “topper”
is reached: After the husband has returned to his chair and baseball game, the wife 127
reappears and asks him to clean out the fishbowl. The film fades to black with the

sound of a flushing toilet.
Work hard on writing great, original gags. And make sure they are funny to
people other than yourself! That is why it’s great to work with storyboard teams—
they offer valuable collaboration and feedback. If you are working alone, find an
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My first film, The Chore, (1987) centered around the very

simple gag of an overweight cat.
honest friend or relative to tell you if your gags fall flat.
Writing and Parents

If you are producing a series intended for an adult
audience, your gags can be aimed at whatever level of
humor you feel comfortable with, as long as they fall
within the guidelines set up by the entity that is airing
or distributing it. The same holds true whether you are
producing for television, the Web, or film. Always keep
your intended audience in mind. I liked creating series
128 that work for all ages, where parents can watch with kids
and feel entertained. I love a good edgy gag and finding
that place where one can pull it off, just past the zone
where it gets iffy. For Lazlo, we did a whole episode
around Lazlo needing to pee but couldn’t acknowledge
that Lazlo had anything down there to pee with. We
actually got censored in Rocko’s Modern Life a few times,

and we received some angry letters when we broached
some taboo subjects. In particular, when Bev Bighead
unsuccessfully tried to seduce Rocko in the episode
“Leap Frogs,” a la Mrs. Robinson in the film The Graduate.
So keep this in mind: If you are writing a show for
kids, parents these days have a quick trigger finger on
the remote. You may put out sixty amazing episodes
that the kids love and the parents are comfortable
with, but if a gag in the sixty-first show crosses the
line, even if it’s the only episode the parent has seen,
you haven’t just lost the kid for one episode—you’ve
lost the parent and probably the child for the entire
remaining series. Your show suddenly gets labeled
as “inappropriate,” and the offended parent starts
spreading the word to any other parent who will
listen. It’s true that there will always be parents with
overly rigid standards, and we’d live in a vanilla world
if we catered to all of them. But if you want to hold a
younger audience, do keep in mind the parental trust
factor.
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Storyboard
During the development process, a network or studio will often ask you to present
a few premises to move forward to a script or outline, or they may ask for two
or three outlines or scripts and choose one to move forward to a storyboard. The
outlines or scripts you submit should always be your favorites, because you need
to sell the series with this storyboard—in the world of animation, the storyboard
is your series DNA. Whether it’s done traditionally with pencil and paper or on
the computer with a Wacom Cintiq drawing tablet, your pilot storyboard should
be the most beautiful, posed-out, brilliant piece of work you have ever done,
with lots of hilarious details. Really work on the expressions and the characters’
movements, but refrain from making the layout so busy and complicated that
the reader loses focus. Keep the storyboard as clear as possible, and don’t muck
up the backgrounds with so much detail that you lose sight of the action of the
characters. The staging should be very simple—no need for fancy camerawork
129
unless you are trying to cover up a weak scene. We didn’t have the luxury of in-

house layout (layouts guide the animator with the background and key poses in a
scene), so we had to pay extra attention if our storyboards were going to be used
as mini layouts. You may want to ask the network which storyboard template
they are used to looking at. My pilot started out with the normal television aspect
ratio (4:3), meaning it would fit a normal 25 1/2 x 19-inch television screen, but
when we went into production we had to start boarding using the high-definition
(HD) TV widescreen ratio (16:9), or 28 x 19 inches.
You should allow room under the storyboard panels for dialogue, timing, and
screen direction. At the top of each panel should be boxes for scene numbers and
panel letters. The scene numbers (starting with 1) will be referenced by everyone
who works on the pilot, while the panel letters are used mostly by the sheet
timer (they would often wait until after the animatic stage to put panel letters
in to accommodate the editing process). We will talk more about sheet timers on
page 143. It’s very important to number all your storyboard pages to keep them in
sequence. When adding in the dialogue, I suggest typed text rather than hand-
drawn because you don’t want anyone to have to work hard deciphering your
penmanship. As a final step, I had both of my pilot storyboards copied and spiral-
bound with a great-looking cover, for that special added touch.
Below are some storyboard guidelines that Mark O’Hare and I presented to
our storyboard teams on Camp Lazlo, as well as some from the Rocko’s Modern Life
production bible. They may help you on your pilot storyboard, if your show and
characters warrant them, but they are sure to benefit your storyboard teams as you
go into production on your series. I once overheard a network executive talking
about why he had decided to move forward with a particular show. His exact words
were, “Because he gave me something funny to laugh at in almost every panel from
his pilot storyboard.” Just food for thought.
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130
Storyboard Guidelines
• Clarity is everything. Don’t make the person reading your storyboards
work hard to follow your story and jokes. Go for clear acting and staging.
Let the characters work for the camera.
• Less is more. Leave room for the reader to breathe and beats for the jokes
to play out. Every moment doesn’t have to be packed with gags, action,
and dialogue; sometimes it’s nice to just sit and look at a funny character
moment for a bit.
• Show the reader the story, don’t tell it. Chances are, if your characters
are explaining what they’re thinking about doing, and why they’re doing it,
you’ve already lost your audience.
• Include all screen direction. Whether a scene takes place during day or
night, give camera directions such as “wipe,” “dissolve,” “trucks,” “shakes,”
etc., and write them very clearly.
• Use close-ups. After you establish your scene with a long shot, cut
in for a closer view. The audience likes to connect with the eyes of a
character and may lose that connection if you use too many far shots.
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Guidelines to producing
storyboards from the
production bible, 1993.
131

© Nickelodeon
• Do as much posing as possible. To see more of your vision, show starting
and stopping poses for each scene, as well as key poses. Draw exaggerated
poses clearly.
• Don’t be afraid to be ridiculous and absurd. As long as the story line and
characters’ integrity are not compromised, go crazy! Remember to make
sure that your gags are funny to people other than yourself.
• Stage in a consistent direction, when possible. If you start left to right,
continue left to right.
• Add humor to facial expressions. Staying on model is important, but
adding a funny, extreme expression in keeping with the character’s
personality is great too. Everybody loves to see wacky drawings!
• Pay close attention to the backgrounds. Remember to draw them, at least
in the first and last panel of a scene. Also be aware of what’s happening
behind your characters at all times (e.g., don’t have a character stop in a
scene with a plant sticking out of his head!).
• Vary your staging: One hundred medium shots can get boring. (Medium
shots are usually straight on, centered shots of the character captured
from the waist up with his or her head at camera level.)
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Mark O’Hare’s
storyboard from the
classic Rocko’s Modern
Life episode “Fish ’n
Chumps.”
132
• Don’t overuse the camerawork. Unless it’s used in a particular approach

to selling a gag, a certain film genre, or for a one-time dramatic effect,
overusing strange camera angles will only detract from the story.
• Make sure the dialogue and camera/action directions are written legibly. It
helps to type out the dialogue, at least for the pilot storyboard, so that there’s
no confusion about your intentions. Also, if you are animating overseas, your
screen and camera directions will be translated, so keep them simple.
• For a pilot storyboard, go the extra mile. Make it something truly beautiful
to behold, as well as hilariously entertaining!
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133

© Nickelodeon
A Note on Presentation
You have worked very hard on these development elements, so I suggest you
present them accordingly. I always present my series mini bible as a beautiful,
spiral-bound piece of artwork with a very cool cover. I also include a title sheet, so
the result is kind of like an elongated coffee-table book. One final piece of advice:
Do not ever turn in your development materials late! You never get a second chance
to make a first impression, so make every detail count.
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u
Chapter
7
Getting the Green Light:
Producing the Pilot
134
“A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are for.”
—John A. Shedd, Salt from My Attic
“I don’t hear the engine.”

—Elephant DMV instructor
“Uh . . . vroom vroom?”
—Rocko
“Atta boy.”
—Elephant
—ROCKO’S MODERN LIFE, from the episode “Skid Marks”
At this point, you’ve handed over your development materials to the animation
gods and said, “I’ve done my best. Whatever is your will, I will accept it.” Suddenly,
there is a crack of lightning, and the will of the gods is satisfied to give you a green
light to move forward with a pilot! (If this doesn’t happen, don’t despair. Chapter
10 is full of encouraging stories about those who refused to take no for an answer
and pursued their dreams via other avenues.)
If you did get the green light to move forward with a pilot, you should feel
great—it’s a big step! Being offered a pilot is like becoming a top-ten finalist on
American Idol. It means that your concept, your characters, and yourself are being
considered a wise investment choice for this company and a possible new addition
to their family. Your ideas have been opening the doors thus far, so stick with what
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135
Getting the Green Light
© Nickelodeon
Animation from the Rocko’s

Modern Life pilot, animated
at my studio in Saratoga,
California, 1992.
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© cartoon network
136
you’re doing. A pilot will breathe even more life into these characters, as well as
entertainment value. Execute the pilot well, and you are well on your way to having
your own animated series.
There are several different approaches to producing a pilot; which one to
choose will depend on your previous amount of experience and the facilities
available to you. When I prepared the Rocko pilot, I already had a studio and had
done films previously, so I was better equipped to handle the pilot myself (with a
staff expansion). We animated it all in-house and simply handed over the finished
videotape.
At the time I was pitching Camp Lazlo, Cartoon Network had decided (for
a brief period) that they could tell if a concept would work for a series only by
seeing an animatic, which is essentially a moving storyboard with voices viewed on
a screen. I was skeptical about whether focus groups and/or test audiences would
adapt to watching animatics, so I went the extra step and prepared an animatic
using Adobe Flash, with full sound effects, music, and painted backgrounds. I
edited it in Final Cut Pro in my studio and handed over a DVD for Cartoon Network
to screen. The network loved it, but I don’t think the other animatic pilot producers
liked that I had raised the bar.
If you don’t have these types of facilities, the studio or network can often set
you up to help prepare the pilot. If you don’t feel confident handling certain jobs
for the pilot production, definitely bring in others to take on some of the work.
This will be your first test at guiding and leading a crew and communicating your
vision clearly. It is also a good test to see whether you can spend money wisely
and demonstrate responsibility for a schedule and budget. After all, your first
step should be figuring out how much money you can spend and how to spend it.
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Budget Allocation
If you are not familiar with entertainment production budgets, it’s best to hook
up with a good line producer to walk you through the process. There are software
templates that break down each category into line items: “above the line” costs
are the items that can usually be negotiated before production begins, such as
salaries for directors and artists, royalties, fees for the rights to the project, etc.
The “below the line” costs are usually firm and include overhead costs, such as
use of a recording studio, that are not “seen” in the finished product. There is an
average weekly salary range or freelance rate for each position that can be plugged
into the sheet as a starting point. You can usually find a recent wage survey on
the animation guild’s website (www.animationguild.org). Producers for pilots will
sometimes request a break in costs that will hopefully be paid back in the form of
a full time job if the show gets picked up.
A line item for a typical budget could look something like this:
137

Account Description Amount Units X Rate Total
2212 Storyboard 4 weeks $2000 $8000
director
“Account” is the line item number. “Description” is the position, service, or
materials needed. “Amount” is based on the units: if the units are weeks, then
you estimate how many weeks it would take for this task to be completed (here
it’s 4). The units could also be “episode,” in which case the amount would be 1, for
the pilot. Multiply the unit (weeks) by the weekly rate ($2,000) and you get the
line item total estimate for that function ($8,000). The budget breakdown may run
to several pages, and you can even allot money down to the pizza you may need
while working late (5 pizzas at $15 each . . . you get the idea). If you’re new to the
budget process, be sure to work closely with your line producer and communicate
your needs.
Budgets for pilot production are usually pretty modest, usually with set
parameters. Thus, I’m going to recommend a certain approach in order to see
most of that money end up on the screen. (I recommend this approach for
producing series as well.) In a perfect world, each department would have plenty
of money to make their contributions to the best of their abilities, but in reality,
you have to pick your budgetary battles. Money allocation usually also translates
into time allocation, meaning the more money you set aside for a particular
function, the more time and people you can put on that job to get it done right.
Since this is an investment for you as well, it’s better if you don’t look at the pilot
as a vehicle with which to make money; rather, it’s a tool to help you sell your
show. So don’t sacrifice quality in the pilot in order to put a few more dollars in
your pocket. It’s a matter of setting priorities; I’ve seen shows struggle that have
spent all their money on design and color and have little left over for writing and
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timing. I can tell you firsthand that the most beautiful design in the world is not
going to save a bad story or poor animation.
My priorities have always been:
1. Story, character, and gags. Give yourself ample time and budget to
focus on these first.
2. Animation. Make sure you have the best animation timing and
direction that you can afford.
3. Design, backgrounds, and color. These are very important, but not if
the first two fail.
The Pilot Process

138 Once you are given the green light to move from storyboard to full pilot, several
steps usually follow, which we’ll cover one at a time.
1. Create cast sheet and script; cast voice actors and record dialogue.
2. Create an animatic.
3. Start timing direction, including timing sheets.
4. Design props and extra characters.

5. Design background layouts.
6. Paint backgrounds.
7. Design color for props and characters.
8. Ship off sheets, storyboard, and model packs for animation, or begin
animation.
9. Complete final edit/lock picture.
10. Add sound effects and music.
11. Schedule final delivery.
Casting and Recording Voices

Casting and recording voice parts should be a lot of fun. I have always enjoyed the
discovery of voices. The first step is to hook up with a great voice/casting director.
For the Lazlo pilot, I had one of the best in Collette Sunderman, who went on to
work with me for the series. You and your voice/casting director will go through
the character parts that need voices; then you will break down this information to
form a casting sheet. Add brief descriptions of how you hear these voices. You may
not end up with those sounds, but you need a place to start. For example, for the
Dung Beetles, I wrote down: “Very caveman-like, but not grunting. Almost “Valley”
caveman. Very low IQ.”
These casting sheets get sent to the various agents who handle voice actors. Your
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139
© cartoon network
Voice actor Steve Little always

made recording sessions
entertaining.
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A Funny ROCKO Story

Since the pilot for ROCKO’S MODERN
LIFE featured only Carlos Alazra-
qui doing the voices of Rocko and
Spunky, we had to cast the rest of
© nickelodeon
the series once the show was well

into production. We had begun story-
boarding the episodes, and Doug
Lawrence (who was also an actor)
Filburt was a model of neurosis.
140 came on to direct one of the story-
board teams. He took a particular liking to a neurotic turtle character
named Filburt and felt like he knew what made him tick.
When we put out the call for voice auditions, I received boxes and
boxes of cassettes (what we used back then). Unbeknownst to me,
Doug Lawrence had stuck his audition tape in the box, most likely
with help from Suzanne Benton, who was our voice and script coor-
dinator. After nearly dozing off listening to audition after audition,
I put in one more tape of someone voicing Filburt and quite liter-
ally jumped up, yelling, “THAT’S IT!” I didn’t find out until later that
it was Doug Lawrence, so I can’t be accused of playing favorites.
After he landed that role, it was funny how the episodes he directed
always seemed to feature a
lot of Filburt. . . . Doug went
on to do Plankton on SPONGE-
BOB SQUAREPANTS and Edward on
CAMP LAZLO. He has one of those
amazing voices capable of com-
municating so much character
so clearly. It’s been a pleasure
working with him!
The extremely talented Doug Lawrence, or
“Mr. Lawrence” to his legion of fans.
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voice director will probably have a few suggestions. Then, with your characters laid
out in front of you, audition the MP3s and CDs that have been submitted to decide
if any strike your fancy. Voice talent can come from many places. I personally love
what comedians and improvisational actors bring to the mix. I believe that a great
voice is essential, but so is great timing; a line can be read a thousand different
ways, but it takes experience to know which way is funniest. Another benefit to
using comedians is that their ad-libbing and improvisational skills offer unexpected
moments of hilarity (hopefully while one is still recording). There are many voice
actors who have such great timing and improv skills, to wit, Jeff Bennett, the voice
of Raj.
Carlos Alazraqui was a stand-up comic in San Francisco when he auditioned
for the characters Rocko and Spunky. Tom Kenny was an actor on Mr. Show and
a stand-up comic when he auditioned for Heffer. For both men, it was their
first voice-acting gig. Both went on to great successes, and both also voiced
characters on Camp Lazlo. Steve Little was an actor who had me in stitches at
a performance of the improv group The Groundlings in LA. I asked him after 141
the show if he would be interested in auditioning for a voice on Lazlo. Voice

acting was something he had yet to try, but his audition had me on the floor
laughing. I hired him as the Dung Beetles, the Lemmings, and later as Mayor
Pothole McPucker. He also came on board as a writer for us, and really helped
shape the show.
When you find some auditions you like, bring the actors back for another read.
Play around with different voice directions, even if you like what you heard at first.
Why? To see how you mesh with this actor. Does he take direction well? Is she
versatile? How many voices and styles does he have? Is she a team player or a
prima donna? Most important, do you like him or her? If your show goes into series
production, you will be spending a lot of time together in tiny, dark booths, and
voice recording sessions can be a drag if you don’t have the right mix of people in
this setting. I used to really enjoy the voice sessions on both of my shows. I will not
hire the greatest talent in the world for my actors and my crew if I don’t feel I can
have fun working with the person.
If you wrote a script for the network and they signed off on it, then that is
what you will be using to record. However, if you have a storyboard-driven process
in which the dialogue will be written when you produce the storyboard, then that
dialogue needs to be transferred to a recording script. In either case, it’s good
to add as much detail as possible to guide the voice actor. For example, you can
have an actor read the word “What?” a million different ways. If you add a written
direction to it (highly anxious) or (shocked) or (excited happy), that saves a lot
of time in the booth. Only contradict the direction notes verbally if you see that
they’re not working.
A recording booth can be a little intimidating. A sound engineer (the one who
knows how to work all the buttons and recording software) and a voice director
(who is often also your casting director) should be there with you. I like to record
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ensemble, with all of the actors in the room at the same time, but for a pilot, it may
be better to record individually. You want to be able to focus your work on each
actor to take what you heard at the audition and polish it for the pilot.
I like to sit in the booth with both the script and the storyboard. I rarely look
at the voice actor while he is reading the line, as I prefer to look at the storyboard
to imagine the voice coming out of that character. The voice director will help you
“slate” a take, which means referencing the line in the script and the take number;
for example, “line twenty-two, take two.” Communication with the voice actor is
important. It’s not constructive to say, “Could you be funnier?” Instead, you should
be able to pinpoint why the previous take was not funny: “I don’t hear the angst of
your head getting cut off. Could you seem a little more nervous about that?” If you
hear one take you really like, say, “Print that.” If you hear two great takes and can’t
decide, print both and move on. You can choose later with your animation director.
If a take makes you and the others in the booth laugh, it’s probably a keeper! Have
fun with the process.
142
Animatics
After you record your voices, you will combine your storyboard panels with the
new dialogue tracks and create what’s called an “animatic,” which is essentially a
slide show of the storyboard with the dialogue added, played back with the timing
you envision for the final cartoon. Animatics are beneficial on many levels, from
seeing how a story unfolds to blocking out the timing. It’s a good place to adjust
the storyboard, do some major editing, or even record new lines before you let the
episode proceed into the costly animation pipeline. I’ve used animatics on every
project I’ve done, from the Rocko’s Modern Life pilot to the final Camp Lazlo episode.
The process is simple: Import the storyboard panels by scanning them, and
then add the voice audio files in a program such as Premiere or Final Cut Pro that
can play them back in real time or as a QuickTime file. There are several programs
that can be used. Some productions use Adobe Flash, or even an Avid editing bay
(a suite of video editing equipment). Whether you are using a storyboard-driven
method or a script, an animatic is an extremely valuable tool.
Timing Sheets
After you have blocked out the timing with the aid of an animatic, then it’s time
to transfer that timing into language the animator can use. Timing sheets (or
exposure sheets, seen opposite) serve as the animator’s guide to where things go
and how fast they move, as well as camera direction. When you are working with
an outside studio to handle the animation, an in-house team will define the timing
of a show in detail, in timing sheet language, to the outside animator. Those sheets
coupled with the storyboard give the animator a roadmap.
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143
A timing sheet is a long sheet of vertical columns broken down horizontally
into frame units (24 frames of film equals one second) and feet (16 frames equals
one foot). One second of screen time equals one foot plus eight frames of film.
Information for up to five feet of film can fit on one timing sheet, so a stack of sheets
for one eleven-minute cartoon can be a few inches thick. A timing director and a sheet
timer essentially use these sheets to animate, without actually doing the drawings.
Through a series of numbers and panel letters that correspond to the storyboard,
thumbnail drawings, and squiggly lines, the movement of each character, prop, and
snowflake is carefully laid out, frame by frame, as well as the camera moves and
mouth movement of each character. The mouth movements are laid in to the sheets
using letters for each different mouth shape. A person known as a “track reader” will
sit with the audio track of the dialogue, break down the mouth movements to these
letters, and transfer those to the sheets. If this all seems overwhelming to you, don’t
worry—there are very good timing directors and sheet timers you can work with.
Prop and Character Design

You should have already designed the look of the show when you submitted your
proposal, so your characters, props, and background designs should follow the
same aesthetic. Every item that is picked up or carried by a character, every door
that is opened, every piece of furniture in a room, anything that moves needs to
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144
© Nickelodeon
The Heffer mouth chart

for Rocko’s Modern Life.
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© cartoon network
145

be designed. Go through the storyboard and circle everything that falls under that
category. Then, if you have any background characters for which you haven’t done
designs or turnarounds, do those or have another artist do them. All the props
and characters also have to be colored (though that usually happens after the key
background designs have been established and painted).
Backgrounds
The style of the background is extremely important to the look of the show; it
conveys the mood, the feel, and the direction of the characters and prop colors. It
can be done digitally, with collage, airbrushed, or hand-painted (a method I prefer).
By now, your scenes should be broken down in your storyboard. Every new location
and every new room needs a key background design. From it, a key painting is done
for production background painters to use as a guide, especially if you are using
an overseas studio. It’s considered a “key” painting because it can “unlock” the
secrets of many other background production paintings that our studio did not
do. For instance, when a scene happens in Scoutmaster Lumpus’s bedroom, there
will be many different angles—low shots, high shots, close-ups, and wide shots—
needed for the actual animation. We would find one establishing shot of the whole
bedroom and use that as a key background. Painting that background and sending
it along with the storyboard gives the outside animation studio all they need to
replicate all of the angles, colors, paint style, and lighting. If the lighting in a room
changes (let’s say Lumpus turns out the light and falls asleep) a new key has to be
painted for “lights out, moonlight lighting.” All of the outdoor background keys for
the camp needed to be done in full daylight, morning, sunset, and nighttime. Since
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Background layout from the

Camp Lazlo pilot.
146 these keys were not usually used for production purposes, they could be painted
smaller, thus saving valuable time.
On Rocko, the backgrounds were painted with Dr. Ph. Martin’s color dyes
because that was how I did my backgrounds on my independent films. By the time
I designed the Camp Lazlo backgrounds, I had illustrated a few children’s books and
was really happy with a brushy style I had developed with acrylics and gouache. I
painted quite a few of the production backgrounds for the pilot myself. When Lazlo
art director Sue Mondt came on board, between my books and the backgrounds I had
painted, she had ample reference to go by. For example, I always used green for my
night skies and yellow for day skies, so that became the look.
One change we made to the background painting between the Lazlo pilot
and the series production was a switch from acrylic and gouache to a new paint
by Turner called Acryl Gouche. As the name implies, it’s a mixture of acrylic and
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© cartoon network
gouache that imparts the great feel and look of gouache but is water resistant, 147
so you can paint over it several times. It also creates a brushy appearance while

keeping a matte finish. We would use Strathmore illustration board, transferring
the drawn background to the storyboard using either indentation or transfer
paper. The keys don’t have to be as large as the actual production backgrounds,
so painting on a smaller scale can be a time-saving device. When the background
is finished, it’s numbered and catalogued on a reference tool called a “lead sheet,”
which ties it to whatever scene it will be used for. If you need inspiration, I suggest
going through old children’s books or adapting a technique from your own style.
After your backgrounds are painted, the characters can be colored so that
they “pop” off the background properly (you don’t want a red character acting in
front of a red wall). For Camp Lazlo, I created a color palette from old summer-camp
colors, cabins, Indian blankets, rugs, and the like. The prop and character designs
© Nickelodeon
Rocko’s living room. The

style for Rocko was much
flatter than for Camp
Lazlo.
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are scanned or cleaned up digitally and then passed to the color stylist, who assigns
them the appropriate look. A standard color reference for a character can also
change depending on the time of day in the scene, and all of these variables should
be taken into account by the stylist.
Ship It
After you have your storyboard, voice tracks, timing sheets, color packs, and
backgrounds prepared, it’s time to box it all up and send it to wherever you are
doing your animation, whether it’s down the hall to your in-house Flash unit or an
off-site animation studio. The economic realities of volume television animation
have made it commonplace to outsource animation to less expensive international
studios. In the United States, deciding whether it’s economically feasible to do
your animation domestically depends a lot on the current market value of the
dollar. Wherever you send your production materials, the artists who work in these
148 studios—either locally or abroad—are fine craftsmen and women. The studio I used
for Camp Lazlo was called Rough Draft Korea, and we worked very well together.
Adobe Flash has become more common as a high-production animation method,

so new, more economical options are opening up for domestic animation for
television.
When your production studio receives the package, it’s a bit like putting
together a model—they have the directions and all of the parts, and now they have
to glue them together and send back the finished product. In reality, of course,
it’s a lot harder than that (I animated half of the Rocko pilot myself, so I know).
The average length of time needed to complete overseas animation for an eleven-
minute episode is sixteen weeks, give or take a few. The Flash animation process
can take less time, given how many elements you can reuse. Foster’s Home for
Imaginary Friends creator Craig McCracken said that, toward the final episodes of
the show, his Flash team was turning out a twenty-two-minute episode in two
weeks. It all depends on how many people you have working and how many
episodes are in the pipeline simultaneously.
Editing and Lock

Optimistically, after about sixteen weeks, you will get an amazing film back from
the animation studio that blows your mind. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always happen
that way; I can guarantee there will be mistakes, which result when the wires
get crossed in following your instructions (the timing was wrong, the colors or
backgrounds were off, a character pops on and off the screen) and you need your
animation studio to redo the scene. Fortunately, these gaffes can be fixed with
“retakes,” Choose your battles carefully, though: Animation can be a very forgiving
medium, but it’s unrealistic to go through a film frame-by-frame and pick out every
little thing that bugs you. Instead, focus on the big picture. These are usually my
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149
priorities with retakes: The Camp Lazlo editing
bay, which crashed far too
often for my sanity.
• Does the mistake affect the story?
• Does the mistake offend the eye so much that the viewer is distracted
from the story?
• Is the mistake creating a glaring consistency problem?
• Has the mistake blown a great gag somehow? Could the animation timing
be improved?
The wonderful thing about digital editing is that you can correct a lot of mistakes
yourself without sending it back to the production studio, which is often overseas.
On Camp Lazlo, I had an editor named Mattaniah Adams that I called “The
Master”—he could fix anything!
When I was working on Rocko’s Modern Life in the 1990s, the overseas
studio had to shoot painted cels on film with a big camera stand, which could
introduce a set of problems that today’s shows don’t encounter: Sometimes we
would call so many retakes on one scene that the animation peg holes in the cel
would start to tear, creating the need for a whole new take. Another challenge
of working with film stock (as opposed to digital editing) was correcting timing
problems while trying to “lock the picture,” which used to involve physically
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splicing each frame to get the timing on a sight gag just right. I don’t miss
those days. . . .
Once the retakes are approved, it’s time for you and the editor to lock the
picture, which in today’s process means locking in film sequence and length so
the sound crew can work with a final print that won’t change. Locking the picture
entails editing the film down to your final running time, rearranging scenes if
necessary, correcting color, and adding effects. You also need to add the time code
(the digital tracking code), which allows the sound and music folks to lock their
equipment to the final picture.
Sound Effects and Music

After the picture has been locked, sit down with your sound-effects editor and
spot the show. By “spotting” I mean to go through it together and discuss what
sounds and/or music you are looking for in a given scene. The editor should
150
take notes and write down the time code for each scene you discuss. I can’t
stress enough the importance of having great sound in your show and working
with a good sound editor. It’s a refined craft to sell an animated scene with just
the right sound effect. You can’t just say, “add a car horn here,” because there
are about a hundred different car horns that could sell it in different ways. Ask
yourself, is it coming from an old jalopy or a new car? Is it a muscle car or a

sports car? What would best sell the story or the gag—or both? Let’s say, for
example, that you want to sell the urgency of Scoutmaster Lumpus rushing
somewhere in his Jeep. The actual engine sounds from that type of Jeep may
not offer the urgency you want, so try adding a Hemi engine instead, and really
blast it. To really sell a story point, I’ll go over the top with my sounds to make
sure they have a huge impact. When it comes to cartoon sounds, if you like
the Hanna-Barbera library (which is brilliant), there are endless little squeaks
and borks to choose from. Have fun with it! (My sound editor also boasted the
largest collection of passing-gas sounds on the planet!)
After I spotted the picture with my sound editor, I would sit down with the
time-coded work print and jot down the types of music I would hear in my head as
I watched each scene and the mood they evoked. I would then write out spotting
notes for my music editor so he or she could start adding this important element
to the locked picture. Music for your series can be approached in several ways.
For Rocko, I used a composer to create an original score for each episode, in this
case, Pat Irwin of The Ray Beats and the B-52s. I would break down the scenes
by time code and write down what I was looking for in the music. These are the
actual notes for the Rocko’s Modern Life episode “Junk Junkies” for just the first two
minutes:
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Junk Junkies
lend into:
Rocko theme. B
Open
ening cue.
Tension, Threat
1:13:34
Build up to:
1:26
G
HORROR STIN
1:32
ous tension
Anxiety, anxi
1:37
cue
Godfat her-type
1:4 6
o theme,
Anxious Rock
1:50
cue, hit
Problem solving
action beats
Let br eathe
2:24
151

Pat would then get these notes, write original music for the scene, and then record
it with a live band in New York. When you are working on the pilot, take the time to
find the right style for your music. We will talk later about what it means to do this
for every episode while sticking to a strict schedule.
For Camp Lazlo, instead of original compositions for each episode, I had Andy
Paley of the Paley Brothers record a whole library of short and long cues with an
old hillbilly-style live band, complete with jugs and washboards, banjos, spoons,
ancient tubas, etc. He would do traditional camp songs as well as transitional
quickies. After the Lazlo music library was completed, I had my music editor, Nick
Carr, use the bits from the library as well as cues from a “needle-drop” stock library
(music library in which each song or cue is leased on a nonexclusive basis) to create
a score for each episode. I would do a spotting sheet for Nick just as I would for Pat,
and he would cut together the music soundtrack from the two libraries to best sell
the story and the gags.
The Mix
The last item in the daisy chain is the final mix. A mix is where you sit with a good
sound-mixing engineer on a mix stage (a dark room with a big screen to show the
video and a large console with faders and a zillion buttons and knobs), take the
final sound effects, music, and dialogue, and blend them all together to match your
picture so that it sounds beautiful. If you just dumped your effects, music, and
dialogue in there raw, it would resemble a cacophony of jumbled sounds. A good
mixer (like Eric Freeman, whom we used on Camp Lazlo) can weave the sounds
throughout the music, emphasizing certain effects while making sure the dialogue
can be understood at all times. The mixer can also do things like adding reverb to
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a voice and sending it way off screen so that it seems like a camper is yelling from
far away.
As the creator, it’s ultimately your job to make sure the story points and gags
are coming through. Sometimes a mixer will want to drop out an effect so you can
hear the music. But what if that effect was vital to the story and he just didn’t realize
it? It’s also fun to slip audio gags into the shows that many people won’t pick up, but
some will. For instance, usually once in every episode of Lazlo, if a character throws
something off screen or someone out a window, it would almost always sound like
the person or object landed on a poor sheep. I always wanted that poor, beaten-up
sheep to finally make an appearance on screen, but he never did.
Final Delivery
Hopefully, everything went smoothly in producing the pilot, and you have a
gorgeous, unique package to deliver to the network or studio. At this point, the
152
network will usually test the pilot on a focus group to see how the intended
audience feels about it. Some take this data very seriously, while others take it with
a grain of salt. Craig McCracken’s Powerpuff Girls tested horribly in the pilot, but it
went on to become a great cartoon and a big hit for Cartoon Network. In the end,
focus-group testing can sometimes be a flawed compass.
If you always do your best through every step of the process on a given project,
then that’s all you can do. There are many reasons why some projects don’t end up
as a good fit for a network, studio, or other investor, and none should be taken
personally. What is meant to happen will happen!
If the network or studio decides not to move forward with your series after
testing the pilot, you should take advantage of the turnaround option in your
contract that we discussed in chapter 6. After the appropriate contractual period of
time passes, you can pitch the show to someone else or find an alternative method
of producing it (refer to chapter 10). It is possible that if another entity moves
forward with your series, the original network or studio will want to be repaid any
money it invested in the pilot; this scenario should be covered in your original
contract as well. But we are going to think positively and move forward to the
chapter on producing your series!
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Q&A
jeff hutchins has been a sound designer and
editor for over twenty years, earning four Emmys
and seven Golden Reel Awards. He is a graduate
of Ohio University and was an Audio Production
major at the School of Radio and Television. Aside
with Jeff Hutchins from sound designing and sound editing on Rocko’s
Modern Life and Camp Lazlo, as well as dozens of
other shows and features, his most notable work can
be found on Nickelodeon’s SpongeBob SquarePants.
In the past he has been employed by Saban and
Warner Bros., and he is currently at the head of his
own thriving sound company.
153
Q: We know you worked as the sound

designer and editor on Rocko’s Modern
coming grumpy or burning out or have technology
leave you in the dust.
Life, Camp Lazlo, and I’ll even throw in that you
designed the bubble sound (as well as the other
sound effects) for SpongeBob SquarePants. Give
Q:
us a rundown of your experience in your Emmy
award–winning career so far. What prepares a So let’s face it—there are cartoon sounds,
person for a job like yours? and there are Jeff Hutchins cartoon
sounds. I know you take incredible pride in the
quality of your work. What do you think sets a good
A: The requirements of the job tend to mutate

as your career progresses. The first and
most important is creativity. Other important quali-
animation sound designer apart from the rest?
A:
ties are an eye for detail; the ability to handle stress A sound designer for animation is an odd
and pressure; the willingness to accept responsi- position to begin with—senior in some
bility for your actions and choices without trying to ways, and entry level in others. In this decade, an-
pass the buck; and the ability to continuously learn imation has risen as an art form, thanks in part to
and develop new technical skills quickly. A person some fantastic movies, such as Toy Story, Shrek, and
can be strong in some of these and have to work at Cars. Even a decade ago, there was little stature as-
the others. They’re not all god-given character traits. sociated with the position. It really comes down to a
Usually, the lessons that a person needs to mas- core decision to match yourself with a pursuit that
ter in order to grow will find you. Multitasking is a you can throw yourself into every day. It is a quest
great talent to have, but an eye for detail trumps it to find it, listen to it, and pursue it as if there is no
and needs to be maintained, no matter what. Early second option.
in your career, you may have to do all this in a dimly Happiness in life is easier to find when your
lit closet of a studio, then rise to a fully outfitted edit work is your passion and your passion is your work.
room on a studio lot, and then later end up on a lap- I like telling stories with sound. I’ve enjoyed record-
top in your home studio. I like being a commercial ing sound effects and have had great experiences
sound artist, whose job is to help tell the director’s recording odd and silly things. Animation is a blank
story. The key is to have fun doing it without be-
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canvas, unlike live action, which usually has a pro- Being a sound designer for an animated fea-
duction soundtrack—it’s wide open. Generally, part ture film, or even a film short, expands quite a bit
of the job is to be funny. The show with the most inter- more on the brand-new-material philosophy. Today’s
esting, funny, unusual, and most detailed soundtrack sound was built on the shoulders of past giants in the
will stand out. This must be done in the style and field, like Sam Horta and Patrick Foley. I still wonder,
taste of the show’s creator, who is your boss and re- how did they do that? In Mr. Foley’s case, how did he
ally deserves a lot of the credit for the show’s sound. dream up a process that would change the way the
Joe—you and I were able to have a great working whole industry works? Everyone in the sound indus-
relationship because I felt I could try things with try has benefited from that. My hat’s off to you, Mr.
sound, even to the point of being really wacky, and Foley.
I never got bashed if it wasn’t right. The heart of the
job is to match the style of animation and the direc-
tor’s thoughts with the type of sounds and details that
make the show come to life.
Q: So, say a creator comes to you with a
finished pilot with voice dubs only; he or
she has no idea how they want the show to
154 sound. How would you walk a novice through an
Q: How much do you owe to the sound

designers of the past, who put together
experience like that?
the Hanna-Barbera and Warner Bros. libraries?

How much is your own style?
A: If a creator came to me with no idea about
the sound for his show, I would be a bit
surprised. Usually, the process of dreaming up an
A: Without getting into the histories of both

studios, the collections of sound that remain
from the archives of the studios are mini–time cap-
idea—creating a pilot, pitching it, and getting a stu-
dio interested—requires some thought on sound. I
take my direction totally from the creator. However, if
sules. The sound is a result of analogue equipment, it were to happen, during the initial spotting session
mag film, and different ways the gear worked, in the I would try to coax some response, asking some of
days of sprockets, razor blades, and splicing tape. the questions we have brought up already. Do you
The days of ingenious sound departments custom- like the classic cartoon sounds? Is it a synthesizer-
making props for shows is mostly gone. Today’s type show or more organic? Do you want to bring out
sound is created by an editor who has all of the li- realism (a Foley-based show), or is it more cartoony?
braries. Figuring out which one is the best choice is Some of the 3-D computer-generated animation
one of the differences between designers and edi- begs for realistic sound, while campy shows with a
tors. Designers go beyond selecting the best choice handmade, low-tech feel ask for the opposite. This is
from their library and artfully weaving CD tracks not to say you take your best first guess and the sto-
together. This is the area of new material, some of ry’s over—quite the opposite. You build the show’s
which may put a new face on an old classic. sound signature over time as you do each episode
I have a slide whistle next to me most of the of the first season.
time. Everyone knows what a slide whistle is. How- The first season is your time for sound design,
ever, to have one in your show that fits like a glove experimentation, and exploration of the creator’s
and wasn’t manipulated heavily is a mark of design. tastes. Again, that person is your boss. If you are will-
To have your own bell glasses, Sparkle FX, and pops ing to present your material until the show’s creator
is great; to create custom versions for each show you is happy, you have nothing to lose by going for it with
work on is better. Again, you find yourself re-creating every ounce of energy you can muster.
yourself in each show: That is being a sound design-
er for television animation.
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bera “valoop” effect will sound pretty good). So it
Q: I know you have a lot of patience for

working with creators and producers to
comes down to the nature of the show: If it’s very
comedic and favors cartoon sounds, Foley is not
get the right sound they want. Let’s face it, there the first choice.
are five thousand fart sounds out there and one As for field recording, sometimes there isn’t
thousand head bonks and eyeball wiggles. How do enough time to do this, and time is usually my de-
you find the right one? termining factor. The effort required for success
varies with the subject matter; for instance, re-
cording a hose turning on is a lot different than
A: Say you’re in a review and almost done, and recording a road dragster or exploding cannons.
a client asks for a certain type of sound. I actually did sign on to a sound-design recording
They’re anxious to conclude their sound review and adventure that involved several brown and black
go back to the million-and-one other tasks on their bears. Foley can’t provide for this—it’s sound de-
plate. So my choice for that moment would be to sign and field recording in its purest form. The
bowl down the center of the lane. There is usually a whole thing was quite an expensive venture. So
tried-and-true sound effect for most situations, and when do I decide to go out into the field these
after a while in the business, you will know which ef- days? Usually during my holiday or vacation time. 155
fects your clients will usually pick. I enjoy recording things, but my time has become

If I’m by myself, hunting for the right sound, es- very tight.
pecially on a big show, it could stretch on for days,
and I may go to extreme lengths if I can. I may re-
member a sound in my library that had eluded me
through a word search, or I may find it online. The
Q:
Can you break down the average schedule
Internet provides a whole new way to obtain sounds when you are working on a show? From
outside your current library. delivery of the first film to spotting, cutting,
previews, and the mix—how much time do you
allot, and how does it usually work?
Q:
A:
How much do you rely on Foley (the art
of recording natural sounds superficially This question has no one answer. I usually
in a studio to match the picture)? And when do work the equation from the other side: “How
you say, to hell with library sounds, I’m going out much time do I have?” Then I’ll assess the work re-
to record a grizzly bear in heat on my own! quired to make the show original and impressive-
sounding. The delivery format is also a big factor.
Preparing material for surround sound takes at least
A: Foley and field recording have some simi- double the work. It can take days to spot, or map out,
larities but are different from one another. what will be needed for a big Foley show. It may also
Foley is a recording process usually done in a stu- take days to edit it once completed.
dio during which a Foley artist watches the pic- Another big factor is where you are in the life
ture on a large screen and performs with a prop of a show. The first season, in which you are exper-
or maybe their feet to make a certain sound. It is imenting and defining the show’s sound, is far dif-
not an easy job, and it takes years to become re- ferent from a show in its fifth season, where you’re
ally good at it. It’s very important to me to maintain rolling along. Generally I would say I get a week
good relationships with the most talented Foley per episode. Lately I’ve been getting two weeks to
artists around, because a good artist will make do a seven-minute pilot where most things are new.
your show great, while a so-so artist will drag Sometimes it’s easier, and sometimes it’s very diffi-
your project down (and at that point, a Hanna-Bar- cult. It’s great when you’re hired early in the project.
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Q: How much has the equipment changed

over the years? I know we worked
Q: What advice would you give to a fresh new
creator of a show with regard to finding
differently on Rocko in the ’90s, as opposed to the overall sound style of his or her series?
Camp Lazlo in the mid 2000s.
A:
You may need to take a few chances with
A:
sound in order to stand out from the crowd. If
There have been sizable advances in tech- your story, characters, and the look of your show are
nology over the years. There were tasks that unique, shouldn’t the soundtrack be, too? The time it
took days to do before that aren’t even done today, takes to be different may not cost much, or anything
even as recently as Rocko’s Modern Life in the 1990s. at all. It just takes time. Find your sound-effects edi-
For example, the show was built in sections and then tor early on or in the middle of creating your show,
recorded to 2-inch 24-track tape with noise reduc- so that person can get started sooner. If plugged into
tion. In the nineties I rarely could play back more the equation at this early juncture, he or she can also
than 24 tracks at a time. Today, none of my shows supply sound for the various pitches to executives,
are only 24 tracks. I rarely tell a director or producer thus maybe even helping to get the show picked up.
156 that they must listen to the show in passes, because I Next is how to find the right editor. Many cre-
can’t play all the tracks at once. ators will accept editorial services from a post-sound
Today’s sound-effects work usually comes from shop. But really, you want one editor on your show; a
editorial somewhat premixed. Levels are balanced group approach to building the show leads to wide
between the backgrounds, the hard effects, the foot- swings in sound on various different episodes. A sin-
steps, and the Foley props. The material is usually gle person helps to unify the sound and keep it con-
planned to spread out across the sound field, so even sistent. It’s even fair to ask for a small test. Plan early
some basic panning is the editor’s responsibility. Re- for the best results.
views would take up big chunks of a day. Today, I
mainly send a QuickTime video of my sound-effect
work, married with the dialogue, to the director or
producer. They can review it at their convenience
and without having to leave the studio and drive to
a post-sound shop. In the nineties, the picture was
played from a 3/4” video deck. Over the years, my
job has gone from running a mechanical system that
had components that linked together, to doing ev-
erything on a laptop computer. So now I don’t need
a staff of equipment technicians to keep me up and
running, either. Thanks, technology!
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Q&A TOM KENNY is a celebrated actor and

comedian most well known as the voice of SpongeBob
SquarePants. His live-action credits include the Late
Show with David Letterman, Late Night with Conan
with Tom Kenny O’Brien, the cult movie Shakes the Clown, Fox’s The
Edge, HBO’s Mr. Show and Disney Channel’s Sky High.
His animated voice credits are a mile long, including
Rocko’s Modern Life, Camp Lazlo, The Powerpuff Girls,
Dexter’s Lab, Meet the Robinsons, Futurama, Foster’s
Home for Imaginary Friends, Fairly Odd Parents, and
many more.
The experience, the series, and the people made
Q: I wanted to talk with you not only about

the cartoon voice business, but also
a big impression on me. I felt like animation was
the best place for my skill set, but after Rocko the 157
about your views on the animated cartoon, since voice-over well went dry for a while. I continued
you have lived inside its walls for sixteen years. to do on-camera work in various things (includ-
First, aside from being the voices of SpongeBob, ing HBO’s cult series Mr. Show) but my heart was
Heffer, Lumpus, and many other lead characters always in animation and voice work. I kept audi-
in animation, you are also a successful stand-up tioning for literally every voice-over job I could,
comic and actor. Would you give us a brief and eventually voice-over work supplanted every-
rundown of your path to this career, including thing else, becoming almost 100% of my income.
your background, education, and your big breaks? I felt like a lonely bachelor who’d finally found his
soulmate!
A: I grew up in East Syracuse, NY, Normals-

ville, USA. Two fairly stable parents, four Q: For me personally, the background of a
comedic actor, especially improv skills, has
siblings. I was definitely the “middle child.” I loved
always been important when hiring voice actors.
comic books, monster movies, and animated car-
Some people think voice acting is just reading
toons, both the classic and not-so-classic. I was
scripts, but I know from working with talent like
lucky enough to be a disaffected high school kid
you how much more it is than reading words. It’s
from 1976 to 1980. It was the perfect time for the
such an overlooked craft, in my opinion. Could you
“perfect storm” of early SNL, SCTV, punk rock, and
talk about that?
the rockabilly revival to get me all wound up and
provided a vague signpost for things I could maybe
A:
do in my life. After (and even during) high school, I
I don’t know if it’s overlooked, exactly, but
played in a bar band and did stand-up comedy and
it’s definitely misunderstood. You’re right
sketch comedy for many years, first in Boston, then
that some people think “voice-acting” and “read-
in San Francisco. I did lots of cable stand-up shows,
ing aloud” are the same thing. It really all depends
from David Letterman to others best forgotten.
on the type of show as well as the creator’s comfort
Animated voice-over was my dream job,
level with playfulness and improv. Actors love to be
though—Mel Blanc, Daws Butler, and Stan Freberg
let off the leash and run around. I got spoiled right
were my lifelong heroes!—and finally some joker
out of the gate on Rocko, having Carlos Alazraqui,
named Joe Murray hired me to be a yellow steer
Charlie Adler, and Mr. Lawrence to bounce off of.
raised by wolves on his series Rocko’s Modern Life.
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Man! Those were wild sessions. I take it seriously. I know what that takes and how hard these guys have
read every script and storyboard before I show up to fight to preserve the idiosyncrasies and integrity
at the session, mostly because the more you know that they want their show to have. Therefore, I see it
about the story, plot, and jokes in the script, the as my mission to get what they are hearing in their
more thought you can give to tweaking things and heads into my microphone. I’m a “session drum-
making it the funniest (or most dramatic) it can be. mer” (like Hal Blaine or something) and the creator
To go off-book, you need to be conversant with the is “Brian Wilson.” My job is to bring the aural part
book. I’m always surprised at the voice-over actors of that creator’s dream to the screen, and hopefully
who come to record and have obviously not even give it a little of my own DNA that “Brian” will like.
cracked open the script or storyboard that was sent All of the people I’ve mentioned seem to be se-
to them. I’m too paranoid about looking unprepared. cure enough to build their team of artists and actors
Comedy, improv, sketch, and a bit of musical ability and then let them do what they do and bring what
as well as genuinely liking animation have all been they can to the party. Ultimately it’s not about the ac-
helpful to me in the field. Everything you know how tor, it’s about collaborating with all the show’s mak-
to do comes in handy at some point. A big part of it ers to help bring off the illusion that these characters
is committing to the “world” that the cartoon takes and their world (as wacky and surreal as they may
158 place in, and doing a performance that fits within the be) reach the screen as the creator intended. Let’s
context of that world, whether it be SpongeBob or face it, most of these creators have been watching
Clone Wars. It’s part instinct, part calculation. their show in their own heads for years, and nobody
knows their characters like they do.
A hired voice director has the same job de-
scription. Sometimes a show creator doesn’t know
Q:
You started voice acting for animation the linguistic shorthand that a voice-over director
around the time that creator-driven does, or he or she may need a third party to artic-
cartoons were making a comeback in the 1990s. ulate to the actor what’s needed. I’m never trying
Can you talk about the experience of working with to please the voice director; they’re just the mouth-
a creator of a cartoon (many of whom direct the piece for the creator, and I’m the mouthpiece for the
voice sessions) as opposed to working with a hired creator’s characters. We’re all working together to
voice director? What is the difference? make these drawings live and breathe.
A: I’ve got great “right place, right time” mojo.

Just when I started auditioning for anima-
tion, all these creator-driven shows were revving up.
Q: You are the voice of one of the most
iconic characters in the history of
animation, SpongeBob SquarePants. How different
Ren & Stimpy had made it okay for cartoons to be
is that gig from your other work? How has it
funny again, after years of Care Bears and Gummy
changed your life, if at all?
Bears and G.I. Joe Bears. I got to voice shows that
had these strong, creative hands at the helm, all with
A:
very different sensibilities: you, Craig McCracken,
It sounds weird to say it, but the fact that
Genndy Tartakovsky, Butch Hartman, Steve Hillen-
SpongeBob has become this giant glob-
burg, Everett Peck, and the Cahills (just as Tex Av-
al iconic brand doesn’t impact the work process at
ery, Chuck Jones, Friz Freleng, Bob Clampett, and
all! My job is the same as it was in 1999, which is to
all those guys were each great in their own way). I
help make SpongeBob SpongeBob—do all his talk-
love a show in which you can see the fingerprints
ing, laughing, crying, singing, or whatever. That’s
of the creator all over it, when it doesn’t seem like it
my responsibility. I feel I know the character well
was made by a boardroom committee. The creator’s
enough and for long enough (more than the writers,
imprint is stamped so strongly on the show, and I
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sometimes) that I can channel him pretty convinc- works or doesn’t, I’ve been on shows that I loved that
ingly. That’s all due to Steve Hillenburg having laid barely made a ripple and shows that I doubted the
all the necessary groundwork at the very beginning. strength of, but that went on to be big hits. (For the
SpongeBob was fully formed before I ever met the record, I felt great about SpongeBob from the get-
little guy (SpongeBob, not Steve!). The audience the go.) I don’t think there is a formula, except for a cre-
show reaches is global and gigantic, which is a bit ator’s passion.
different from my usual experience. It’s fun to be part
of a show that has become a part of people’s lives
Q:
and routines, from the “average” family to the Obama
If a creator of a new series wants to make
family. I guess it’s also made my name a bit more vis-
sure the voice of his character matches
ible in the auditioning world, so that I’m not always
the design and personality, what voice-over advice
completely unknown when I walk in the door. Un-
would you give that person, who is starting with a
like an on-camera actor, my face isn’t identified with
blank tape?
SpongeBob, so I never have that on-camera actor’s
conundrum of resenting Spongey as if he’s my Gil-
ligan, Captain Kirk, or 007. SpongeBob records on
A:
Wednesdays, and the other four days of the week I’m Most of the creators I’ve known had a defi- 159
recording stuff that’s not SpongeBob. I love the square nite (or at least vague) idea of what they
dude! wanted their creations to sound like. If the concept
and writing is strong, it suggests things right off the
bat, like when you’re reading a really well-written
Q:
book and can “hear” the characters in your head
You’ve witnessed many cycles and phases when reading silently. When it falls together and
in animation over the past years, not the design, animation, and voice all work together
only from the standpoint of a voice actor but as a and blend perfectly, it’s a great magic trick. When
writer and creator of characters yourself. You see I think of my favorite cartoon characters—Donald
firsthand what works and what doesn’t. Can you Duck, Daffy Duck, Bugs Bunny, Popeye, Yogi Bear,
talk about the nature of animation past, present, Top Cat, Huckleberry Hound, Ren & Stimpy, Rocky,
and future? Where do you see it going? Bullwinkle, Homer Simpson, and a thousand oth-
ers I’m not thinking of right now—they’re all about
a great character design and a voice that fits, pull-
A:
Despite being on many series over the ing off the illusion that these drawings live, breathe,
years, I still don’t have any real idea or for- think, and move. That’s been the same since Gertie
mula as to what makes a “hit show.” If anything, I’m the Dinosaur!
more confused than ever. If there’s a lesson to be Once in a while, the actor makes a choice in
learned by looking at the history of animation, it the audition that makes the creator rethink the char-
would be this: Good things happen when you let art- acters. That’s always fun. I always say that when you
ists be artists: Winsor McCay, Disney, Max Fleischer, audition, you’re hoping for one of two reactions: 1)
Tex Avery, Chuck Jones, Jay Ward, John Bakshi, Ralph “That’s exactly what I was hearing in my head,” or 2)
Kricfalusi… anything that has resonated since hap- “That’s not what I was thinking of, but it’s interesting;
pened because the bean counters counted beans keep doing that.” I’m happy with either reaction from
and the artists were allowed to let their instincts flow. a creator.
I like keeping up with what new animation is out
there, and I know what I like. Despite the talents of
Pixar, I still can’t warm to 3-D computer animation;
it’s hard to warm up to, and is usually ugly… and not
ugly in a good way! But that’s just me. As for what
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A:
Jill is the funniest person I’ve ever met. She
Q: How heavily do you like to be directed,

and when do you want a director to back
was on the main stage in Chicago’s famed
Second City. We met in 1992 on a failed Fox sketch
off? Describe your ideal voice session. Is it fun, or show called The Edge and again on Mr. Show. She
can it be a grind? was doing voice-over (in commercials and the like)
long before I was. She’s a great character actor with
a phenomenal ear for dialects and voices, plus she’s
A: Every show is different, every creator is dif- a good improviser. When we get to work together,
ferent, every voice director is different, and I know I’ll be hearing something great. As for our
every session is different. The actor susses out pret- kids, they were born into a world in which they’re
ty quickly which shows are open to a little adlibbing constantly in the presence of gifted and interesting
in the performance, or paraphrasing a certain line artists, actors, writers, comedians, and musicians, so
so that it feels more in character, and which ones are their upbringing is completely different from ours.
strictly “by the book.” Obviously the situation that’s My dad was an accountant in Syracuse, Jill’s dad was
most enjoyable for me is one in which the creator a Chicago fireman, and our moms were housewives.
and I (along with the voice director, if there is one) I spent my youth dreaming of meeting a “bohemian!”
160 are all simpatico: I know where the show’s coming As soon as we became teenagers, Jill and I sought out
from, and the creator knows that I “get” the aesthetic that world (independently). Our kids were birthed
of the show and is trusting me to deliver comedy into it. Despite our “cool” jobs, our kids see us the
and personality, both on-book and off-book. You’re way all kids see their parents—as uptight killjoys who
riffing with other actors. That said, not all sessions spoil all their fun. Hey, that’s our job!
are like that. Sometimes you’re working so hard on
the Rubik’s Cube that you are just missing it by that
much. That can be frustrating, but I mostly get frus-

trated with myself (although there are times when
the actor is trying to roll with direction that’s either
Q: Finally, what advice—from your
animation wisdom of the ages—would
inarticulate or impossible to decipher, through no you give someone trying to break into the business
fault of his or her own). with his or her own show? Do you see mistakes
I love my job and don’t want anyone else’s, so I that you feel are constantly being made?
never think of making noise for money as a “grind.”
Even the most horrific voice-over session—and in all
A:
my years, I can think of maybe two—is not nearly as
Fight tooth and nail for your idea, and don’t
bad as my worst night in a comedy club or my worst
let the rejections get you down. Listen to ad-
day at a “normal” job. You do your honest best to de-
vice from smart people, ignore advice from knuck-
liver what they’re asking for. The union says that you’re
leheads, and watch your back! I’ve developed some
a hired hand for the next four hours, so suck it up!
shows that have gone as far as the pilot stage, and
it’s brutal to even get that far! Long hours and long
gestation periods with no paychecks coming in. It’s
Q: Your wife, Jill Talley, is also an amazing

voice and comedic actor. I had the
a long, hard road to be the guy who creates a show,
then sees it through pilot stage, production, post-
pleasure of working with Jill a little on Rocko, production, cancellation, pickup, etc. I don’t think I’m
and then as squirrel scouts Gretchen and Nina “that guy,” but hopefully “that guy” will need a guy
on Camp Lazlo. What is it like having you two as like me once his show is up and running! I’m in the
parents? And what is it like as a married couple phone book.
with so much talent under one roof?
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u
Chapter
8
Series Production:
Building the Team to
161
Produce the Show
Series Production
“Possibly the best day of my life . . . but also a scary one. Now I had
to actually make a series—something I had never done before!”
—Tom Warburton, creator of Codename: Kids Next Door,

on getting his series picked up
“This machine is worth more than you.”
—The Chameleon brothers, in Rocko’s Modern Life episode

“No Pain, No Gain”
So your pilot has tested well, or you’ve found independent financing, and you’ve
been given the green light to do your own show—congratulations! Now it’s time
to ask yourself some really big questions, to lay the groundwork, and decide how
you will proceed. My advice in this chapter is based on my experiences producing
Rocko’s Modern Life and Camp Lazlo, but I will focus more on how we worked on
Lazlo because it was more recent and the technology more current than what we
used on Rocko in the 1990s. Does that mean you’ll be able to do it exactly the same
way? Probably not, because technology and production processes are changing and
being updated all the time; however, the overall lessons still apply.
Economic conditions also change, as do the business policies of those writing
the checks—budgets can vary greatly. The one thing I always have hated hearing
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when I questioned the reason for a particular method was, “That’s the way we’ve
always done it.” One should always be flexible and search for the best methods
available based on current conditions. So the way you go about producing your
show depends on three important questions:
1. How much money do you have to work with, i.e., what is your budget?
2. How much time do you have to produce the episodes?
3. What technology is available to you to produce the show?
Scheduling and Budget

The first important position to fill is a great line producer (if you didn’t already find
one when you did your pilot). Your line producer is your traffic cop, budget surgeon,
162 and magician who’s able to pull just about anything out of a hat. He or she is your
link to keeping the schedule, budget, crew, and network associates humming in
an orderly fashion. He or she manages the overseas communication, in-house

labor disputes, end and start dates, and salaries, as well as books and coordinates
any outsourced work. I personally have a low tolerance for disorganization or the
inability to problem-solve at the drop of a hat, so I lean heavily on my line producer
and have high expectations of him or her. In the past, my line producers have had
to endure my ranting and venting about things that have nothing to do with them,
but a good producer will help you through the rough patches. You may be assigned
one by the network, or you may have to hire one. Just make sure you click with him
or her. I went through quite a few on Rocko, and a couple on Lazlo, before I found
someone I worked well with. Sometimes the line producer is stuck in a hard place
between the network and the creator, but overall you should see eye to eye. You
don’t want to find out you’re not good partners after the bullets start flying in the
middle of production.
The first task for you and your line producer is to create a schedule and a
budget you and the network can live with. I have created a sample schedule that is
loosely based on the structure I used to organize both of my shows (opposite). It is
by no means complete and should be considered a rough outline.
Most series schedules are set up so that you work on several episodes at once.
As I mentioned earlier, it is not a linear progression, where you do one episode,
finish it, and then start on the next. You will notice that storyboard team number
one turns in a storyboard on Friday after four weeks, then picks up the new outline
for a new board the following Monday to start the process all over again. This
means that, in any given week, various teams and departments will be in different
stages of several different episodes. You, as the creator, should be in touch with all
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Series Production
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09/04/2010 16:44
163
An Insight into
the Cartoon Factory
When Chuck Jones and the Warner
Bros. crew were making the Bugs
© cartoon network and nickelodeon
Bunny shorts and other brilliant

animated films, they would start
one cartoon, write it, storyboard it,
animate it, finish it, and then move
on to the next one. The shorts were
164 originally created to be shown in
movie theaters before the fea-

ture film (though they went on to
Production on both Rocko and Lazlo
entertain and influence an entire
resembled an assembly line.
generation of new fans on TV, such
as myself). The environment for

making contemporary television cartoons is more than a little differ-
ent. When we were producing ROCKO and LAZLO, it resembled more of an
assembly line than anything else. We would have many episodes in dif-
ferent phases of production going on at once (I would often be work-
ing on three different “seasons” at the same time; a season for us was
thirteen half-hour episodes, with a short break in between for every-
of your departments at all times. Notice on week 12 of this schedule, the creator/
producer of the show should be:
• Meeting with the writers for episode 12

• Meeting with storyboard teams 1 and 2 on storyboards for episodes 9
and 10
• Directing a dialogue record for two eleven-minute segments for episode 7
• Going over an animatic with the animation director for episode 6
• Approving models and color for episodes 2 and 3
• Signing off on timing sheets for episode 4 and shipping episode 1 overseas
Later, when footage starts coming back from overseas, on any given week you can
add these tasks: going through retakes, editing a show, spotting a show for sound
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one besides me and my line producer. With the overlap of shows,

this got very confusing). The trick was to get a finished episode
“pooped out” the back end and on the air when the network needed
it, which was usually nine months from the start of the process.
It was definitely what I called a “high-fiber” production, because
if something got held up at any point on the line, it would create
a bottleneck for everything else coming down the pike. Picture
someone stopping at the top of a crowded escalator and having
everyone else smash into them. The best analogy is the famous I
LOVE LUCY episode in which Lucy and Ethel are wrapping candies on
a conveyor belt, and as the belt moves faster and faster, they start
stuffing candy into their mouths and shirts because they can’t keep 165
up with it. You get the idea.
Series Production
As a result of this emphasis on speed, there is a “burn rate” in
animation, both in the product and among the people making it, just
as there is in rocket fuel. The fuel used per second to get a rocket
into space increases along with the rocket’s speed—the faster it
goes, the quicker it burns fuel. The ratings for each new episode
can start dipping after a few airings, so you have to have a new
episode ready to replace the old one, and so on. Today there may be
better, faster, and more effective technology to help you do your
show than I am describing here, which means the pressure is on to
keep up with it and the pace it sets. So do some research.
effects and music, directing a final mix, and signing off on final delivery. I will go
into greater detail on these stages later, but I want to introduce these concepts
while you are designing your schedule.
Basically, the faster a show moves, the larger the crew you will need to
produce it. Sometimes this is dictated by the amount of time you have until the
network wants to launch the series on the air. But the old sign you used to see on
the wall of your neighborhood dry cleaners tends to apply here:
Speed
Quality
Cheap
Pick any two.
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166
© Cartoon Network
This is a quick-draw Lazlo model sheet

from the production bible meant to
help the storyboard artists pump
him out quickly. A more detailed
model sheet is of greater help to the
animators.
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167
Series Production
If they want it fast and cheap, then quality will suffer. If you want quality and speed, About three seasons’
worth of a Camp Lazlo
then it will cost a little more. I like to think that my process did a good job of schedule tacked to
balancing all three. And I have to boast that my shows never missed a deadline or my office wall. It was
sometimes overwhelming
went over budget. A good way to achieve this is to start with a realistic budget and
to know exactly what
schedule for the type of show you want to deliver. And here’s a reality check: If you would need my attention
on any given day of the
ride your staff hard while paying them little and giving them unrealistic deadlines,
year.
you will hit a wall very quickly.
Budget size ebbs and flows depending on the economy and the financial
health of the parent company or network (read chapter 9 for more about working
with networks and money). A standard budget can range anywhere from $250,000
to $450,000 per half-hour episode. A prime-time series can run into the seven
figures per half hour. A budget will be determined by the funding source (usually
the studio or network) based on their projections about the amount of money that
episode will generate. If they feel it’s a good bet that your show will bring in strong
ratings, they are more likely to give you a larger budget, knowing they will recoup the
investment, and then some. If your project seems to have merchandising potential
(I never recommend creating a series with this in mind, but networks do consider
it), then they may be able to supplement the budget with money from the licensing
department. I have always believed that, the more wisely you spend money, the higher
quality the product, which will generate more revenue for longer periods of time, and
this argument has proved persuasive in generating greater up-front investment for
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great returns down the road (but you really have to work it!). The executive who
oversees your budget will need a good reason to go above what they normally pay for
a series, so be prepared to state your case and demonstrate how your schedule and
personnel needs will give them the show they are looking for.
Along with your initial budget notes, try to work out a rough initial schedule.
Then sit down with your department heads and break down a realistic, humane
production schedule based on the number of people needed for each department
to do its job well. Then hand over your budget and schedule notes to your line
producer, whose job it is to develop a more substantial budget based on those
projections. In my experience, it’s best to have each department supervisor sign off
on the schedule and deadlines they are meant to enforce.
Hiring the Best

168 Possible Team
If there is any one principle that should stick with you from this book, it’s this: The
creator of the show cannot do it all. Although it might help the budget if the creator
performed a hundred different jobs on the show, it’s just not possible, and you will
only hurt the show and yourself trying. When working on Rocko, even though I
surrounded myself with great people, I still tried to do too much myself and went
crazy in the process. So I advise you to save your sanity. If you are creating a series
for the Web (and not for television), and you have more time at your disposal to
attack more jobs—and far less money to work with—then by all means, do as much
as you can. My advice here speaks more to producing a show in volume, in an
assembly-line environment.
Once you get into series production,
you are only as good as the people you
surround yourself with. The biggest
change I made from solo-producing
Rocko to doing Camp Lazlo was hiring
a coproducer to help carry the burden
(I learned this from Steve Hillenburg,
Mark O’Hare and me,
joined at the brain. who hired Rocko alum Derek Drymon for
SpongeBob SquarePants). I asked Rocko
director and comic-strip artist Mark O’Hare to be my coproducer and gave him
the power of approval in almost all departments. He also helped me direct voice
sessions, oversaw the storyboard artists, and was one of the main influences in the
story room.
After hiring the coproducer, I broke down the production into five departments
(and if you’re not doing animation overseas, that is also its own department):
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• Writing
• Storyboarding
• Timing (Animation Direction)
• Art Direction
• Production
I was personally involved in and approved everything that came out of each depart-
ment; however, I still hired someone more talented than I was to head them up. I
chose people who had the specialized skills to head and supervise these depart-
ments: story editor, storyboard supervisor, animation direction supervisor, art
director, and line producer. These people not only have to be talented experts in
each of the jobs within their departments, they also have to be extremely organized
and good managers. I would have production meetings with all the department
heads to find out how things were going and to offer a place for open dialogue
among all of us. For instance, the art director could ask the storyboard supervisor
to get the board artists to put more information in their boards. 169
This is how I like to
Series Production
arrange my staff and its
supervisors.
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170
Once you’ve hired your department heads and worked out a schedule and a
budget everyone can live with, it’s time to start hiring your team. Here’s more sage
advice: The time to save your sanity is when you are hiring! As I said before, you’re
only as good as your production team, so in order to prevent future headaches, follow
these hiring tips: First, hire team players. You may think so-and-so is the greatest,
most insanely talented person who ever walked the planet, but if that person is an
egotist and does not want to be a part of a collaborative effort, you will have nothing
but problems working together. You can usually spot this type in a job interview—he
can’t stop talking about himself. Second, refrain from “favor hiring.” Just because you
are in a hiring position, it’s not a good idea to give positions to your friends and
family unless they are exactly right for the job. It’s a surefire way to ruin a show, and
more importantly, friendships and family ties. It also forces other crewmates to work
harder to reinforce the weak links.
When it comes to hiring, I can’t stress enough the importance of each
department. Any weakness in a particular area can create a problem that affects the
whole crew. If the writing and storyboarding are weak, the whole show will suffer.
If the timing of the animation (the movement and acting of the characters) is off,
it deadens the story, the gags, and the characters. And no matter how good the
color looks, if the backgrounds are poorly done, you won’t be able to see the acting
or tell what the story is about. It helps to think of your characters as resembling a
human body that relies on a heart, a brain, strong lungs, and a unique personality
in order to survive. Make sure you hire all the necessary specialists to keep your
characters healthy!
I personally like to meet with each final job candidate so that I can fill him or
her in on what to expect. It’s important to do this at the very start so that you are
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both on the same page. I developed a pyramid of team priorities that, if followed,
usually makes for a great crew environment. Trust me, it works. I ride my crew
pretty hard on quality, but focus equally as hard on the work environment.
To keep the pyramid stable, you can’t sacrifice the bottom blocks to move up:
The foundation has to remain solid. Being on schedule or producing a funny show
doesn’t matter if you’re accomplishing it in an abusive or demeaning workplace. It’s
also easier to have fun if one is on schedule and all the departments are meshing
well and working as a team. So now that your all-star team is in place, let’s look at
how to get them flying in the same direction.
Preproduction: Creating
a Turnkey Operation
There are many challenges to putting an animated show into production. You’ve
171
created an idea—an animated world with a unique cast of characters living in
Series Production
it. Aside from the mini bible and the pilot, this world still lives in your head. The
trick now is to get the crew (as many as fifty people) as well as the overseas crew
(sometimes two hundred) to all think, draw, color, write, and animate as close to
your style as possible and to realize your vision. Of course you will hire amazing
artists and writers who will be adding a bit of their own styles to the mix, but
overall the show needs to look the same every time someone sits down to watch
it. Since you can’t be in all places all of the time, you have to slowly work yourself
out of a job, piece by piece, thereby creating what is called a “turnkey operation.”
What this means is that you’re turning over specific duties to be mastered by your
crew but without diluting the overall vision of the series. For example, let’s say a
famous chef with his own chain of restaurants creates an amazing gourmet pizza
with special ingredients that are all his own; he also has a special way of dropping
the toppings onto the pizza and spreading the sauce. This pizza bears his signature,
and he wants all of his restaurants to make it the same exact way. Since he cannot
be in every restaurant to personally make every pizza, he needs to rely on each cook
to follow his precise steps using the exact same ingredients, so customers in every
chain location can get the same gourmet pizza the chef himself makes. How does
he do it? He hires the best staff; gives everyone the same ingredients, with personal
“how-to” training; and puts someone in charge of each phase of the operation to
oversee quality and consistency. This is roughly how I was able to produce well over
one hundred half-hour episodes, bring them in on schedule and under budget, and
be proud of almost every single one. Not to mention having a good time doing it!
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Here I am teaching the

artists at our Korean
animation studio about
the Rocko’s Modern Life
characters.
172
The Assembly Line

Look at your crew as a group of craftsmen and women who are working on an assembly
line, building a high-quality bit of machinery. Each person has his or her specialty.
Each piece already has a unique design, but it’s up to each crew member to put the
right screws in the right places, and sometimes to rework a piece so it runs better or
smoother and to carefully craft it. If something gets forgotten, or more importantly,
something could be done to improve the quality, the assembly line is stopped and
put into reverse. The new part or idea is put into place and then production resumes.
I’ve been known to stop assembly lines, run downstairs to record a new line that
would make the scene better, rework it, and then start production back up again.
Preproduction is exactly what it sounds like: all of the groundwork you do
before you go into full-scale production. Just like on an assembly line, it’s not the
job of the person who puts the bolt in the nut to build the conveyor belt. All the
machinery should be in place, and the design of the key components should be ready
so that they can be plugged into place when the time it is right. The smoother, more
thorough your preproduction work, the smoother your production will run.
The Production Bible

By the time the main crew came in for their first day of work on the Camp Lazlo
series, they were handed what I called “The Camper’s Ultimate Field Guide to
Producing Camp Lazlo.” Others refer to it as the series production bible. This
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173
Series Production
volume is much more detailed than the mini bible we used when developing the Camp Lazlo art director Sue © cartoon network
Mondt provided some pre-
show. The production bible should give enough information so that anyone on the
production paintings for the
crew can get into the head of the creator and know the details of the world they production bible as guides for
the background painters.
are entrusted with bringing to life, from model sheets that specified how many
eyebrow hairs Lazlo has (three) to what shape and style of clouds are okay to use
in background drawings. There were floor plans for every structure the characters
lived in, played in, ate in, and even went to the bathroom in. (Yes, even cartoon
characters have to use the loo at times.) These detailed production bibles are
common for any animated series. On The Simpsons, for instance, the writers need to
know such things as, if Bart came out of his bedroom, how far down the hall is Lisa’s
bedroom so he can go torture her? Does he have to turn left or right? Everyone
needs to be on the same page.
Here are a few details found in the Camp Lazlo production bible:
• Full descriptions, turnarounds, model sheets, and expression sheets for each
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A detailed bird’s-eye map

of Leakey Lake, showing
where to find Camp
Kidney, Acorn Flats, and SKullcrack
the town of Prickly Pines. rapids
Mt.
blackhead
Mt.
whitehead
Itchy Island
Camp Kidney
Bean scout camp
Acorn flats
Squirrel Scout camp
174 leakey
lake
Pimpleback
mountains
Blue toe
river
Leakey Lake
Town of
© Cartoon Network
Prickly
Pines
Year-Round P layground
major character, down to the smallest detail

• Full-color designs of every character, from the Squirrel Scouts to the smallest
background character, so they could be included in any background scene of
any storyboard
• Size comparison lineups (which look like police lineups) of every major
character and every background or incidental character, showing their size
relationships to each other
• Do’s and don’ts on writing and storyboarding (aka, the rules of the universe)
• Background styles, including pages of different trees, shrubs, and cloud
designs that could be inserted into any background design or storyboard
• Signage and lettering styles
• Full-color palette presented as squares of approved colors
• Specifications on the show’s logo usage and a collection of cel setups for
press or production reference
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© Cartoon Network
175
Series Production
Why is all this detail necessary? Imagine someone rushing through a
storyboard where they need to have a
character leave his cabin and walk to Jelly
Cabin. Where is it? In which direction does
he walk? Which direction is the lake? Is
there a dock he can jump off? What does the
tree he just walked past look like? If a killer
squirrel attacks him, what will his reaction
look like? If this artist makes all of these
decisions by him or herself, the result will
surely be different from the board done by
the artist in the next office, who’s wrestling
with similar problems. They may seem like
small details, but cumulatively they make
a big difference to how the viewer’s mind
© Cartoon Network
perceives consistency. Plus, the storyboard

artist and director have enough on their
plates trying to bring the story and gags to
life—they shouldn’t have to guess at the
particulars. It’s important to leave the fewest
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Raj’s Phonograph&&
Rajs Phonograph
Record Collection in a
Boat Bookshelf
176
© Cartoon Network
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Full designs and floor

plans of the Jelly Bean
Cabin, Lumpus’s Cabin,
and the Mess Hall,
including the location of
every piece of furniture.
© Cartoon Network
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Series Production
© Cartoon Network
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© Cartoon Network
178
number of questions unanswered by the time production starts, because after that,
there will be a million more questions to answer. Consistency is the key, so make
sure everyone is on the same page.
I have worked with people who came to television from feature-film animation
who talked about the pace of working in that medium. There they could sit for
hours, days, and weeks discussing and rehashing one gag and re-boarding it again
and again. Although much about that pace I find very appealing, there is such a
great rush to be had while making one hundred decisions a day and not having the
luxury to question whether they are right or wrong because there is no time. We
have to shoot from the hip and trust our gut. Do we make mistakes? Sure! But my
adage is, “If you don’t strike out a few times, you’re not swinging enough.”
© Cartoon Network
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© Cartoon Network
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Series Production
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179
Tracking a Whole Episode

As discussed at length in chapter 7, there is a big difference between producing one
episode and producing fifty. Think about having eight different episodes going at
the same time, all at different stages—it can be overwhelming! So in this section, I’ll
track just one from start to finish, focusing more on adapting the creative process
to a high-volume assembly line.
Premise
Every episode starts out as an idea, the raindrop that starts the stream. Sometimes
the writers and I would go off-site for a change of scenery to drum up new ideas.
We would all try and come into the writing room with kernels of ideas, such as
“Edward gets caught playing with a doll.” We already knew the characters, who
180 they were, and where they lived; then it was a matter of discovering the main idea
or conflict that would become the episode’s premise.
Outline
If we thought the premise was working, we would start to write an outline, or a
“story beat sheet.” We tried to keep it to a few pages, mapping out the three-act
structure in a simple A, B, C format. For a script-driven show, this is where the
script would be written. We would keep working the story outline until we cracked
it; sometimes this process would go on for weeks, with various outlines in different
stages. If a premise was not “gelling,” we would send it to the “Crock Pot” to simmer
and work on another one. Some of those premises made it out of the Crock Pot, but
most did not. When we believed we had a solid story in the outline, we would send
it off to the network for approval.
Storyboard
Next we handed the approved outline to the best storyboard team for the job.
They all had different strengths, so we would try to make the story a good match.
A storyboard team consisted of a storyboard director (who also boarded) and a
storyboard artist (I preferred having two on a team because they always tried to
outdo each other!). After a week, we would cautiously open the door and hope by
then they had thumbnail drawings of the rough board showing the direction in
which they wanted to take it. The outline showed that point A needed to connect
to point B, but it was up to the artists to figure out how to get there, and to do
it in a funny way. Sometimes they wanted to stray from the outline, and if Mark
and I felt their way was stronger, we would give them the go-ahead. After another
week, a rough storyboard would emerge. After Mark and I approved or reworked
it, the board would get pitched to the crew by either tacking it to the wall or
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giving it a table read (in often theatrical fashion). The crew pitch was important
for several reasons:
• We could gauge a response to certain gags. (Did they laugh?)

• It got the storyboard teams out of their rooms so they could perform.
• It gave the rest of the crew a heads-up on what was coming down the pike,
so they could start thinking about the story and whether they needed to
design an important prop for it.
• If there was a new background or dozens of new props to create to support
a gag or story point, we would weigh the importance of that gag or story
point against the work it was going to create for the crew. If the story line
wasn’t worth it, I would toss it out.
If the storyboard team survived the pitch, they would get assigned an assistant and
spend two weeks cleaning up and finalizing the board. If there were new characters
or locations, we tried to design them during this time so they could be used in the 181
board. Finally, a finished storyboard would get plopped on my desk and my co-
Series Production
producer’s, and we would go through it with a fine-tooth comb, tweak it, and edit it
some more. Then we would send it off to the network for approval and usually get
only minor notes in return. (Or we’d get notes from the legal department, such as
“You can’t use Hairy Bob’s Bait and Tackle shop as a name because there’s a ‘Bob’s
Bait and Tackle Shop’ in Lake Blister, South Dakota, owned by a guy named Bob
who’s a little hairy.”)
Voice Recording
The dialogue from that finished storyboard would then be transferred to a script,
and a casting sheet made showing which characters would appear, thereby
determining which actors needed to be called in for that recording session. We
recorded on the same day every week, so the regular actors knew there was a good
chance they were working that day. I preferred to record “ensemble” whenever I
could, with all the actors in the room at the same time working together to perform
the show. Although it made for a lot of chatting between takes, it helped them draw
energy from each other’s reads, which I think improved their acting. Both Mark and
I were usually directing the recording, unless we had a scheduling conflict.
Animatic
While the voices were being recorded, the storyboard was getting scanned so
that the panels could be imported into a computer program to make the animatic.
An animatic would then be designed to combine the storyboard art and the
dialogue tracks, so we had a rough idea how the episode was going to play out. The
animation director (who was also the timing director) would then sit down with
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This is a mouth chart for

Commander Hoo Ha from
Camp Lazlo.
182
© Cartoon Network
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I would often direct

Rocko’s Modern Life voice
recordings from inside the
booth, next to the actors.
183
the animatic editor and spend a week getting the animatic ready for me to review.
Series Production
If the episode was running too long, we did our editing at this stage, before doing
costly animation. If for some reason the animatic was showing us flaws in the story,
we could make changes, sometimes creating new drawings or recording new lines,
to fix them.
Sheets
As discussed in chapter 7, the animation director and a sheet timer produce timing
sheets for each episode using the animatic as a guide. When I set up my staff,
I would have four storyboard teams on rotation and four animation directors, to
whom the storyboard director would hand off the storyboard. I would have two
floating sheet timers alternating between animation directors. Before the sheet
timers would do their job, a track reader would assign a mouth position to the
sheets with the appropriate timing so that the dialogue would be in sync, making
the character appear as though it were talking.
Art Direction
In series production, we have the advantages of reusing a set location as well
as recurring characters. A set collection of background layouts are given to the
storyboard teams with the hope of incorporating these previously designed
elements into the board. This saves the art director a lot of time when the
volume of episodes is overwhelming the department. We tried our best to reuse
key backgrounds, but the art director and staff were always busy designing new
elements as well. Another time saver was waiting until the animatic was edited
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Here’s an example of how a

penciled background layout
(right) gets transferred to a
color painting (facing page).
These are of the exterior
of Scoutmaster Lumpus’s
cabin in Camp Lazlo, 2004.
© Cartoon Network
184
and a new board conformed (removing the edited scenes) before we figured out
what was needed in the form of art direction. This eliminated unnecessary work
on elements that would be cut out of the board. Once my art director had a
final board, she would sit down with the storyboard director to figure out what
props, characters, and new backgrounds were needed, and whether the board was
properly labeled “day” or “night.” Sometimes a character wore something different

than their standard clothes—like a hula skirt—and this meant a new costume had
to be designed, cleaned up, and colored.
After prop, character, and background designs were drawn, the props and
characters were scanned and cleaned up digitally, then moved down the pipeline
Computers were used for

both color key and cleanup
on Camp Lazlo.
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© Cartoon Network
185
to the color-styling department, where they were colored on the computer. The
Series Production
background designs were handed off to the background painters. Only background
keys, which were guides to help the overseas painters to paint production
backgrounds, were done in our studio. Once the designs, backgrounds, and color
models were finished, the art director would create what is called a “lead sheet” for
the overseas animation studio, detailing which prop or background was to be used
for each scene. Each background key, prop, or character design was given a number
to correspond to the scene it was intended for. These numbers and art were logged
by the overseas studio so we could reuse them if needed simply by referring to the
number.
On Rocko’s Modern Life, the art director and painters were also in charge of
producing the beautiful title cards we used at the start of each episode. These
cards were often designed with input from the storyboard director and were
masterpieces in and of themselves. They were even featured in their own Rocko
calendar in 1995. We were not able to retain the title cards for Camp Lazlo due to
time and budget constraints, but the Rocko cards remain treasured jewels.
Shipping and Overseas Animation

As we discussed in chapter 7, all the final ingredients are put into a box and shipped
off to the animation studio. It’s kind of like putting the cake in the oven and setting
the timer for sixteen weeks. Except there was no sitting around, smelling the baked
goods and waiting for the timer to go off, because another box shipped a week
or two later, and then another a week or two after that, so the assembly line was
always busy. Often, the day we shipped one show, a show we had sent sixteen
weeks earlier would come back. On both Rocko and Lazlo, the animation was done
traditionally, with pencil on paper. For Rocko, the drawings were transferred to
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© Cartoon Network
186
I always felt the trees in cel, painted, filmed, and sent back. For Lazlo, each drawing was scanned, inserted
Camp Lazlo backgrounds
into an animation program, colored digitally, and shipped or emailed back via an
were a beautiful sight.
Some were placed on ftp server. Some productions are now using Adobe Flash, which can sidestep the
an overlay, like these,
overseas studio experience, but drawing is still mandatory.

to allow for a pan with
depth.
Retakes and Editing

The retake and editing process was the same as it had been on the pilot ( see page
148) , except in this case it was done in a high-volume environment. That meant
© nickelodeon
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that in any given week, you might be calling retakes, editing, and locking three
different episodes.
Sound Effects and Music

Optimally, you will have already set up your style and methods for sound effects
and music during the pilot stage. In series production, this is a fast process, with
little time for pondering choices. After the show is locked, a copy is sent to the
sound editor and music editor (sometimes within hours). I would spot the show
with the sound editor, and then he would run off to his secret sound lab to put all
of the ingredients together. He would come back to play everything for me, I would
make any changes, and then it was ready for the mix.
While the sound editor was working, I was making music-spotting notes for
my sound music editor or my music composer. For Pat Irwin, my composer on
187
Rocko, I would send my notes and he would send back scratch tracks for approval.
Series Production
Then he would record them with a live band in New York and supply final tapes in
time to plug them into the mix. On Lazlo, we used prerecorded tracks. The music
editor Nick Carr would pull cues from this library and others, as well as record
original tracks, to create the score. I would sometimes make changes, but more
often I just kicked back, listened, and laughed.
Mix
As I mentioned in the previous chapter, the mix is where you combine the picture
with music, sound effects, and dialogue. We always did something at the end of
Two amazing examples

of Rocko’s Modern Life
title cards, one from the
episode “The High Five of
Doom” (written because
I forbade characters to
high-five each other in
my shows) and from the
© nickelodeon
Halloween episode “Sugar

Frosted Frights,” which
showed how the over-
consumption of sugar can
lead to monstrous results.
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each mix that cracked me up: After listening to the playback through amazing,
high-tech speakers, the real test came by playing the same mix through an old
television. This is the equivalent of a stage actor playing to the back row. The test of
playing back the mix through the TV ensures that even the worst audio system will
be able to deliver your story and your gags.
Final Delivery
Once we had the final mix and the locked picture, we slapped the opening titles
onto the front and the all-important credits onto the back and sent if off to the
network. Sometimes on Rocko, we were still mixing and editing an episode on
Friday that was meant to air that following Sunday. Then, through the magic of
cable satellites, the cartoon appeared on your TV . . . which hopefully caused you
188 to convulse with laughter.

Licensing, Press, and Other

Mayhem
As if producing the show were not enough, merchandising, public relations,

and dealing with the press are other aspects of having a show that will demand
your attention. For me, Rocko’s Modern Life had greater ancillary needs than
Camp Lazlo because it was riding the wave of the new Nicktoons’ popularity.
Meeting with the press in

Italy after Camp Lazlo won
three Pulcinella Awards.
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Although it never came close to the tidal wave of licensing that hit SpongeBob
SquarePants, we did our share: Rocko had its own comic book, calendar, greeting
cards, toys, and the like, all of which I tried to stay actively involved with
(down to redrawing art for the comic book and writing greetings inside the
cards). Lazlo was much more low key and didn’t need that much merchandising
attention. Likewise with press attention, Rocko had much more than Lazlo,
to the point where I decided to hire my own publicist just to deal with the
Nickelodeon publicist.
My advice to any show creator (other than to protect the time with your
family and friends) is to keep this “outside” stuff where it belongs: outside. Don’t
let other time demands distract you from your primary job, which is making a great
show. You will have to “play the game” to a certain extent—it’s part of the job to
participate in photo opportunities and create press packs for the launches—but
choose your battles. Because of ethical reservations, I would not participate in a
partnership Cartoon Network had formed with a fast-food chain that requested all
the network’s creators to appear in television commercials pushing the sponsor’s 189
“Happy Meals.” Although I had no say about how my character was merchandised,
Series Production
I did have a say in whether my image would be used in such a way.
Which brings us to another important point: A network or studio will rarely
give a creator final say on licensing decisions. They will give “consultation,” which
is a nice way of saying, “Thank you for your opinion, but we are making it this way
regardless.” I’m sure if you asked any group of show creators if they were totally
happy with the quality of the toys and other products derived from their show, you
would get an earful of stories. The bottom line is, the network owns the show, and
they profit the most from its acquisition. The quicker you make peace with that
fact, the easier you’ll sleep at night.
This shows a small

sampling of the Rocko’s
Modern Life merchandise
available in the 1990s.
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The Nipple Update and

Other Mayhem in the
Cartoon Factory
You can probably imagine that putting crazy
animation people together in close quarters to
create cartoons can lead to strange behav-
ior. It was our way of relieving stress.
A reporter who came through the
190 ROCKO’S MODERN LIFE production offices

described it as “walking into a pre-
school without supervision.” It was a

© nickelodeon
bit like that . . . except I was supposed

to be the supervisor. I like a relaxed at-
mosphere, and I’m proud that most people
who worked on my shows have said it’s the

most fun they’ve had working in the industry.
For ROCKO’S MODERN LIFE, we labored in small offices on Vine-

land Avenue in Studio City, not in the big Nickelodeon Studios. On
our floor we had an “all page” PA system that let anyone pick up
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the phone and make an announcement. This was used primar-

ily for comedic monologues as well as non sequitur pages. When
we were producing the episode with “Really Really Big Man” and
his “nipples of the future,” the network was balking at giving us
permission to discuss nipples. I would bounce around to different
executives, pleading our case, and then give a “Nipple Update”
over the PA system to the crew each day charting my progress. Of
course, when the network finally approved our psychotic request,
it was met by a big cheer.
Walking through the ROCKO offices, you were as likely to step

191
Series Production
over an artist’s kid on the floor coloring as to find Doug Lawrence
in bed on a fold-out couch, eating cereal in his pajamas (Doug
wore his pajamas to work quite often). Each afternoon at 4:00 P.M.
was time for headstands in the hall or crew members filming them-
selves as human bowling pins with a stop-motion video camera or
singing BRADY BUNCH songs for Tom Yasumi’s tape recorder. Practi-
cal jokes ranged from stolen chairs and phones to gym socks in
the coffee filter. Believe it or not, even with all these antics going
on, we still produced everything on schedule.
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Q &A sue mondt is an Emmy and Annie Award–

winning animation art director, painter, and color
stylist, whose work experience includes Walt Disney
Television and Cartoon Network. As a graduate of
with Sue Mondt Otis-Parsons College of Art and Design in Los Angeles,
she is also a noted illustrator, with her work appearing
in the Los Angeles Times and other publications. Her
most recent animation work can be seen on Camp
Lazlo, The Powerpuff Girls, and Foster’s Home for
Imaginary Friends.
art directed The Powerpuff Girls 10-Year Anniversary
Q: You were the art director for Camp

Lazlo (for which you won an Individual
Special and worked on various freelance projects.
Achievement Emmy), but you have also been a

background painter and color stylist in animation,
as well as an accomplished illustrator. Can you
give us a brief rundown of the shows you worked
Q: I’ve spoken a little about the
responsibilities of an art director (AD)
on and all the experience (including education) on an animated series—in essence, you’re the
that led you to art directing on Lazlo? conductor of an orchestra of specialized artists
that all need to come together to help tell the story

visually. Can you break down the list of jobs you
A: I graduated from Otis-Parsons in 1987.

For the next ten years, I worked as an il-
need to do as an AD on a show?
lustrator for editorial magazines, newspapers, re-

cord companies, and more. During that time, many
of my friends from college had started working in
animation. As time went on, I saw what fun animation
A: The most important job of an AD is to create
the mood and themes of the story through
color and design. During the development phase, I
was, and I decided to try to get a job in the field. My work with the creator on creating the color palettes,
first job was as a background painter on Nightmare designs, painting style, and the main model pack. I
Ned for Disney TV. I was hooked from the beginning. also use this time to hire the artists that will work with
When that show wrapped, I moved over to Hanna- me throughout the season. After development is com-
Barbera to paint backgrounds for Dexter’s Labora- plete, we begin to produce art for the individual epi-
tory. I stayed with that group of artists for the next sodes. I start the process by reading the storyboard
several years and worked on The Powerpuff Girls, and making design lists for all the art that we need
Whatever Happened to Robot Jones?, and Foster’s to create. I also meet with the storyboard director,
Home for Imaginary Friends. animation and timing directors, and of course, the
During the time I was working on Foster’s, I start- creator. We review any questions, go over important
ed thinking about art direction. I had worked under so story points, and resolve any loose ends. If there are
many talented ADs at that point and it seemed fun, so any new locations or special color needs, I will work
I started to look around for opportunities. Luckily for on paintings for those areas.
me, Camp Lazlo was a pilot at the time and I was able Next I give the artists their design lists and go
to meet with you, talk about the project, and eventually over any special instructions. Everything starts in
come on board. It was an amazing experience that I black and white. We have character, prop, and [Flash
will always be grateful for. Since Lazlo wrapped I’ve ActionScript] f/x designers, and background/layout
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designers. After the designs are completed and ap-

proved, the character, props, and f/x go to a cleanup
team. They also work in black and white, but they take Q: I feel many viewers don’t appreciate the
beauty of the color and background work
the rough designs and “clean them up” in the com- on a show. On Lazlo, we had traditional painters
puter. The layouts go to the background painters, so I actually painting with paint (a dying breed in
meet with them to review the color themes for each of animation). I have to say that one of the biggest
A:
the paintings they will be working on. After the paint- compliments I’ve received is about the beauty
ings and cleanups are complete, they go to the color of the look of the show. Other shows from the
stylist, who colors the characters, props, and f/x. This is Cartoon Network family that you worked on, like
the point at which everything comes together. I work The Powerpuff Girls, raised the bar for design and
with the color stylist to make sure all the elements we beauty in animation art. What are your thoughts
have created work to support and enhance the story. on that?
And finally, I do the lead sheets, which are scene-by-
scene instructions for the overseas studio. We get eight
A:
weeks for each episode to go though that process. But
Yes, I think that so many of the shows made at
here is the crazy part: The production schedule is
Cartoon Network are beautifully designed. I 193
staggered. Every week I get a new storyboard, which
feel lucky that I have been able to work on some of
means I am always working on eight episodes at the
them. And yes, I do agree they have raised the bar.
same time. That is why an art director is a crazy-busy
Regarding the viewers not appreciating the art, I think
person!
that the art in animation has a subliminal effect on the
viewer. They may not be aware of the beauty of the
artwork, but I think it’s part of the reason that they en-
joy the shows. In the design and painting areas of ani-
Q: It’s my opinion that the animation

industry is still too much of a “boys’ club,”
mation, we get most of our accolades from our peers,
and that’s fine with me!
with not enough women working in the creative
positions. What is your opinion on that, and how
Q:
was it, rising through the ranks of testosterone, to
Tell us about the importance of choosing
find your rightful place in the industry?
the right colors for characters. Is it
affected by their personality, or is it just a visual
A:
choice to go with the background and the look of
I agree—there are far too few women in ani-
the show?
mation, especially in the creator role. I’m not
sure why that is, but my own experience has been
A:
great. I’ve always felt included in the club and respect-
Ideally, it’s both. Colors can evoke feelings,
ed by everyone that I work with.
and characters have personalities. If you
have a good color scheme on a character that en-
hances its personality, then I think you have a more
successful character. But it’s also important for the
characters to read on the backgrounds while main-
taining an overall color harmony.
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do more art. But you are also right about breaking
Q: If a new creator of an animated series

wanted to have a great and fruitful
down the board and trying to interpret scribbles. It
ties into the same difficulty—spending time trying
working relationship with his or her art director, to figure out what is going on in a storyboard takes
what advice would you give that person? away from time we could be making the artwork.
A: I would say that communication and open

dialogue are the most important. Since an
art director creates the environment for the story to Q: What advice would you give anyone
(especially women) wanting to carve out
be told, the more information a creator can share, a creative career in animation?
the better opportunity he or she has to enhance and
develop the ideas. Plus, as I said earlier, animation is
A:
about collaboration, so the best results are achieved I would give the same advice to anyone
when everyone is communicating. wanting to get into animation, which is to
work on your craft. For painters, I call it “brush mile-
194 age.” Being an artist is like being a musician—it
takes practice, lots of practice! The more time you
Q: What is the biggest frustration of doing

your job? I know that trying to figure out
spend, the better you will be, and your portfolio will
reflect that. Also, try contacting some working artists
the scribbles of board artists (or sloppy creators) that you admire. Maybe they will review your port-
is a struggle. Are there others, like not having folio or give you suggestions on where you can im-
enough time? prove. Also, most studios have internship programs

for art students, which is a great way to meet work-
ing artists. And specifically for women, I would say,
A: Definitely, without a doubt, not having

enough time to do your job as well as you
don’t be intimidated by the overabundance of men
in the business. Just go for it!
would like is a big frustration. Television production
schedules are brutal. I always wish we had time to
© cartoon network
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u
Chapter
9
Network Relationships:
Saving Your Sanity 195
Network Relationships
“You just have to realize that the pendulum between art and
commerce will be constantly swinging every step of the way, and if
you’re not careful it will crack your skull.”
—Tom Warburton, creator of Codename: Kids Nextdoor
“The TV business is [like] a long plastic hallway where thieves and

pimps run free and good men die like dogs.”
—Hunter S. Thompson
I used to have this Hunter Thompson quote tacked up on my wall in the production
offices for Rocko’s Modern Life. I was going through a hard time making the
transition from independent animator to television series creator, and my attitude
was becoming dark and cynical. However, I soon realized you didn’t have
to “die like a dog” and that TV people were not all thieves. I’d
like to address some of those misconceptions and offer the
“sanity savers” I have learned over the years in this business,
especially by the time I was working on Camp Lazlo
(though some might say I was never sane in the
© Cartoon Network
first place . . . ). As in any business, there are

plenty of people working in television who
don’t function with honesty
and integrity. But that does
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© Nickelodeon
196
not mean that if you work with a network to air your show that you are making a
pact with the devil. However, if you believe that working in television will be like
working for the evil empire, then it will be a self-fulfilling prophesy. Sounds too
simple, but I believe it to be true. You could replace the word “television” with any
industry, and this observation would still hold true, because whatever you choose
to believe will eventually become reality. Your personal mindset and the way you
conduct your life define who you are. So let’s take a closer look at the possibilities
when working with a network or studio and define every player’s role.
The Role of the

Network Studio
As you hopefully learned in the “Dawn of TV Animation” section of chapter
1, television networks have long served as the conduit between a cartoon
and its audience. They have been the gatekeepers, making it possible for kids
everywhere, including me as a young boy sitting down in front of my 1960s
television set with a bowl of Rice Krispies, to watch our favorite cartoons.
The realities of the marketplace sometimes made predicting the tastes of
the cartoon fan challenging. But it was CBS, Fox, and new cable channels like
Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network that started pulling us out of animation’s
dark age. When the networks couldn’t find adequate programming offered by
other content providers, they started commissioning the cartoons themselves,
putting up millions of dollars to fund the visions of these crazy cartoon creators.
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(Nickelodeon invested more than twenty-five million dollars in Rocko’s Modern

Life alone, for which I am very grateful.)
Although the network may try to make you feel that they are doing you a
big favor by choosing to acquire your cartoon and put it into production, owning
your show could be a very lucrative business investment for them. In many cases,
in exchange for their investment in your project, the network, the parent company
(if they are different), and usually all its affiliates will gain the exclusive right to
use those characters in any way they can successfully exploit them. Beyond the
show’s initial run on TV (which can be infinite, if they so choose), the network
earns income from commercial sales, syndication (a huge business), DVD sales,
iTunes downloads, podcasts, books, and licensing deals for toys, products, and
music. They can take your property and make as many animated episodes as they
wish and air them as often as they wish, or—conversely—not make them at all (and
also prevent others from making them). They can also create feature films, video
games, comic books . . . you name it. Character properties are big business: For a
“breakout show” (one that features memorable and standout characters that can 197
be marketed separately), they can earn billions of dollars (yes, billions), and the
corporate powers that be all have a certain barometer for what makes a successful
show. I like to give Steve Hillenburg a hard time because SpongeBob SquarePants
raised the bar exceptionally high for how a breakout show is defined.
For every cartoon series that makes it, there may be five or ten that don’t.
Although most can at least earn back their investment, that is not what the
corporate brass wants—they want a moneymaking hit. That’s the hatchet that
hangs over the head of any executive in charge of making the decision to pick up a
show, or who holds the responsibility of making sure the show gains the expected
ratings. Keep this in mind when dealing with the executives in charge of your show:
Yes, they are representing the corporate side of the business, but cut them some
slack personally. They are frequently put in very difficult situations, such as being
the messengers of bad news. Ultimately, they’re trying to make a living and keep
their jobs just like everyone else.
Your Role with

the Network Studio
Your contract with a network or studio can stipulate various levels of your involvement
and input, depending on your status going in and how well your lawyer represents your
interests. Remember, there’s no such thing as a “standard” contract. Unless you bring
in some of your own cash or a financing partner, a large company will not give the
creator of a show final say on anything. I personally feel that the show idea itself has
huge monetary value and should be viewed as such when negotiating the deal, but
that’s another battle. Quite often, a contract will offer the creator “consultation” in
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some categories, which basically means they let you offer input (for instance, giving
feedback on a toy design) but then do what they want regardless (see the Rocko sidebar
on page 204). You will have the most input on the episodes themselves, but even
there, the network or studio reserves the right to reject story ideas and other creative
contributions if they don’t feel it fits their investment.
Keep a watchful eye on money matters. You may have signing bonuses and
acquisition fees (the money paid to buy your creative idea and property) coming
to you, and you should make sure you are being paid for all the hats you will wear
when producing the show. Under one arrangement, you may be paid by the week
or by the episode, with completion bonuses when the show airs. For the most part
(although not always) a network or studio will share the show’s profits with you,
as a percentage of income derived from the performance of the show. Sometimes
this sum will be paid after the initial investment has been recouped (net) or as a
separate pot gross (adjusted gross income). It’s more beneficial to the creator to
negotiate a deal based on gross income. Cable networks are still not in the habit of
198 handing out residuals to creators as the traditional networks are, and cable outlets
are still reluctant to share advertising revenue derived from the initial run of the
program; however, licensing and syndication rights are usually negotiable.

With all of that said, does it mean a network will stand over you holding a
big stick? For the most part, no; a network doesn’t want a strained relationship
with a creator of a show any more than you do. Just because they have final say
and are funding your show doesn’t mean you have to do whatever their agents
demand, no questions asked. That model doesn’t serve anyone’s interests. But I’m
also not suggesting you become an outright dissident. If you have entered into an
agreement with a network or studio to fully fund your show, a good first step is to
start making peace with the concept of their ownership. The Golden Rule applies
here—that is, the one holding the gold makes the rules!
In the end, it’s your vision, and the characters come from your imagination.
Even the network, with its financial interests, will want to support you and your
concept and make sure that remains the focus. So always stand behind your idea
and have a clear direction, and you’ll have an easier time bridging the gap between
your artistic expression and the realities of making a commercial cartoon series. If
you are on a crusade to do away with any commercial attachments to the art of the
animated cartoon, you need to take that to a different battlefield. I’m not judging
the worthiness of that battle, which I think has validity. In fact, I don’t always find
myself in alignment with the goals of the conglomerates that own my cartoons,
but you need to choose your battles, or find alternatives to getting your series out
there to your audience. The networks I’ve worked with always knew where I stood—
at times all too well. But I learned when to say my piece and when to move on to
the business at hand, which was making a cartoon both the network and I could be
proud of. I also learned some very important sanity savers, which I offer you here,
that kept me on track and focused through all the challenges.
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Sanity Savers
1 Research a network, studio, or other independent company before you
go into business with them.
Some people don’t think about this and are just happy to have someone interested
in their show. But if you move ahead, you are entering into a partnership with
them, placing your baby into their hands, as it were, and investing as much in them
as they are in you. Think about it: By the time a network or studio wants to move
forward with your idea, you have already done quite a lot of work without payment
(and likely spent plenty of your own money). There is a tangible value to your
show idea and the characters. If a network owns your show, you have to accept
their marketing department, licensing department, legal department, distribution
strategy, and much more. I found out firsthand that a network can enter into a
merchandising agreement without your knowledge that can directly affect your
royalties. So ask a lot of questions of anyone who expresses an interest in your work 199
to make sure they will be the proper stewards of your project. The more you know
who they are, the more you can make an educated decision. What is their overall
philosophy? Where do they expect to be five years down the road? What age-group
are they targeting? What drives their merchandising decisions? Will they release
a DVD of your show? How long have the key people been in their positions? Do
as much research as you can. It will save you unpleasant surprises and heartbreak
down the road. If you decide to move forward, do it with your eyes open.
2 You both have the same goal: to make the best show possible! Approach as
much of the process from that perspective as you can.
Sometimes there will be friction between you and the network

executives, but friction polishes stone. Sometimes if you’re
both pushing for the same goal but from different angles, it
can make the show better in the long run. Try to stay focused
on the same agenda even if you have different methods of
getting there.
3 There will be rules. Television itself has rules. Standards

and practices and the legal department of a network all
have rules. It’s okay to challenge them, but again, pick
your battles. Like Jerry Seinfeld used to say, “It’s all a
© cartoon network
game. What good is a game without any rules?”
Quite often a network will step in with many variations on

the same theme: “This or that isn’t working for us/We can’t
say that on the show/We can’t take that action.” They even
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may offer a solution or two. You don’t necessarily have to adopt their solution,
or argue about it, but you should at least try to understand the problem. Listen to
the objections with an open mind. While doing that, find your own solutions that
acknowledge their conflict and solve the problem while maintaining your vision of
the show and its characters. Sometimes working through a problem can actually
make for a funnier situation or gag.
4 A network or studio is not in the business of handing out art grants; they
are in the business of making money for their parent company and/or the
parent company’s stockholders.
As I said earlier, the network is looking to your project as an investment, so you need to
frame your artistic needs within the language of business. There are executives whose
sole job is to make sure the monetary investment remains as low as possible in order to
minimize risk; he or she usually signs off on all expenses. There is often another executive
200 who is in charge of making sure the show recoups the money spent on it; he or she is
often the one looking at the TV ratings and wondering how they can be boosted. The
magic formula remains the agenda: Make as much money as you can while spending
as little as possible. Sounds logical . . . except when you are so passionate about your
idea that the veins in your neck bulge at the slightest interference or disagreement.
Sometimes the two parts of the magic formula work against each other, but that is the
nature of the game. I don’t mean to be cynical; after all, there are plenty of folks within
the networks and studios who are big fans of cartoons, but they too have to grit their
teeth at times because they know what fuels the machine of TV production.
In my opinion, if you place yourself in the shoes of these executives while
acknowledging their concerns, you will be in a better position to communicate with
them while standing behind your interests, and ultimately, finding a solution to
most problems or hurdles. It’s all about creating win-win solutions.
5 Television is a rough canvas. Understand that from the start, and you will be
able to use the medium’s texture to your advantage.
Let’s say you are about to create a painting, and you have a vision of it as a
beautiful, smooth, flawless oil painting. Then you attempt to paint it on the bark
of an old oak tree. You probably won’t be happy with the results. In fact, you’ll
probably be so frustrated that you start throwing fits and threatening to give up
painting altogether. Now let’s say you are given the bark of an old oak tree on
which to make a painting. You look at it for what it is and envision a painting that
will take the materials into consideration in the final product. You know that the
imperfections of the wood may offer some artistic surprises you couldn’t have
imagined. Suddenly you are more at peace with the process.
These are two different approaches to painting on the same material. An
animated television series can be like painting on very rough tree bark. Look at all
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the production challenges—from the high-volume assembly-line environment to

the network relationship—as part of the project as a whole.
6 In many respects, a network is like a client. As an added bonus to achieving

your own artistic expression, you are providing a service to them and
become an important part of their team in achieving their goals.
Once I realized that it was up to me to provide the network with the product
they needed to be successful in the marketplace, this perspective greatly helped
maintain my sanity. It’s liberating to know that as long as you keep up the funny,
entertaining part of the bargain, the network will keep up their part. Ideally, your
research will have assured you that they will keep up their end of the bargain, at
least enough to minimize your anxiety.
I remember a trip I took to the Cartoon Network offices in Atlanta while we
were producing Camp Lazlo. I sat down with the people there and said,“Okay, what
do we need to do to knock the competition out of the way? What can I do to help?” 201
Many of them were shocked; they were used to being viewed by creative people as
the enemy. It really helps to realize that you are all on the same team. If your show
does well, it helps other shows and the art form of animation as a whole. If the
network does well showing animation, it provides jobs and outlets for other artists.
A note to the networks (if you’re listening): It can only help for you to look at
the creative people behind your animated shows with respect, as part of the team,
and not as expendable machines. Not everyone thinks that way, but for the ones
who do, you know who you are.
7 Don’t take corporate politics personally. That goes for any changes in policy
or personnel at the corporate level that may affect you but that is out of
your control.
Even if you did your homework on a particular company before you went into
business with them, sometimes things happen that really suck, things you couldn’t
foresee. Do not take it personally if the network you first partnered with is not
the same network a year or two down the road. Things happen. Executives at the
top move around, resign, and get promoted. Agendas and goals may change. The
parent company or stockholders may start putting on the heat in areas they hadn’t
put pressure on or even noticed before. You or your show may be affected by these
changes, but remember—nobody is doing anything to you personally. You are an
artist, hopefully with a good head for business—not a victim. They are a big business
that sometimes changes as fast as the wind, or sometimes moves as slow as a glacier.
Be flexible. And if certain changes are so great that you feel that you can no longer
deal with the situation, potentially you need to make an honorable exit. Just do the
best you can do under the circumstances. To paraphrase a self-help maxim, recognize
the things you can and can’t change, and have the wisdom to know the difference.
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8 Have a backbone, but know how and when to pick your battles.
Did I say battles? I meant differences of opinion. Choose the right time to defend
your position, and know when to let it go. If not, you may end up winning the
battles but losing the war, meaning cancellation, or worse—a bad show! Sometimes
fighting small fires can divert your attention while the whole forest burns down.
If I honestly felt that having your own show on television was the quickest way to
a life of misery, I would never write a book recommending it or offer ways to go about
doing it. That said, if you don’t go about it properly, it can be miserable. Don’t let the
nature of the business get you down. Networks and studios are composed of people
trying to do their jobs well, just like you, so keep the lines of communication open, state
your needs, and understand theirs. Set your goals, and then ask yourself: How is this
show fitting into my goals? How am I conducting my affairs? Am I keeping my side of
the street clean? In place of the Hunter S. Thompson quote that started this chapter,
consider this one, by Mahatma Gandhi: “Be the change you wish to see in the world.”
202 This will go a long way toward your reaching for the light as opposed to cursing the
darkness.
© nickelodeon
202
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A Funny Rocko Story

Involving Networks
When we did ROCKO’S MODERN LIFE, it was important to me
to protect my crew. I didn’t want them being affected by
corporate interactions and demands—it was my
job to deal with that stuff. When we moved to
our new building, I liked to limit how often net-
work executives roamed among the creatives. To
the executives I often portrayed the ROCKO crew 203
© nickelodeon
as a gang of desperados, not the types they would
want to be around anyway. It was, after all, the
Wild West of the 1990s animation era.
One day, a high-ranking Viacom/Nickelodeon executive came to
town from New York and wanted to take a tour of the Rocko pro-
duction offices. So, as usual, I accommodated him. The office doors of
the various storyboard teams were often closed so that they would
have the quiet they needed to do their maniacal work. I would knock,
enter, and then introduce the various members of the crew to the
executives. When we entered the office of one of our well-known
directors, he stood up from his desk to shake the executive’s hand,
revealing an old Western-style six-shooter in a holster strapped
to his waist. I didn’t notice it at the time, but when we came out of
the office, the executive was visibly shaken. He pulled me aside and
whispered to me, so as not to upset any of the production crew mill-
ing about, “That last director, in that office? He . . . he had a gun.”
I casually turned and kept walking, saying, “Yeah, sometimes things
get crazy around here. They have to defend themselves, you know.”
I don’t think that executive ever came back to our offices again.
Upon further investigation, I found out that the director brought the
unloaded piece for show-and-tell with his fellow storyboarder. The
ROCKO offices were home to a few legends like that.
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A Not-So-Funny Rocko
Story Involving Networks
When I originally designed Rocko, he was an eye-
popping lemon yellow. Very appealing, I thought.
So did Nickelodeon, so I produced the pilot with
that color scheme. When we started producing
© nickelodeon
the series episodes, however, the newly formed

Nickelodeon licensing division was hard at work
trying to sell Rocko to toy companies before
204 anyone knew who he was (I don’t fault them for
this, and we were all inexperienced at the time). They approached a
well-known plush-toy company to do a soft, fuzzy stuffed Rocko. The

company told Nickelodeon they were interested, but that they already
had a property that was yellow and looked similar to Rocko’s design.
They offered to carry the Rocko line, but only if we changed his
color. When the network first mentioned this to me, I thought it was
absurd to even consider, as they had told me earlier that these car-
toons were not “toy driven.” They tried to convince me to go along
with it, but I was I strongly opposed. I vowed to take it to the high-
est court—after all, the whole look of the show was designed around
Rocko sporting yellow, so changing that would mean changing ev-
erything. I fought and fought, until it came down to sending off the
first episode to Korea. Did we have them color Rocko yellow or some
other color? I sat in an office in LA with a high-ranking executive
on speakerphone from the New York Viacom offices as they pulled
rank, insisting that Rocko’s appearance needed to be changed. I was
crushed, but knew I needed to come to terms with who really owned
Rocko. It was no longer me.
The very sad ending to this story is that after we changed the
color to a—cough, hack—golden-brownish-beige (which I hate to this
day) and produced all the episodes that way, the big toy company
pulled out of its agreement to produce a Rocko toy line. In the end,
the big color change had been for nothing.
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u
Chapter
10
Thinking Outside the
Box: Getting Your
Series Out There 205
Thinking Outside the Box

Without a Network
or Studio
“Today, with a great idea, some neat camerawork or animation, and
a copy of Final Cut Pro, a really talented creative person can become
a global star.”
—Dan Hawes, President of March Entertainment
“When it comes to achieving your goals, there is no lack of resources,

only lack of resourcefulness.”
—Tony Robbins, inspirational author and speaker
There are many reasons why you may want to look outside the box—that is, the
television box—for alternative models to getting your animated series to its
intended audience. Although following the traditional route with a network or
studio has many upsides, there are also many reasons it may not be the best fit
for you. Maybe you’ve been thinking beyond network TV from the get-go because
you don’t click with that business model or the perceived ethics compromises of
television; or maybe your idea doesn’t fit in with the TV medium. The good news
is that there are alternatives. I’ll explore them in this chapter, offering as much
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information as is current at the time of this writing on the various models and
staking signposts to some of the paths not yet well traveled.
To begin, let’s sidestep animation for a moment and take a look at your
characters and series concept. Just like the syndicate editor who suggested that
a comic strip was not the best vehicle for my characters, I would propose that
your characters might want to start out in comic books, children’s books, or toys
instead of animation. Character properties are big business. San Rio, the company
behind Hello Kitty, built a whole empire around characters that never had a show
or book to begin with, only cool designs. It was the same with Paul Frank, the Ugly
Dolls, and David and Goliath properties. If you take existing characters and make
them come alive by building a series around them, then you have a franchise.
Many children’s books have built a following first, then ventured into film or TV
production, as have such comic strips as Dilbert and Over The Hedge. This approach
has many benefits, but a big one is that, if the deal is done right, you can retain
ownership of the property. The first Wallace and Gromit installment was actually
206 a student film project by Nick Park, which was picked up by Aardman Animations
and later by the BBC. The fact that it started as an independent film helped Park and
Aardman retain greater ownership of the characters when they entered into a deal
with Dreamworks to create a feature-length film.
I’m going to assume that, since you bought this book, your heart lies in
animation, and that’s where you want your characters to live, particularly in the
larger market of television. So, why haven’t you broken through just yet? One of
the most common reasons is that the networks feel your work lacks mainstream
appeal to the broadest demographic audience. Does that mean that your idea
From my Web series Le

Family Pop, starring the
voice of Tom Kenny.
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doesn’t have an audience, or that you don’t have something vital to share? Of
course not! Television is currently going through many changes, mostly as it adapts
to the realities of its biggest competitor—the Internet. Just like when everyone
thought television would ring the death knell of the movies, some “prophets” are
touting the demise of TV. I don’t subscribe to that gloomy prediction and instead
choose to believe that, just as movies and television managed to coexist, so too
can television, movies, and the Internet. One thing is for sure, however: The film
industry had to get used to the reality that it was no longer the sole star-making
medium, and the television industry has to accept the same reality and share the
stage with the Internet.
The Internet is one alternative approach, but there are several others. But
to pursue them is to step off the well-beaten path and forge some less explored,
riskier trails. If you believe this is your destiny in life, and you don’t want to give up
on the great characters and the series idea you created, then press on.
207
Are You a Maverick?

“One does not
discover new
If you are a maverick, you are in good company. Many great names have achieved
lands without
success by not taking “no” for an answer. Did you know that Jim Henson’s The
consenting to
Muppet Show was rejected by both CBS and ABC before he decided to venture lose sight of the
into the uncharted waters of “made for syndication” television in 1976? What shore for a very
followed was greater financial success and longevity than what he could have long time.”
derived from a network deal. Consider John Lasseter, who got fired from Disney
—Andre Gide
Studios and then moved on to a small upstart company named Pixar. Now he’s
not only Chief Creative Officer at one of the most successful feature-film studios
in history, but also heads Walt Disney Animation Studios, since Disney purchased
Pixar in 2006. C. S. Lewis, the author of The Chronicles of Narnia, was rejected over
eight hundred times before he found success as a novelist. And perhaps the most
popular rejection story of the past decade is J. K. Rowling, whose first Harry Potter
book was rejected twelve times before a publisher reluctantly gave her a three-
thousand-dollar advance, along with a dire prediction that there was no money in
children’s literature. Now, thanks to her determination to bring the magical world
of Hogwarts to life, she has become the twelfth wealthiest woman in Britain and
the Harry Potter books have sold more than four hundred million copies, not to
mention achieving the highest level of success as a major motion picture franchise.
Many of these highly successful artists could be considered mavericks.
So what does a maverick do? He or she usually believes so fervently in his
or her ideas that the strength of that energy overcomes all obstacles. He or she
often stands alone in the belief that they offer something of value, especially after
countless rejections and negative feedback, even from peers. One such figure is
George Lucas, who was told by many that Star Wars would be a failure. Often,
rejection by those holding the purse strings can be the most potentially damaging,
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as creatives are apt to take this to heart and don’t realize how much power they
themselves actually hold. The people with the money may think they have all the
power, but money alone cannot create a successful cartoon (or film, or novel, or
comedy series . . . ).
As niche markets expand, more portals are opening, particularly via the Internet;
these venues offer animators and cartoon creators a direct link to their audience.
Independent projects that have been rejected by a larger distributor can get exposure
via the Internet and thus begin making financial sense to a smaller company. Film
festivals are also on the rise, offering opportunities for animated feature-length and
short films to reach a wider audience. For example, the 2007 alternative animated film
Persepolis—done mostly in black and white and politically oriented—was taken from
the festival circuit and launched in the mainstream, where it gained critical success and
now shares shelf space at Blockbuster with Pixar/Disney films. As Dan Hawes says in
his Q & A on page 215, “with the teardown of this infrastructure, the gatekeepers are
having their value-added belief system challenged.”
208
The Internet
During the dot-com boom in the late 1990s, there was a lot of talk about the Internet
drawing neck-and-neck with television in its entertainment delivery capabilities. Many

millions of dollars were invested, but the technology was not quite up to the task. By
around 2005, however, the number of households with high-speed Internet access
had grown rapidly, enabling bigger, faster downloads and a rise in the accessibility
of video streaming; these advances made online videos vastly more watchable and
less frustrating to view. As a result, sites such as YouTube became the go-to source
for new and recycled video content, and online viewership began blasting television
numbers out of the water. Mondo Media (a YouTube-branded channel partner)
boasts more than thirty million views per month across all platforms (making it the
fifth most viewed YouTube channel partner). According to the Mondo Media website,
its animated series Happy Tree Friends has topped five hundred million views, sold
over a million DVDs, and remains one of the most popular podcast downloads on
iTunes. Worldwide merchandising sales for Happy Tree Friends are also skyrocketing.
In 2007, the website Hulu was created to offer advertising-supported
streaming video of television shows; the site was funded by NBC, Universal, Fox,
and ABC Disney, all of whom recognized and wanted to capitalize on the powerful
reach of the Internet. In the fall of 2008, Seth McFarlane, creator of Family Guy,
launched www.sethcomedy.com, offering one- to two-minute cartoon shorts made
for the Web called “Seth McFarlane’s Cavalcade of Cartoon Comedy.” The launch of
these shorts, released through YouTube, achieved more than three million views in
three days, which is astonishing (although it does help to be the creator of a very
successful series on Fox!).
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My new Web cartoon Frog

in a Suit, starring Pete
Moss.
© Joe Murray Studio Inc.

209

How Do I Make Money
from the Internet If I’m Not
Seth McFarlane?
It is possible to achieve success on the Internet even if you have little name
recognition. First, your idea and characters need to be so breakout and original
that they scream out from the monitor and attract droves of viewers. Sometimes
when artists are looking to attract a network buyer, they don’t push the riskier
examples of their craft. This is the time to push them, though, because as Picasso
said, “You’ve got to give them images that they don’t accept.” Video cartoons
on the Internet offer a blank canvas without the interfering hand of network
executives. Have fun with it! Web cartoons gain audience mostly through word
of mouth, or the number of times they’re forwarded—in other words, they need
to go viral to really take off, passed one from viewer to the next with the subject
line, “You’ve got to check out this cartoon!” They don’t usually have the benefit of
a television marketing blitz of billboards and commercials to push their premiere,
so the eyeballs need to be glued there from the get-go. And of course, the show
has to be high-quality, because attracting a wide audience is the core reason your
show will generate income.
Building a presence with a Web cartoon can offer some short-term debt
relief, but the biggest returns are potentially long term. A large audience can
offer wide exposure, which can result in merchandise sales, DVD sales, and
iTunes downloads—and maybe even a television contract. The current short-
term moneymaking model is much the same as it is on TV: via advertising. Most
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commercial online video content is tied in with advertising. Quite simply, the more
times your video is watched, the more money it makes. In network television, when
an advertising salesperson sells a thirty-second spot on Camp Lazlo, for instance,
he or she essentially has to guarantee how many eyes will watch that commercial.
If 3.5 million viewers don’t all tune in to Cartoon Network at that time, they have
to do a “make good” back to the client or business that bought the ad, because
the ratings aren’t available until a few days following the air date (a “make good”
is a kind of refund, often in the form of free commercial time). On the Internet, a
video does not make money until after someone watches it. Although a big site
like Hulu can offer alluring contracts to various properties that will lend prestige
to its library, most new Web cartoons won’t have that luxury. (But it’s always good
to try!) Seth McFarlane’s exclusive Web cartoon, Cavalcade of Cartoon Comedy, is
sponsored by Priceline, for instance.
Although you could try to find your own sponsor for your show, most
animators will need to rely on outsourcing of ad sales and distribution. How
210 does that work? Right now, through YouTube and Google AdSense, you can
essentially become your own cartoon network, without the executives and
fancy lobby. With Google’s AdSense, if you embed your Web cartoon into your
website, you can host ads placed there by Google and make money through
click-through advertising. Thus, if a viewer goes to your site to watch your
cartoon and clicks on an ad, you’ll receive a small fee. The viewer does not have
to buy anything but simply click on an image to find out more information.
Google will automatically try to tailor the ad it places to the content of your site.
Another method that is more targeted to video content is through YouTube’s
Partner Program. Basically, YouTube (which is owned by Google) will go into
partnership with you to target advertising to the viewers of your cartoon. Much
like AdSense, the program will place a short video commercial tailored to your
demographic at the beginning of your cartoon, and you will generate income
based on how many times someone watches your cartoon. No one needs to
click on anything; they just have to watch the ad. So if a cartoon gets a hundred
hits, its creator gets paid for a hundred views of that commercial. If it gets a
million hits, well, you’ve upped your income substantially. The YouTube Partner
Program does have qualification guidelines, and you don’t have much control
over what gets advertised before your cartoon, but it will put money in your
pocket if you successfully bring in an audience. It’s up to you to market and
push your cartoon, though; your core idea, characters, and entertainment value
will substantially determine the viewership, marketing, and support of your
property. You may also want to investigate other forms of syndication in Web
formats, because different platforms for this are available around the world.
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How Do I Create My Web

Cartoon Without the Benefit
of a Studio?
If you have followed my advice in creating the characters and idea for your series,
then I can guide you a bit in creating your own small animation studio that can bring
those characters to life. Start out small initially. As your cartoon becomes more
popular, you can add staff and set up in fancier digs. First details come first. Most
Web cartoons are usually shorter than television cartoons. The theatrical shorts
were seven minutes; for TV we produced either twenty-two-minute episodes or
two eleven-minute episodes. In contrast, most Web cartoons are three to five
minutes long, so for these you may have to pare down the story structure (I think
eleven-minute Web cartoons are fine, but you might not need to start out there).
It’s easier now than ever to build what is, if not exactly your own animation
studio, then your own personal animation station. Several animation software 211
companies offer smaller, independent versions of their software, such as Toon

Boom Studio, which, for a reasonable price, gives you animation capabilities for
2-D: from digital drawing, audio tracks, and final publishing to QuickTime files
that are tailored to the Web. I prefer to animate in Adobe Flash CS4 Professional
with a Wacom Cintiq tablet (the kind where you can draw directly on the screen).
Flash has been successfully used in producing full-series television animation, like
Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends on Cartoon Network. I won’t go into too much
detail about working in Flash (there are several books that do that very well, listed
in the appendix on page 229), but I will briefly go over my process in this form of
animation.
Let’s say you have developed your characters and written a short episode. The
next step is to produce a storyboard, the way you would for a TV pilot, using scene
and panel numbers. Decide on your framing format: If you have the possibility of
transferring to TV later, a standard TV format is 4:3; widescreen and HD TV use
a 16:9 ratio. On the Internet and in digital output, pixels are the units of choice. I
like to work in a 720 × 480-pixel screen, which is an NTSC ratio (NTSC stands for
National Television System Committee, a U.S. broadcast-standardizing body). Do
some research on this subject before setting up your format.
After producing the storyboard and animatic, I usually add a scratch track
of voice dialogue with a microphone attached to an Mbox 2 and capture it in Pro
Tools. I then create dialogue tracks to input into Flash. You can record the final
tracks first, if you like. Maybe you could persuade a recording studio to record
your dialogue on the cheap, or build your own booth and ask your friends to come
over. (Personally, it helps when one of my friends is Tom Kenny, voice-over artist
extraordinaire.) I like to start with a scratch track because I end up changing sound
while I’m animating, and it saves money to record later.
Once you set up your background layouts and import your dialogue, you can
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You can begin animating

in Adobe Flash with little
equipment or training.
212
start animating. I like to work pose-to-pose, using key poses. Later, when you color
your cartoon, you can also add different hues to your backgrounds. I usually paint
my backgrounds, scan them in Photoshop, and then import them into Flash, but
backgrounds can also be drawn in Flash. When your animation is done, record the
dialogue, if you have not done so already. Then tweak the lip assignment. Next I
export my Flash animation to Adobe After Effects, for a few reasons: After Effects
can give you some cool camera moves (if you import in layers) and some special
effects, but it’s also needed to export into QuickTime files. Depending on the size
you are working in (my size of 720 × 480 is very heavy), Flash sometimes can’t
output QuickTime adequately without skipping frames. I then export my QuickTime
files (separated into scenes) into Final Cut Pro (or other editing software program
you’re comfortable with). I use Pro Tools to bring in sound effects (here, too, a few
different audio programs are available). I happen to have a library of sound effects
from my sound designers, but I also have the full Hanna-Barbera and Warner Bros.
libraries, which are available for sale to anyone. There are also several websites
where you can download just about anything for a small fee. Royalty-free music is
available as well, but please take precautions here: If you are placing any cartoon
on the Web and earning money, or selling it to a TV market, make sure you secure
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all rights to any music and dialogue you use. It would be preferable for you or a
friend to write original music for your cartoon, but if not, you can buy preexisting
royalty-free music. Remember, you cannot plug a song by the rock band Coldplay
into your cartoon and sell it professionally without the risk of getting sued. The
same holds true if you plug in any live-action or pre-existing video. Neither can you
cover a Coldplay song on your guitar for the soundtrack without first securing the
rights to do so. Be vigilant about copyright—ignoring it is not worth the risks.
It’s preferable to put out a new webisode every week, if possible. So if you
decide to pump up the frequency of your cartoons, then at some point you will
need help, and maybe even have to hire a staff. Eventually you may get some
funders interested in your property who will help it to take off; I have spoken
to many producers of Web cartoons who have been approached by television
networks after a series begins getting attention.
Let me also offer a prediction: I believe the melding of the Internet and
television will continue. The number of cable channels will keep increasing and
their formats breaking off into smaller and smaller niches, while the Web will grow 213
to include niche offerings from artists. As average viewers get more accustomed

to watching what they want, when they want to, they’ll get to a place where TV
channels will become website URLs and they can turn to the show creator’s
channel and log on or download the series and enjoy it at their leisure. Why not
be in a position of readiness with your own material when it’s time for viewers to
switch to your channel?
Global Syndication
Another avenue to consider is global syndication. This can be a little complicated
and tricky, but with so many hours of programming to fill for thousands of channels
around the world, everyone is always looking for good content. A way of breaking
into this market is to create a pilot on your own, or partner with someone to fund
it and make it, then go to conferences such as MIPCOM (in Cannes, France) that
deal with the worldwide syndication market and try to get orders for your show.
If you can get enough pre-sales to fund the episodes, you are in business. Often,
however, you may have to bring in other backers, who may want to invest with the
prospect of earning a return on ancillary merchandising of your story’s characters.
Look into different global distributors of cartoon products and query them on their
processes.
I know I make the process all sound easy, but it’s actually quite challenging,
with many hurdles. You would retain more ownership this way than with a network
deal, as well as more control, but you may be getting notes from several more
investors or coproduction entities than you would in a network deal.
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Film
As I mentioned in chapter 1, some animated series, like Mike Judge’s Beavis and
Butt-head, started as independent films. Craig McCracken’s The Powerpuff Girls
was originally a short independent film called Whoopass Stew! that appeared in the
Spike and Mike’s Festival of Animation before it went on to become a cornerstone
of the Cartoon Network. Every year hundreds of film festivals are held around the
world, as well as events like the international animation film festivals in Annecy,
France, and Ottawa, Canada. These venues play host to the top animated films and
the distributors who buy them. My independent films, which have been screened
at the Ottawa, Annecy, and Sundance festivals, were what sparked the interest of
the networks in creating my television series. And I should mention again that Nick
Park’s Wallace and Gromit was originally an animated student film that went on to
become a short series on the BBC, achieved enormous merchandising and DVD
214 sales success, and later became a major motion picture through Dreamworks.
Creating an independent animated film is much more feasible these days.
All the processes I mentioned can be transferred to a theatrical short, if you take
into consideration film ratio and resolution at the start of your project. Although
many festivals are accepting digital formats of your film to decide whether they
want to include it and/or enter it into festival competition, many will want a film
print of your piece for theatrical viewing as well. For this you will need to find a
company that transfers digital content to high-quality 35mm film or higher. This
can be a pricey option, so do your homework. Many festivals are starting to include
“made for Web” content in their categories, but many others will accept only films
made with theatrical intent. Find out ahead of time what each festival is looking for
before you submit your work.
Creating your own independent film is one of the most educational and
challenging creative endeavors you can embark on. Whichever path you travel in
order to bring your cartoon series to life can be a good one. The important thing is
believing in your heart that this cartoon has to be made and find its audience. Know
that I will be cheering you on in the process.
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Q&A DA N H AW E S is President and founder

of March Entertainment, an Ontario-based digital
entertainment company. Dan and his team produce
animated series, films, and games for TV, the Internet,
with Dan Hawes and mobile platforms. He is the co-creator of Chilly
Beach, Becoming Georgie, and a host of online shows
and games, as well as executive producer of March
Entertainment’s vast slate of content.
Q: Fill us in on the business of March

Entertainment and how it all came Q: I know that you hold the future of Web-
animated entertainment in high regard.
about. What are some of your projects, and where Could you explain in more detail? How do you 215
can readers find them? see other forms of animated-entertainment
distribution developing?
A: March Entertainment strives to use a com-

bination of technology and creativity to
A: Today we can honestly say that “talent is tal-
create compelling experiences. That may sound all ent,” and talent will find its way to its audi-
“sciencey,” but really it’s about using new tools to ence, eventually. This wasn’t always the case. In the
tell our stories. We like to make people laugh and past, there was a huge infrastructure required in or-
connect to our characters in a more direct way. With der to bring that experience to the audience. TV, film,
creativity, properly applied technology, and a dose and even music production was a multimillion-dollar
of ingenuity, the Web can facilitate that. business that excluded all but the elite. Because of
We started off by doing Internet webisodes in technological innovation, these barriers are rapidly
the mid 1990s and were immediately hooked by eroding and making the audience accessible to any-
the possibility of connecting directly with our au- one. Today, with a great idea, some neat camerawork
diences. Though we weren’t animators at the time, or animation, and a copy of Final Cut Pro, a really tal-
it was the most effective way to entertain our audi- ented, creative person can become a global star.
ence. The direct audience link was—and is—both With the teardown of this infrastructure, the
humbling and exhilarating. If you create something gatekeepers are having their value-added belief
great, you’ll know it immediately. If it sucks, you’ll system challenged. Currently, three or four buy-
know that too. Most of March Entertainment’s devel- ers in the U.S. television animation business control
opment projects are on the Web. If you visit www. the destiny of what gets aired on TV, which in turn
ilaugh.com, you’ll see many of them. Some shows hugely affects decisions in international markets.
are better than others, but the Web truly does serve Unless these people are the smartest in the world,
as a wonderful canvas for “getting it out there” and with an innate sense of what everyone wants, there
gaining the rapid feedback required. will be unmet needs in the market. And even then,
taste is subjective. The truth is that the current model
of one buyer making decisions for tens of millions
of people is completely antiquated. A more demo-
cratic method of audience-driven content produc-
tion will supersede this model; it’s apparent already.
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YouTube easily defeats most major networks, and od of distributing, there are hundreds of sites that are
audiences even choose to watch shows with poorer looking for content and will agree to share revenue
production values because they are what they want with you. I would suggest looking around at video-
to watch. sharing sites that have (a) good numbers, (b) similar
Eventually, the power will be in the hands of the genres of content, and (c) good communication. As
creative folks who will be able to directly gather and you become a more well-known Web entity, sites like
meaningfully interact with an audience. Don’t be fooled iTunes or Amazon become the destination of choice.
by this abyss, or “starve-out,” period that we’re in. The I might also add that existing TV networks are looking
guardians of the old model are holding on to what they for partners to share cost and risk and can be viable
have, in some cases very aggressively, and the new partners, as long as deals remain nonexclusive.
model of democratic, user-driven content will take
some time to fully mature. But make no mistake: This
ship has sailed. Five years from now, the exception will
Q:
be the rule and the rule will be the exception.
What is the development process for a
Web series? If you need outside funding,
Q:
how does that work? How do you make money?
216 How do you feel about podcasting as a
platform for animation?
A: In our development world, there is a bit
A:
more orientation toward action and mov-
Podcasting is a great option. Frederator.com
ing based on your first instincts. Because the road
and a number of other online entities have
to development is always under construction, it’s
chosen this method of digital distribution and have

best to get early-stage development out on the Web
done quite well. Podcasting is a very simple way to get
and then secure feedback. This can be done in a
your content to the audience, on their terms, and to al-
contained forum, on a limited basis at first. As the
low them the freedom of viewing it on their schedule.
product matures and finds its audience, then a more
As the dominance of the iPod as the king of MP3/MP4
widespread deployment makes sense.
player continues, podcasting will come more into the
On the topic of “first instincts,” I love the fact that
mainstream.
the South Park guys turn around a full episode in sev-
en days. As a result, episodes are far more relevant,
and although they haven’t “baked” as long, there
Q:
is something raw and authentic about what they’ve
We know about the process of pitching
managed to do since moving to this model. The Web
an animated series to a TV network, but
certainly leans to that method of “Ready, Aim, Fire,
not much about getting your own Web series out
Aim, Fire, Aim, Fire, Aim…”
there. Could you shed some light on that?
As far as funding, there are really two challenges:
The first challenge is de-risking the initial production;
A:
the second phase is the general monetization. Let me
With a TV network, it’s all about finding the
try and break it down. Much like in TV, before some-
key decision-maker and pitching your prod-
thing goes into production, there has to be a fully
uct and your vision of the characters and stories. In a
committed production budget, but unlike TV, where
sense, you do the same thing for a Web series, but to
volume rules, the Web can be more gradual. The first
an audience. There are two ways of achieving this: (1)
plunge doesn’t have to be twenty-six 30-minute epi-
Setting up your own site to directly facilitate webcast-
sodes for ten million dollars. This financing process
ing, streaming, or podcasting is very straightforward.
is onerous at best and can take years. As the brand
There are a myriad of freeware tools available to allow
develops on the Internet, investments can be much
you to do this. (2) If you want a less hands-on meth-
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smaller and more gradual. For example, a show ual sweat equity may be all you need. The more Spar-
may start with six 5-minute episodes. With a leaner, tan method would be to create and host your own
meaner process, you can produce less expensively boutique site. This requires more technical know-how
and start to improve during it. and likely a bit more investment up front, but sites like
So let’s say your first thirty minutes of content www.askaninja.com have performed admirably and
will cost you $400,000. This includes all of the ini- made more than enough money to live by.
tial development and production. In Canada, we’re This isn’t necessarily easy—it never is. If your
fortunate to have a tax credit system where we can name is Seth McFarlane, these deals can be done
assume that fifty percent of our development costs immediately, with many partners chomping at the
will be funded with tax credits. Many regions have bit. If your name is Fred Smith and you’ve just gradu-
similar incentives in place. Some development part- ated from college, with no credits to your name, it
ners may assume the entire cost of production, or will take some time, and there will likely be some
small companies may be able to step in and fund bootstrapping involved. Either way, there is a path
the $200,000. If not, a small creator/producer can that allows the most motivated and resourceful peo-
bring in international Web partners to fill in the gap. ple to gain access to a global audience in a sustain-
YouTube and a number of YouTube channels al- able manner.
ready do this. Mondo Media is a great example of 217
an American company that actually funds develop-
ment on the Web. There are literally hundreds of on-
line video portals, including the broadcasters, who
are also starved for content. Most regions around the Q: In our conversations, you’ve talked about
the importance of Web interaction, i.e.,
world can be GeoIP-restricted to ensure that content some sort of Web game presence to accompany a
boundaries are maintained, not unlike traditional TV Web series. Why is that? And is it essential or just
markets. [When a person visits a website, GeoIP can preferable?
determine which country, region, city, postal code,
or area code the visitor is coming from, as well as
the ISP, company name, domain name, connection
speed, and more.] There are hundreds of video A: The more “touch points” a brand has, the
better the connection. In our experience,
Web portals and as many digital content distribu- people really like to interact with the characters and
tors. Take some time to search around the Web. the worlds, so incorporating an interactive element
Generating-income methods can change as a into a storytelling brand can be highly effective.
show begins to build an audience. Subsequent in- All that said, don’t do it without the proper creative
vestments become larger no-brainers. Money is bandwidth. If the creator of the show doesn’t have
generated by these partners through straight ad- the time to imbue the same care and love that the
vertising, or, in other cases, on a pay-per-view basis show is created with, the platform will likely have a
(e.g., iTunes) or occasionally, even straight sponsor- poor impact. It takes time and money to create mul-
ship. This is actually how we started Chilly Beach in tiplatform content, like games and apps, but if done
the mid 1990s, and it was far less fertile than today. correctly, it can have a great impact.
By having international partners on the line with you,
you can be assured much better positioning and
some marketing thrust within their broadband sites.
Over time (and it may take a couple of years for
partners to recoup), you’ll be able to share monetiza- Q: I love your motto for March
Entertainment: “Keep it simple. Make it
tion of the content that you created in a major way. In great!” Can you talk about keeping it simple and
all likelihood, if your library is good, it will continue to how one does that in a complicated medium?
generate money over time. Your shorts may not cost
$400,000 to produce. In fact, in the early days, individ-
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A: People are inundated with so much informa-

tion and clutter that it’s important to simplify
Q: I recently heard a musician discussing the
the value proposition: Pick one thing and do it better smaller versions of new album releases
than anyone else in the world. The iPhone is a perfect that are resulting from the new distribution
example: They provided something with far less func- methods of music on the Web. How does that
tionality than previous PC phone products but made translate to Web entertainment? We see huge
it very simple and easy to use. People need solutions promotion and marketing efforts to kick off a new
that solve problems for them, not things that make animated series on television, but is that necessary
their lives more complex. From a content creation and for a Web series?
delivery perspective, that means a few things: Make
the content easy to access and simple to use. If you
A:
look at our ilaugh.com site, you’ll notice that you’re Absolutely, there’s a need for marketing [on
two clicks away from viewing the content and that sim- the Web] as there would be in any medium.
ilar content is presented alongside the existing choic- As the Web has become more competitive, gaining
es to make it easier for the viewer. Storytelling should “mind space” has also become more competitive.
also be straightforward. Most Web-based successes There are a number of things that you can do to opti-
218 that I’ve noted have had very simple value proposi- mize your Web marketing, including:
tions. Take Ask a Ninja, for example: It’s the simplest
concept in the world but super funny, and people get • Optimizing your site for search-engine hits
it right away. • Securing as many links to your site as
possible, preferably from larger players
• Using social-networking sites to “create
a buzz”
Q:
• Buying ad words
Can you discuss the tools and software
• Getting online media coverage
your company uses, such as Adobe
Flash and Adobe After Effects? And how do you We aren’t marketing experts, but there are lots of
distribute the final cartoon? Web marketing companies that can help with this,
and in some cases they’ll share the revenue.
A: The tools change with time, but we’ve always

been big users of Flash. In the early days, we
delivered SWF files, as these were very light. Today,
with more bandwidth, we can put more production Q: To hold the interest of an audience, how
often should a new webisode come out?
value into our shorts and still have a very reasonable Can you continue to hold that audience with
download/viewing experience. We do try to keep the downloads and DVD sales alone?
files light and optimized and deliver them as MP4s or
M4Vs. We’re getting away from Flash MP4s (FLVs) and
A:
moving more to an H.264-compliant MP4 format, in If you have something new every week, that
large part because of the success of the iPhone/iPod. would be ideal. If not, I recommend that you
We do use After Effects and CGI (Maya or 3DS), but provide something fresh at least every month. Failure
these tools are still more common with larger produc- to do so could result in a loss of interest.
tions. That said, the rendering and processing power
available today is making tools like After Effects fairly
easy to use and deploy, and they’ll become increas-
ingly so over time.
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don’t be afraid to do what you desire. There are a lot
Q: Any advice for a writer or artist who

would like to develop an animated series
of people watching and, likely, enough of an audience
for even the strangest and most unique stories. This is
for the Web? a bold new world that lends itself to creativity and de-
velopment. A direct conversation with your audience
will also help you develop and better understand
A:
I know it sounds clichéd, but just do it. You your marketplace. Finally, share what you’ve learned
learn as you go, and if you have consider- with others and be open—it’s for the good of all.
able talent, you’ll find an audience. The time invested
in learning to be Web-smart is time well spent that al-
lows the artist some level of control. Be authentic, and
Art from the animated series

Dex Hamilton, designed by
Matt Fernandez and March
Entertainment.
219
© march entertainment
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u
Chapter
11
Making a Difference:
How to Work in TV
Without Losing
220
Your Soul
“We have created in our culture an institution called ‘art’ for the
sake of commerce and economy. Let us not confuse this with the
art of our lives. Let us not be limited in our self-expression by those
whose work it is to judge or profit from the creations of a choice few.
That is only one aspect of a multifaceted jewel.”
—Jan Phillips, Marry Your Muse
This may be one of the shortest chapters in the book, but perhaps the most
important. Within the core of everything you do there is the artistic self. This self
nurtures your creative output and the way you do business. Look at it as though
you are watering some amazing flowers and making them grow. If suddenly the
water stops coming from the hose, the flowers will begin to wilt, maybe even die.
You struggle and assign blame. You might even get angry. Then you look down and
realize you’ve been stepping on the hose this whole time. Know that you have the
power of lifting your foot and releasing the flow again. There are several ways you
can help keep your soul intact while working in any industry in which you practice
your art, or direct a crew to produce it. I hope to give you a few tips that have
helped me in the past.
One lead foot on the hose of the artistic self is ego. In television animation,
the creator of a show can be hailed as “the god.” He or she can be put on a pedestal,
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interviewed, photographed, quoted, and even write a bible (okay, the show
bible . . . but it is ironic that it goes by this name). The creator is often in charge of
a crew and makes more money than everyone else. You can see how easy it might
be to start getting so full of yourself that the connection with your crew starts
suffering, your work starts to decline, and your home life, friends, family—you get
the picture. You may have noticed in my hose metaphor that the creator is merely
directing the hose: He or she did not make the water! At the risk of sounding too
metaphysical, the artist/creator is merely a channel. In my opinion, the creator is no
more responsible for the ideas that come through him than a radio is for the songs
that come through it. Once the creator starts taking credit for all of the gifts he
or she has been given, that line often shuts down. I’m sure you have seen it many
times in music, film, and television. A music star has some hit records and starts
erecting statues of himself, dressing like a king, and getting cosmetic surgery. Then,
suddenly, the hits dry up. As I said in chapter 2, I like to use “ego” as an acronym
for Edges Genius Out. Genius, to me, is what comes through in an artist’s work.
Whereas excellence can be produced from skill, genius comes from inspiration and 221
passion.
Making a Difference
I have also seen extremely talented creators and producers who suddenly
realized that their crew had learned their job so well that the collective output
was ten times better than the creator could ever have done him or herself. If you
have hired well, the craftspeople and specialists in their positions are supposed to
produce better than you ever could. With this realization, you can either jump for
joy (which is preferable) or sink into insecurity and begin treating your crew poorly
to maintain some sort of superiority. Granted, there can be challenges involved
when members of the crew think they know more about the overall direction the
show should take than the creator, but that’s another story.
So how does one stay in the artistic flow and avoid egomania? As I discussed
in chapter 1, when in my twenties, I ran an illustration and design business that
catered to mostly corporate and advertising clients. The reason I got into animation
was to have an artistic outlet that was my own: I could do what I wanted and then
share it. My artistic self opened up again and aided the corporate work while I
had my outside film projects. What was ironic (although it makes total sense) is
that the animation projects started becoming more successful than the other work.
When I started working on Rocko’s Modern Life, I let go of all my other projects to
focus on my show. What became apparent, however, was that although Rocko was
my creation, it was no longer my baby. I was caring for it, but it had new parents.
At the end of the day, it would be living with those parents, not me. This was not
one of my independent films; it was a commercial project, and I was working for
“Conglomo.” I became grouchy, irritable, and began to not look forward to going
into work (a feeling I had not felt since working at the ad agency at age nineteen).
I had to redirect my thinking, so I started new projects outside of Rocko—books
and film—which helped me to pump up my artistic connection. I also began doing
service work with schools and nonprofit organizations.
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So what I am trying to suggest with this story is to ask yourself these

questions whenever you get submerged in a commercial project and feel the hose
drying up:
Do I have a life?
Although doing your own show can be completely exhilarating, it won’t sustain
you. Your artistic life still needs to be fed. This is but one project, and eventually it
will be over. Don’t give up your painting, your short-story writing, or your sculpting.
These pursuits are invaluable! I started taking night classes at an art college to pave
some new ground in painting and to try some new media I had not used before. I
am an artist foremost, and I trust you are, too. Running a show can mean countless
meetings involving budgets, schedules, and corporate conference calls. It can drive
you mad, so keep grounded with your art. Keep it close to you.
When immersed in a project, exercise and a proper diet are very important.
Watch the caffeine intake and avoid resorting to the late-night quickie meals
222 because you never had time to catch a break to eat. These will eat away at your
sanity.
Are my friends and family still talking to me?

Friends and family are extremely important. Keep them around at all times.
Make time for them. Keep up with outside activities. Friends who were with you
before your show took off are great because they keep you grounded and level-
headed. Same goes for family—although when I would visit my sister, my niece
would have a stack of Rocko drawings and autographs I was supposed to do for her
classmates, for the most part, it was the old and familiar that kept me sane. Also,
the show won’t be around forever. Make sure your friends, family, and your art still
are when you’re done.
Am I keeping my life as simple and frugal as possible?

Let’s face it. If you suddenly start making more money than you are used to,
you are going to want to enjoy it. But keep this in mind: If you go out and buy the
big new house and a new fancy car, you are going to have to sustain that lifestyle.
Your show may be a big hit and go on to earn great revenues, or it may be a modest
success. Either way, at the end of the day, you will be glad if you socked some of that
money away for the future. Keeping a low overhead buys you freedom. It allows
you the choice to do creative projects out of artistic impulse rather than financial
need.
There is a great story about Ted Geisel (aka Dr. Seuss). He played around
with writing movies and cartooning, but nothing gave him more satisfaction than
writing books for children. When he was in his early fifties, he hadn’t yet obtained
much success from his children’s books but felt he wanted to devote the rest of
his life to this pursuit. He put himself on a strict budget so that he was not in dire
straits if his books didn’t sell well. So what happened next? He wrote Horton Hears
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a Who, Cat in the Hat, Green Eggs and Ham, and the list goes on. He kept strictly
to his budget and never had to take an advance. Without that outside pressure,
his artistic flow was unhampered. When he did start making money, he actually
started giving it away, preferring to live as simply as possible. He bought his artistic
freedom by scaling back. He was not “owned” by anyone. Ultimately, going out on
spending sprees may be an underlying symptom of a larger problem, such as the
need for prestige or for diversion, both of which are common these days. Don’t fall
prey to it—keep things simple.
Are there ways I can be of service anonymously?

Soup kitchens always need help. Underprivileged kids need mentoring. The art
departments of public schools are in dire need of assistance. Local communities
need involvement. These are all ways to help you level out your ego and give you
perspective on what is really important. I have had moments where what seemed
to be a huge problem with the production of a television show felt so trivial when I
saw someone just struggling to get a meal that day. 223
Making a Difference
Are there ways I can make sure everyone on the production is treated
fairly and with respect?
Quite often, the creator of the show has more leverage he can use to protect
the crew. Sometimes certain aspects of the work environment could use a good
kick in the pants. As the show creator, you’ve got a big boot: Use it if necessary,
but sparingly.
Can I take the money and notoriety I receive and use it to give back?
I created a foundation with the money I earned from Rocko’s Modern Life that
funded art and media departments of several public schools (and continues to fund
many projects to this day). My studio is also a member of One Percent for the Planet
(a partnership of companies founded by Yvon Chouinard, founder of Patagonia),
pledging to donate one percent of gross sales before taxes to organizations
preserving the ecosystems of our planet (www.onepercentfortheplanet.org). Since
its inception in 2002, more than thirty million dollars have found their way from
businesses’ bottom lines to help save the planet.
On another note, being the creator of a cartoon and walking into a children’s
hospital to draw and meet with the kids may be the best medicine they will get
that day. When I started doing work with the LA Children’s Hospital, one teenager,
named Carlos Grande, made a particularly strong impression on me. He had been
battling AIDS from a very young age, which he had contracted through a blood
transfusion. He was a big animation fan, especially of Rocko’s Modern Life. There
was a woman working with the hospital to help make “dream” films with kids who
had life-threatening diseases. Carlos was an artist and wanted to animate his film.
With Carlos writing the story and designing the characters, we worked side by
side for several months to produce a short animated film version of his dream,
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which involved Carlos battling this horrible monster and winning. Carlos had so
much wisdom and spiritual connection for someone that age. I’m guessing it
came from his having come so close to death several times. It was hard for me to
be with him at times, having also lost someone I loved. Nevertheless, I cherished
that time with Carlos. We finished the film and screened it at the American Film
Institute (AFI) theater. Carlos sadly lost his battle to AIDS about a year later. I will
never forget him.
Can I work on story and character moments that pass along positive
messages?
The question to ask yourself is, can you do it without being preachy or
sacrificing the humor and premise of the show? Even putting a peace sign on Lazlo’s
flag was adding a subtle, positive symbol of something I believe in that was being
viewed by millions of kids. (There are responses to this suggestion that I would
not recommend, however: To me, kids’ TV is no place for religion.) To give you a
224 personal example, one of my most cherished honors is the Environmental Media
Award, which I won in the ’90s for the Rocko episode on recycling called “Zanzibar,”
which was directed by Jeff Marsh and Dan Povenmire (who went on to create
Phineas and Ferb for Disney). “Zanzibar” was a musical about the importance of
recycling, cleaning the air, and holding corporations accountable for the pollution.
It was goofy and campy, but it got the message across while still being entertaining.
You will even find versions of the songs from that episode on YouTube sung by
garage bands. The last episode of Camp Lazlo was one I wrote called “Peace Frog,”
which discussed the “Hummer” culture and how the quest to be seen as a “big and
all-powerful human” was running roughshod over the ecosystem. We were able
to send a message and still be funny with it, and it was episodes like that one that
helped my soul stay alive.
Is there a way I can help be a catalyst for change while I’m producing this
show?
As the creator of this cartoon, you have the ear of a lot of fans and, if the show
is successful, of the money people. Think about ways you can use that influence as
a tool for positive change. Entertainment is a huge business. Animation generates
massive amounts of toys, books, games, and stacks and stacks of plastic DVD
packaging. Can you maybe help push for alternative, more sustainable ways of
creating the toys from your show? I was able to get Cartoon Network to look at
switching over to using 100% recycled paper products in the whole studio. Think
about the changes you can make. We live in a time where our buying habits are
making an impact on the future of our children, and of our planet.
At the risk of sounding too hippy-dippy, I would like to challenge you: Whether
you are producing a character-driven project on your own or with a network, or
are working within the mainstream entertainment business, I want to urge you
to produce your products and entertainment with the least impact to the Earth as
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possible, as well as attempt to sway those who make those decisions. It’s becoming
good business to hop on that bandwagon.
Am I being as honest as I can? Am I keeping my ego out of the way?

Honesty and humility will keep you thriving. Practice them.
These are all ways you can keep your soul intact. Having your own show is extremely
rewarding. Working in television has its own challenges, but it’s not designed to
make you miserable; there are simply more hurdles thrown in front of you as you
move toward the finish line. You are so much more than your cartoon. Creating one
is an amazing experience, but it’s not the total story of who you are. Stay vibrant.
Stay relevant. And keep contributing, both artistically and to the planet.
Conclusion
I hope this book has fired you up to tackle this process and not overwhelmed
225
you. I always find that the best way to start anything is to break it down to the
Making a Difference
smallest steps. Remember: Small achievements start with small steps, but huge
achievements start with small steps too. Either way, start off modestly and keep
building.
Let’s recap some of the main ideas:
• Get inspired by your reasons to do a show.
• Character is King (or Queen).
• Find characters all around you that have traits and imperfections an
audience can relate to.
• Don’t sacrifice the consistency of the character or the rules of your cartoon
world for a joke.
• Be prepared (yes, the Boy Scouts had it right).
• Knock their socks off with all your pitch materials. Go the extra mile.
• Just because you can’t get a development person to like your idea doesn’t
mean it’s not a worthy one!
• Hire a good entertainment lawyer.
• A network or studio is not the enemy! If you perceive them to be an evil
empire, then they will be.
• Have a strong backbone, but choose your battles: Focus on the
important ones.
• Keep things as simple and clear as possible.
• The creator of the show can’t do it all, so hire great people. In fact, hire
people you know are better than you in their areas of expertise.
• Producing the actual series involves creating a turnkey operation. Teach
everyone how to fly in the same direction.
• Hire team players; avoid “favor hiring.”
• Good characters and strong stories will sustain you in a series environment.
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• Make sure your gags and stories are funny to others beside yourself.
• Bridge the gap between your need for artistic expression and the
requirements of making a commercial cartoon.
• Television is a rough canvas, so use its imperfections as part of your
artwork.
• Don’t be guided by your ego or your sense of importance.
• Make a difference with the influence and notoriety you earn. Stake out a
brave course.
And don’t lose sight of the most important point:
• Have fun. This is, after all, about making cartoons!
I’ve tried my best to empty the contents of my brain onto these pages with any
information that may be of help to you. But don’t use my book as your only source
226 of information. There are several guides out there on animation, the animation
business, writing, etc., that can also help, and I’ve included a few on page 229. We
are also blessed these days with the wonders of Internet blogs and other online
reservoirs of support. Mine is one of them: www.joemurraystudio.com. Please feel
free to drop me a line and to check out the latest information I have on the world
of the animated series.
I didn’t predict that the animated series would be my storytelling device, but
an artist’s tools come in many shapes and encompass a variety of media. Yours
may turn out to be animation, or you may come away using the tools in this book
to create a whole new way of letting others live in and explore the world of your
characters. Storytelling has been around since the first drawings on cave walls.
We are only scratching the surface of where our need to tell stories will take us.
Whatever you do with the help of this book, whether you make your own film,
Web series, children’s book, or network cartoon series, or something you haven’t
even conceived of yet, if you maintain your vision and your integrity, I guarantee it
will be a gift to us all. If anything, I hope this book has inspired you to pursue your
dream, whatever it is. As Joseph Campbell used to say, “Don’t die with your song
still in you.”
I look forward to seeing what you produce!
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Acknowledgments
227
Acknowledgments
“If I have seen farther than others, it is because I have stood on the
shoulders of giants.”
—Sir Isaac Newton
As with any book about a medium that was born long before I was and will continue
long after I’m gone, I am not only humbled by those I have learned from but deeply
indebted to them. That is also the case with those who have helped me bring this
book to fruition and have added to my store of knowledge: Steve Hillenburg,
Everett Peck, Craig McCracken, Tom Warburton, Sue Mondt, Jeff Hutchins, Tom
Kenny, Daniel Hawes, and Linda Simensky, who contributed a wonderful foreword.
Many thanks are also due to those helping hands without whom this book would
not have been possible: Adam Chromy, Chuck Hurewitz, Amy Vinchesi, Autumn
Kindelspire, Janet Dimon, Laura Allen, and Jerry Beck for his fact-checking help.
Let me use this opportunity to say thank you to everyone who has helped me
along the way, tolerated my crazy artist’s antics, and whom I hold out as inspirations.
I’ve been very fortunate to be surrounded by great teachers, colleagues, and peers
in both my independent-film and television careers: most notably Mark Briggs,
Mark O’Hare, and Nick Jennings.
A big thank you goes to Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network, which picked
up and funded my two shows—I am forever grateful for that opportunity. Notably,
they are Vanessa Coffey, Linda Simensky, Gerry Laybourne, and Herb Scannell at
Nickelodeon, and Bob Higgins, Jay Bastian, Khaki Jones, and Andrea Lopez at
Cartoon Network. Thank you to the television networks around the world who
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have aired (and continue to air) Rocko’s Modern Life and Camp Lazlo. Thank you to
my dream crews from both of my series. I pushed them hard, and they delivered.
But all in all, I believe that we shared the same goal: to put an animated series of
value on the air, and one that we could be proud of. And, of course, to the fans
that have watched, and keep watching, the shows and films I’ve produced. The
audience participates in the journey of an artist: Thank you for participating in
mine.
228
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Recommended
Reading
229
Recommended Reading
THE BUSINESS SIDE OF ANIMATION
These books helped tremendously in inspiring my business side, not only for
animation, but for art and illustration as well.
Lager, Fred, Ben & Jerry’s: The Inside Scoop: How Two Real Guys Built a Business with
a Social Conscience and a Sense of Humor (New York, NY: Three Rivers Press, 1994)
Levy, David, Your Career in Animation: How to Thrive and Survive (New York, NY:
Allworth Press, 2006)
Raugust, Karen, The Animation Business Handbook (New York, NY: St. Martins
Press, 2004)
Roddick, Anita, Body & Soul: Profits with Principles: The Amazing Success Story of
Anita Roddick & The Body Shop (New York, NY: Three Rivers Press, 1991)
Rydall, Derek, There’s No Business Like Soul Business (Studio City, CA: Michael
Wiese Productions, 2007)
Schwartz, David, The Magic of Thinking Big (New York, NY: Simon & Schuster, 1965)
THE ART OF ANIMATION AND STORY
There are many great books that have aided my animation and story-writing
development, but I found these to be particularly helpful.
Bonnet, James, Stealing Fire from the Gods: The Complete Guide to Story for Writers
and Filmmakers (Studio City, CA: Michael Wiese Productions, 2006)
Georgenes, Chris, How to Cheat in Adobe Flash CS4: The Art of Design and
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Animation (Burlington, MA: Focal Press, 2009)

Furniss, Maureen, The Animation Bible: A Practical Guide to the Art of Animating
from Flipbooks to Flash (New York, NY: Abrams, 2008)
Johnston, Ollie, and Thomas, Frank, The Illusion of Life: Disney Animation (New
York, NY: Hyperion, 1981)
Jones, Tim; Kelly, Barry; Rosson, Allan; and Wolfe, David, Foundation Flash Cartoon
Animation (Berkeley, CA: Friendsofed Press, 2007)
Seger, Linda, Creating Unforgettable Characters (New York, NY: Henry Holt &
Company, 1990)
Simon, Mark, Producing Independent 2D Character Animation: Making & Selling A
Short Film (Burlington, MA: Focal Press, 2003)
Williams, Richard, The Animator’s Survival Kit: A Manual of Methods, Principles and
Formulas for Classical, Computer, Games, Stop Motion and Internet Animators
(London, UK: Faber & Faber, 2001)
230
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Glossary
231
Glossary
ANCILLARY MARKET The market for animated properties outside that of the main
business of airing a series on a network, such as toys, books, T-shirts, etc.
ANIMATIC A series of storyboard panels filmed or scanned in sequence, then
played back with dialogue as a sort of “slide show” to test the timing of dialogue
and images, story flow, gags, and character poses before finished animation
begins.
ANIMATED SERIES A collection of animated television episodes that share a
common title and involve the same characters. A typical season of an animated
series runs anywhere from 13 to 26 episodes, with 52 half-hours the norm for
syndication.
ANTAGONIST A character that contends with or opposes the popular direction of
the story or the main character. The antagonist represents the obstacle to what
the protagonist wants. Contrary to popular belief, the antagonist is not always a
villain.
ANTHROPOMORPHIC Human characteristics ascribed to nonhuman things (both
Rocko’s Modern Life and Camp Lazlo featured anthropomorphic characters).
AVID A digital, offline picture-editing system used by many live-action and
animation editors. Avid is a company that makes lots of software applications.
BACKGROUNDS Painted or digitally produced artwork that serves as a backdrop
to the animation action. Background artwork generally does not move beyond
minor camera movement.
BACKGROUND LAYOUTS Drawings that design the background and background
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elements to complement the central action. These are designed from storyboard
information.
BUDGET The estimated finances necessary to complete a task, such as animation
production. Budgets are usually broken down into smaller “line item” categories
to monitor and coordinate each department’s expenditures.
CABLE NETWORK Cable networks are subscription television channels (as opposed
to the major public broadcast networks NBC, CBS, ABC, FOX, and PBS) that target
niche markets and generally are not governed by the negotiation and union rules
involved in public network programming. (See Network.)
CASTING SHEET A list of characters that have speaking roles used to cast the voice
talent that will record those voices.
CASTING DIRECTOR The person responsible for hiring voice actors for an animated
production. This person will often also be the voice director during recording.
CATALYST An element that directly affects and changes other elements within a
232 story. In animation, a catalyst is a character or conflict that, when inserted into a
normal situation, creates sudden change.
CGI Computer Generated Imagery. More commonly referred to as “computer

animation,” CGI is usually devoid of line drawing and utilizes heavy light-source
shadowing instead, creating more realistic-looking animated characters.
CHARACTER In animation, a vessel that encompasses a created personality, look,

and voice unique unto itself. Any animated actor placed in a scene becomes a
character, from main characters to background characters.
COLOR KEY A master color design that shows the overseas studio artists how
each character and prop should be colored. There are also “background keys” that
perform the same function.
COLOR PALETTE The selection of colors an animator uses when creating the look
of his or her animated production. The palette will be used as a guide in the
show’s development. Rocko’s Modern Life, for example, had a “fruity” color palette,
whereas Camp Lazlo had a more summer cabin/earth tones feel.
COMMERCIAL SPOT A slot reserved for a commercial, or the commercial itself,
within the running time of a television show. An average 30-minute animated
show will have eight minutes reserved for commercials. Most animated episodes
will run commercials before, halfway through, and directly following the episode.
CONTRACT A legally binding written agreement between two or more parties (in
this case, the artist and the financier, network, or studio) detailing the exchange
of properties, compensation, representation, and more. Often full of legal jargon
that should be deciphered by a qualified entertainment lawyer.
CO-PRODUCER A person who shares the duties of the producer or executive
producer. A co-producer will often have the right of approval over most production
issues, but only under the parameters set up by the main producer.
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CUE In the case of animation, a musical selection designed to be a part of a whole.

An action, mood or story point will usually dictate the appropriate “cue” and
where it will go in the film or episode.
DEMOGRAPHIC A statistic characterizing a group of people, usually used by
networks to target a particular viewer market. (For example, Camp Lazlo’s main
demographic was 6- to 11-year-old boys.)
DEVELOPMENT In animation, the stage during which a series or short concept is
re-worked or fine-tuned until all parties involved are satisfied with the project’s
direction. The length of the development process can vary greatly.
DEVELOPMENT BIBLE A reference guide or “blueprint” of the proposed animated
series that maps out in detail the preliminary information on such elements as
characters, backgrounds and settings, story, and more.
DIALOGUE RECORD The process of voice actors recording an animated feature’s
dialogue track in a recording studio, under the direction of a voice director. The
actors usually work from a script, unless they are instructed by the director to 233
improvise.
Glossary
DIRECTOR The principal artistic force over a film or series; or, the person
ultimately responsible for a specific department’s contribution to the project.
There are several types of directors in animation and film: for example, for
Camp Lazlo and Rocko’s Modern Life, a storyboard director was in charge of
telling the story and mapping out gags through the use of storyboard drawings.
An animation or timing director took the completed storyboard, created an
animatic, and edited, mapped, and timed the action by writing out timing
sheets.
EDITING The process of revising elements of a project for purposes of storytelling,
polishing, or timing issues. This is true for an animation picture editor, sound
editor, dialogue editor, or music editor.
FINAL CUT PRO A popular Mac-based digital editing software.
FLASH ANIMATION A program developed by Macromedia originally designed

for Web-based animation but which is also used by animation houses and
independents for animation production. Television shows such as Foster’s Home
for Imaginary Friends, on Cartoon Network, are animated in Flash.
FOCUS GROUP A group of viewers, made up of one or more key demographics,
used to test the appeal and validity of a particular series or film. The testing results
are used for general market research and can influence a network’s decision to
move forward with a project.
GAG A term used in animation for a written joke or prank that sets up either a
funny dialogue exchange or a build-up followed by payoff action.
HOOK The unusual quirk, concept, or visual in a character or story that captures a
viewer’s interest and leaves him or her wanting more.
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INCIDENTAL CHARACTER A very minor character whose main purpose is to provide

backup for a gag or to fill a crowd scene.
INDEPENDENT A filmmaker or creator who produces a film or television show
independent of the direct involvement or ownership of an outside source, such
as a network or studio. You can still be considered independent if you acquire
outside financing yet maintain creative freedom.
LEAD SHEET A tracking sheet created by the art director to instruct the overseas
studio which prop, character, or background goes with each scene. The lead sheet
is usually cross-referenced with the storyboard to provide clear directions.
LINE PRODUCER The producer in charge of keeping all separate departments
for a series or film on track, on time, and within the operating budget. This is an
extremely important task and typically includes hiring and firing staff, as well as
other human resource issues.
LOCKED PICTURE The footage of a film or animated episode edited to the length
234 it will remain for the duration of the post-production process. The sound effects
and music editors use this and the corresponding time code to make their final
sound edits.
MAIN CHARACTER The central character that the series or film is built around. In a
series, the main character typically appears in every episode and is the focal point
of the story.
MIX The process in which the final locked picture, dialogue, sound effects, and
music are combined and brought collectively to the final audio level and quality
that will appear on the screen.
MIX STAGE A dark, soundproof room that usually includes a large mixing console
and a viewing screen meant for previewing the mix.
MODEL PACKS Packets used as reference for the overseas studio animators
containing full turn-around, color key, and mouth chart for each character
appearing in a particular episode.
MODEL SHEET A detailed description of how to draw a particular character,
including construction guidelines, expressions, and a full turn-around of the
character. This is used by both the in-house artists and the overseas studio to
ensure all animators draw a character the same way, and that the character stays
“on model.”
MOUTH CHART A chart of a particular character’s mouth shapes, used to animate
dialogue sounds. Each mouth pose is labeled with the letter A, B, C, etc., that is
indicated on the timing sheets. The character can then be animated to speak the
pre-recorded dialogue.
NETWORK A corporation that owns and operates one or more television channels.
Content is often owned by the corporation and distributed to network affiliates.
(See also Cable Network.)
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OPTION A contractual agreement between the creator and the network or

producer in which the rights to purchase the creator’s next project are held
by the network or producer for a certain period of time. In the television and
film industry, an option is placed on a property for an agreed upon fee. Before
the option agreement expires, the “optioner” must decide to purchase or pass
on the creative property, usually surrendering the option fee in the event of
a pass.
OUTLINE The series of story beats, or the story structure, laid out without great
detail but highlighting the main plot points. A script or storyboard can be written
using the outline as a guide.
PILOT EPISODE An introductory episode of a television program produced to best
represent and sell the series. The pilot episode is usually tested with focus groups,
advertisers, and network executives before a final decision is made to go into
production on the series.
PITCH The presentation of an idea to potential buyers or investors with the intent 235
of convincing them to buy or support the project. A project might be pitched with
Glossary
a simple presentation or with a complete set of storyboards.
PLOT The sequence of events that drive a story.
PREMIERE The first time an episode or a series appears on the air. A movie premiere
is the first time it is officially screened by an audience (not including test or press
audiences).
PREMISE The basis for a story idea or outline. A premise precedes the outline or
plot summary.
PRE-PRODUCTION All work that is performed before production officially begins
on a project. Pre-production work is designed to prepare the staff to jump into
production with all of the necessary materials in place, such as model sheets,
background styles, floor plans, etc.
PRODUCER In animation productions, “producer” can carry several definitions:
the person who deals strictly with financial, personnel, and scheduling matters
(see Line Producer); the person who is more hands-on concerning matters of
creative decision-making (sometimes also called the “executive producer”); and,
on an animated series such as The Simpsons, this can also include an established
writer, for whom it is customary to give a “producer” title.
PRODUCTION The active assembly and creation of an animated series. In
animation, a project may be referred to as “the Production.” Also the name of a
department (Production Department), which organizes and manages the output
of the artists and writers.
PROPOSAL A presentation of materials describing in detail a series or film idea in
order to gain approval from either the network or financial backers so the project
can move forward.
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PROTAGONIST The lead character in a story around whom the plot revolves.
The protagonist usually possesses a “want” for which the antagonist creates an
obstacle.
SCRIPT A written work that serves as the primary instructions for a film, radio or
theatrical play, cartoon, or television production. Actors follow the action, stage
direction, and dialogue in a script in order to play their parts.
SCRIPT-DRIVEN An entertainment vehicle that is propelled solely by the written
word. In a script-driven animated series, the script is written first, and then the
storyboard is produced verbatim from its direction and dialogue.
SERIES BIBLE A technical, instructive manual that maps out every detail of an
animated series, no matter how small, from the background design elements to
the amount of hair on a character’s head. A proper series bible should guide and
instruct a new crewmember or overseas studio in every detail of the animated
world and the characters who live in it.
236 SETTING The location, or series of locations, including homes or other buildings,
where the events of a story takes place.
SIZE COMP Short for Size Comparison, a side-by-side comparison of each character
in a production that resembles a police lineup. It is helpful for those not familiar
with a series when gauging how tall one character is in relation to others.
SHOW CREATOR The person who created the characters and premise of a show.
Quite often, a show creator will be the executive producer of his or her series and
will have responsibility for all major creative decisions.
SHOW RUNNER A person who runs and produces a show idea created by someone
else. A show runner usually works on behalf of the show creator to realize the
vision if the show creator lacks the necessary experience him- or herself.
SOUND EFFECTS The attachment of outsourced sound to a film, TV show, or
live production. A good sound effect can widen the stage, so to speak, with the
addition of off-screen sounds, which can enhance a gag or emphasize the mood
(danger, fear, excitement, etc.). Animation relies heavily on sound effects and
dialogue to help sell the visual.
SPOTTING The process during which the creator, director, or show runner takes
the locked picture and communicates direction to the sound or music editor,
usually scene by scene, providing creative input for each sound or music cue.
SPOTTING NOTES The notes produced for the sound or music editor after a
spotting session.
STANDARDS AND PRACTICES The television network department that regulates
the legal, moral, and ethical boundaries of the content of the shows it airs. Many
people commonly refer to these regulators as censors.
STORY BEAT An important point or moment in the plotline of a story. A story
outline can be broken down into “beats” to track the progression in a simple
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manner.
STORYBOARD A panel or series of panels illustrating the progression of an episode
or scene used in animation or live action. Storyboards are an inexpensive tool for
mapping out and working on a story before the costly animating stage begins.
STORYBOARD-DRIVEN A production method in which the story is written via
storyboard rather than scripted. A storyboard-driven story begins with a loose
outline, and artists then tell the story visually, writing in dialogue that will be
transferred to a script later.
SYNDICATION The process of providing a series of episodes (the standard
minimum is 52 hours worth of content) for sale to outside markets, allowing for a
non-exclusive, simultaneous airing, often in wide international markets.
SYNOPSIS A condensed or abbreviated version of a story or idea, featuring only
the primary characters and key plot points.
TIMING SHEETS Used by animators to communicate proper filming instructions
to a camera operator. In television production, they are produced by a timing 237
director or sheet timer as a blueprint for an overseas animator in regard how to
Glossary
animate a scene, where to put dialogue, etc.
THUMBNAIL DRAWINGS Small sketches designed for rapid mapping of a story,
scene, or gag.
TRADITIONAL ANIMATION A term developed with the onset of computer anim-
ation to describe the older method of drawing animation by hand. Computers
are often used to color hand-drawn animation, but the animation remains
“traditional.”
TRACKING SHEETS Used by a line producer to keep the crew informed about a
particular episode’s point in its production schedule, as well as informing a
department about the length of time they are allotted to work on a particular
episode.
TURN-AROUNDS Drawings that show a character from four angles: front,
three-quarter, side, and back views. This gives every animator an almost three-
dimensional view of the character. Turn-arounds are needed for each character
on a production.
VOLUME ENVIRONMENT Any production that is on schedule to produce multiple,
overlapping episodes of a show or film. Different methods must be taken into
consideration, with an assembly-line approach of producing multiple episodes
simultaneously.
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INDEX
Adams, Mattaniah, 149 sketches and model sheets, 58, 73, 163 Cow and Chicken, 38
Adobe After Effects, 212, 218 sound effects and music, 151 Crew. See Team
Adobe Flash, 107, 136, 142, 148, 186, 211, tiers of characters, 77–81 Crusader Rabbit, 32, 33
212, 218 voices, 82 Demographics, 95, 96–97
Advice on pursuing animation career, 54, writing story of, 125–126 Designing show
65–66, 92, 109, 160, 194, 219, 220–226. Career advice. See also Motivation character design, 82–84. See also
See also Education and experience; Carr, Nick, 151, 187 Characters
Motivation; Q & A Carter, Jimmy, 15 overall design, 61–62
Agents, 46, 51, 54. See also Lawyers Cartoon Network, 38, 90, 97, 106, 107, 109, Development. See also Development
Alazraqui, Carlos, 140, 141 136, 152, 193, 196, 201, 224 materials; Writing story
Alternatives to networks and studios, Casting and recording voices, 138–142 deals, 111–112
205–214 Casting sheets, 138, 181 presentation and, 133
creating cartoon without studio, 211–213 CatDog, 39 process, surviving, 113–114
global syndication, 213 Cavalcade of Cartoons, 39, 210 storyboard for. See Storyboards
independent films, 214 Challenges and obstacles, 41, 43, 63–64, 108, Development materials, 114–122
Internet productions, 208–213, 215–219 160, 171, 225. See also Sanity savers mini bible, 115–119, 133
making money without name Characters pilot premises, 119–120
recognition, 209–210 attractions and misfits, 75 storyboards and scripts, 120–122
maverick approaches, 207–208 backstories, 81–82, 83, 84 Dexter’s Laboratory, 37, 38, 107
238 reasons for, 205–207 color distinguishing tiers of, 79 Dilworth, John, 38
Alvin and the Chipmunks, 35 conflicts and contrasts, 75 Duckman. See Peck, Everett
Anderson, Alex, 33 considering quirks, oddities, extremes Editing and retakes, 148–150, 186–187
Animatics, 136, 142, 181–183 for, 70–72 Education and experience, 48–51, 52, 63, 90,
Antagonists vs. protagonists, 72 consistency of, 84–87, 116, 127 153, 157, 192
Art direction, 183–187, 192–194 defined by wants and obstacles, 70–72 Egomania, avoiding, 220–225
Assembly line, 172 designing, 82–84, 143–145 Employment in animation, 11
Audience episode premises test, 89 Experience. See Education and experience;
knowing, 94 hooks, 68–72 Skills and abilities
television demographics, 95, 96–97 importance of, 67–68 Expression sheets, 173–174
Backgrounds, 22–23, 99–100, 129, 131, inner- and outer-circle, 77–81 Fame, as motivation, 42, 44
145–148, 174, 183–185, 193, 211–212 main, 72–74 Family Guy, 39, 94, 121
Background (third-tier) characters, 79 proposal summary of, 100 Feiss, David, 38
Backstories, 81–82, 83, 84 protagonists vs. antagonists, 72 Films, creating indies, 214
Bio, brief, 103 questions to answer about, 68, 89 Film, transitioning characters to, 88
Book overview, 11 secondary main, 74–77 Financial issues. See Budgets
Briggs, Mark, 16 tiers of, 77–81 The Flintstones, 34, 35
Budgets transitioning to film, 88 Foley, Patrick, 154
accounts, descriptions, amounts, 137 voices, 82 Foley (recording process), 155
cost range per episode, 167 The Chore, 21–22, 128 Future of animation, 65, 107, 159, 215–216
line items for, 137 Codename: Kids Next Door. See Warburton, Gags, writing, 126–128
line producers and, 137, 162, 168 Tom Gerald McBoing-Boing, 33, 34
for pilots, 137–138 Coffey, Vanessa, 38 Gide, Andre, 207
for series, 162, 165–168 Color Global syndication, 213
smaller, challenges of, 160 backgrounds and, 145–148, 193 Groening, Matt, 37, 56
Bugs Bunny and Bugs Bunny Show, 32, 34, 37 distinguishing tiers of characters, 79 Hanna-Barbera productions, 34, 35, 37, 39,
, 73, 120, 159, 164 prop and character design, 143–145. See 106, 109, 150, 154, 192, 212
Cable TV emergence and evolution, 36–39 also Characters Peter Hannan, 39
Campbell, Joseph, 40, 68, 226 Commercial aspects of animation, 53, 92, Hawes, Dan, 205, 208, 215–219
Camp Lazlo 188–189, 210 Hillenburg, Steve
backgrounds, 145–147 Conclusion, to proposal, 102–103 author meeting, 31
backstories, 83–84 Conflict background of, 56
casting and recording, 141 between characters, 68, 75, 77–78, 79–81 leading the way, 159
character consistency, 84–87 core concept revolving around, 59 lessons from, 168
character design, 82–84 hooks and, 60, 72 Nick Jennings and, 24
character development, 73, 74, 75, 77–81 humor from, 71, 81, 98 Q & A with, 52–53
character hooks, 68–70 premise and, 180 quotes, 9, 55, 110
development storyboards, 113 story structure (Acts) and, 124 raising bar for breakout shows, 197
editing, 149 Consistency SpongeBob SquarePants, 38, 39
hook of, 60 of characters, 84–87, 116, 127 Hiring team, 168–171
many incarnations of Lazlo, 73 of rules, 62, 119 History of author’s path, 14–32. See also
mini bible contents, 115, 116, 118 Contact information, 103 Rocko’s Modern Life
overall design of, 61–62 Contracts, 111–112 animation festival leading to animation
producing series. See Series production Copyrights, 104, 212–213 class, 19–20
production bible excerpts, 87, 99, 163, Courage the Cowardly Dog, 38 art college scholarship, 16
173–179 Cover, of proposals, 96–98 caricature artistry, 17
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The Chore distribution dilemma, 21–22 creating cartoon without studio, 211–213 author preference for, 121–122
cigarette cartoon contest victory and making money without name description of, 120
lesson, 15–16 recognition, 209–210 examples, 120
creating second film. See My Dog Zero Q & A on production and exposure, hybrid of script-driven and, 91
death of wife and, 31 215–219 pros and cons of, 120–121
developing illustration business, 18 television and, 39 script-driven shows compared to,
early years, 14–17 Jennings, Nick, 24, 27, 30, 31 120–122
editorial cartoonist job, 17 Kenny, Tom, 82, 113–114, 141, 157–160, 206, Outlines, 162, 180
first job, 16–17 211 Parker, Trey, 39
grandfather’s influence, 16 Klasky Csupo, 37, 38 Park, Nick, 88, 206, 214
hitting comic strip wall, 18–19 Kline, Richard, 93 Peck, Everett, 61, 63–66
My Dog Zero production, 22–24 Kricfalusi, John, 37, 38, 96 Phillips, Jan, 220
reality of animation time element, 18 Lawrence, Doug, 85, 140, 157, 191 Picasso, Pablo, 14, 109
unseen guiding hands, 16–17 Lawyers, 46, 54, 104, 110–111, 112, 225 Pilots
venturing into animation, 17–18 Licensing, merchandising, and public animatics for, 142
winning student film competition, relations, 188–189 backgrounds, 145–148
20–21 Line producers, 137, 162, 168 budget allocation, 137–138
work ethic, 14 Little, Steve, 139, 141 casting and recording voices, 138–142
History of television animation, 32–39 Locking picture, 150 editing and locking, 148–150
cable emergence and evolution, 36–39 Maestri, George, 30, 31 final mix, 151–152
Cartoon Nework and, 38 Marker comps, 102 precursors for. See Development
Crusader Rabbit and, 32, 33 Mavericks, 207–208 materials
early years, 32–33 McCracken, Craig, 38, 106–109, 148, 152, premises, 119–120
Flintstones and, 34, 35 158, 214 production process overview, 138
Internet and, 39 McFarlane, Seth, 39, 110, 117, 208 prop and character design, 143–145 239
1960s and, 34–36 Mighty Mouse: The New Adventures, 37 shipping to production studio, 148
packaging of old shorts, 33 Mini bible, 115–119, 133 significance of, 134–136
Index
regulation issues, 35–37 Mix, 151–152, 165, 187–188 sound effects and music, 150–151,
UPA contributions, 33–34, 108 Model sheets 153–156
Hook(s), 59–61 examples, 73, 74, 84, 120, 163 timing sheets, 142–143
attachment to, 61 mini bible and, 117 Power trip, as motivation, 42, 46
building show around, 61 production bible and, 173–174 Premises
character, 68–72 Mondt, Sue, 146, 173, 192–194 outline-driven shows and, 120
conflict and, 60, 72 Money, as motivation, 42, 44–46 for pilots, 119–120
conflict in, 60 Motivation samples, in proposal, 101–102
defined, 59–60 challenges to overcome and, 41, 43 for single episode of series, 180
evolution of, 61 fame as, 42, 44 writing story based on. See Writing
examples, 60 importance of, 41 story
funny note on, 85 money as, 42, 44–46 Preproduction, 171, 172
overall design of show and, 61–62 power trip as, 42, 46 Presentation, 133
personal style and, 61–62 questionable motives, 42–43, 44–46 Producing shows
as show synopsis, 60 skills, abilities and, 48–51 pilots. See Pilots
simplicity of, 60–61 worthwhile motives, 47–48 professional perspectives on. See Q & A
in single sentence, 60 Music. See Sound effects and music series. See Series production
The Huckleberry Hound Show, 34 My Dog Zero, 22–24, 27–29, 30 without network or studio, 205–214
Hutchins, Jeff, 153–156 Network relationships Production bible, 171–179
Ideas about: overview of, 195–196 Camp Lazlo excerpts, 87, 99, 163, 173–179
assessing animation-worthiness of, corporate politics and, 201 details included in, 173–178
58–59 handling differences of opinion, 202 mini bible and, 115–119, 133
developing characters for. See nature of television and, 200–201 Rocko’s Modern Life excerpts, 12, 74,
Characters perspective for approaching, 199 131, 179
doodling, sketching, drawing, 57–58 researching networks, 199 Professionals, perspectives of. See Q & A;
for episodes, testing character Rocko’s Modern Life stories involving, specific individual names
feasibility, 89 203–204 Prop and character design, 143–145. See also
foundation to build on, 55 role of network studios, 196–197 Characters
hook development, 59–61 sanity savers for, 199–202 Proposals
narrowing down to core concept, 59 your role with network studios, 197–202 brief bio or résumé, 103
overall design, 61–62 Newton, Sir Isaac, 217 conclusion, 102–103
proposing. See Proposals Nickelodeon contact information, 103
protecting, 104 changing face of children’s television, cover of, 96–98
rejections and revisions, 104–105 24–25 crafting, 95–104
rules in your universe of, 62 emergence, evolution, and ownership, definition and uses, 93–94
seeing yours materialize elsewhere, 55 37–39 knowing your audience, 94–95
starting points for, 56–59 My Dog Zero and, 24, 30–31 main characters, 100
theft of, 103–104 researching management personnel making them sensational, 95
uniquely yours, 56 at, 49 rejections and revisions, 104–105
Internet SpongeBob SquarePants and. See sample premises, 101–102
as alternative medium, 208 SpongeBob SquarePants series overview, 100–101
building presence with Web cartoons, O’Hare, Mark, 75, 129, 132, 168 series synopsis, 98
209–210 Outline-driven shows setting for series, 99–100
239
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theft of ideas and, 103–104 Series production. See also Production bible Tracking whole episode, 180–183
Protagonists vs. antagonists, 72 about: overview of, 161–162 Turnarounds, 117, 145, 173–174
Punch and Judy, 33 art direction, 183–187, 192–194 Twirlinger Twins, 33
Pyramids assembly line, 172 United Productions of America (UPA), 33–34,
of team priorities, 170, 171 final delivery, 188 108
writing, 126, 127 hiring best possible team, 168–171 Voices
Q&A licensing, merchandising, and public casting and recording, 138–142
about keeping ego in check, 221–225 relations, 188–189 matching characters with, 82
with Craig McCracken, 106–109 from premise to timing sheets, 180–183 Q & A with Tom Kenny, 157–160
with Dan Hawes, 215–219 preproduction, 171, 172 recording for single episode of series,
with Everett Peck, 63–66 professional perspectives on. See Q & A 181, 183
with Jeff Hutchins, 153–156 scheduling and budget, 162–168 Warburton, Tom, 60, 90–92, 161, 195
with Steve Hillenburg, 52–54 shipping and overseas animation, Ward, Jay, 32, 33, 34–35, 108, 109, 159
with Sue Mondt, 192–194 185–186 Warner Bros., 35, 109, 153, 154, 164, 212
with Tom Kenny, 157–160 tracking whole episode, 180–183 Where’s Lazlo?, 75, 76–77, 79–81
with Tom Warburton, 90–92 without network or studio, 205–214 Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, 31, 36, 65
QuickTime files, 142, 156, 211, 212 Series synopsis, 98 Wormholes, 31
Recording voices, 141–142 Setting for series, 99–100 Writing pyramid, 126, 127
Rejections and revisions, 104–105 Shedd, John A., 134 Writing story, 122–128
Renzetti, Rob, 41, 92, 106 Shipping/production studio work, 148, Acts I, II, and III, 124–126
Résumé, 103 185–186. See also Editing and retakes character consistency and, 126
Retakes. See Editing and retakes Simensky, Linda, 6–8, 24, 26, 28, 29, 30, 38 examples, 123–126
Rocko’s Modern Life The Simpsons, 10, 31, 37, 56, 59, 64, 65, 121, 173 gags, 126–128
accepted for development, 29–30 Skills and abilities, 48–51. See also Education keeping audience in mind, 128
anticipating premiere of, 13, 31–32 and experience parents and, 128
240 atmosphere of production offices, Sound effects and music, 39, 64–65, 114, 136,
190–191 150–152, 153–156, 187–188, 212
backgrounds, 146 South Park, 39, 94, 216

casting and recording, 140, 141 Spike & Mike’s Festival of Animation, 36, 106
changing life of author, 30–31 SpongeBob SquarePants, 24, 38, 39, 57–58,
character development, 73, 74, 75–76 60, 61, 77–78, 108, 120, 153, 189, 197. See also
creating pilot, 30 Hillenburg, Steve; Kenny, Tom
early sketches, 117 Squirrel Boy. See Peck, Everett
editing, 149 Stone, Matt, 39
gearing up for production, 30–31 Storyboard-driven shows, 53, 91, 141. See also
“groundbreaking” adopted character, Outline-driven shows
71–72 Storyboards, 129–133
inspiration/proposal for, 25–27 during development process, 129
marker comps, 102 examples, 28–29, 89, 102, 122–123,
mouth chart example (Heffer), 144 130–131, 132–133
network stories, 203–204 guidelines for, 130–132
Nickelodeon looking to raise bar and, for outline-driven shows, 120–121, 122
24–25 for script-driven shows, 121
note on hooks, 85 for single episode of series, 181
open letter to staff of, 12 Studios
production bible excerpts, 12, 74, 131 creating cartoon without, 211–213
sketchbook ideas for, 56–57, 58 networks. See Network relationships
sketches and model sheets, 56–57, 74, Success, without losing soul, 220–225
84, 117, 120 Sunderman, Collette, 138
sound effects and music, 150–151 Synopsis of show, 60
target demographics conflict, 96–97 Tartakovsky, Genndy, 37, 38, 106, 107, 158
voice casting story, 140 Team
Wolfe Family, 71–72 assembly line, 172
writing story of, 123–125 atmosphere of production offices,
Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, 34–35, 78 190–191
Rodin, Auguste, 13 departments, 168–169
Rules hiring best possible, 168–171
for working with networks, 199–200 importance of each department, 170
for your universe/creation, 62 organization chart, 169
Sanity savers, 199–202 pyramid of priorities, 170, 171
Scheduling, 162–167 scheduling issues, 162–167
Script-driven shows size of crew, 165–167
description of, 121 speed, quality, price considerations,
examples, 121 165–167
hybrid of outline-driven and, 91 The Powerpuff Girls, 38, 53, 60, 152, 192, 193,
outline-driven shows compared to, 214. See also McCracken, Craig
120–122 The Ren & Stimpy Show, 38, 53, 120, 158
outlines and, 180 Thompson, Hunter S., 195, 202
pros and cons of, 121–122 Time Warner, 38
Seger, Linda, 67 Timing sheets, 142–143, 164, 183
Series overview, 100–101 Tom Terrific, 33, 34, 38
240
TRC107-4-10 P220-240 175L CTP.indd 240 09/04/2010 17:11

Creating Animated Cartoons With Character

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Cyan Magenta Yellow Black

Watson-Guptill Publications / New York

Copyright © 2010 by Joe Murray

All rights reserved.

WATSON-GUPTILL is a registered trademark and the WG and Horse de-

Some of the material in this work originally appeared in different form in

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Printed in Hong Kong

For Daisy and Casey—

And to my sister Dianne—

how to use this book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11

1 a brief history: my path to cartooning

2 part of aspiration is inspiration:

3 what ’ s the big idea? how to get your series idea

4 the secret to a great series: it ’ s all about character! . . . . . . . . . 67

5 pitching your series: preparing the proposal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93

Development Materials . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .114

7 getting the green light: producing the pilot . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134

8 series production: building the team

9 network relationships: saving your sanity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195

10 thinking outside the box: getting your series out there

11 making a difference: how to work in tv

Acknowledgments 227 Glossary 231

—Steve Hillenburg, creator of SpongeBob SquarePants

producing a commercial cartoon. Sound like a difﬁcult task? Challenging, yes;

How to Use This Book 11

had its future in technology, and my dad didn’t see any

“Every child is emulate every

teeth (and my hair) on some The cover illustration to

for summer work, but to no

I had a bit of an epiphany when I realized I had to expand my ﬁle space to

The ﬁrst appearance of

A still from my ﬁrst ﬁlm,

order to pay the bills and then go back to working on the

A still from my second

Rocko’s Modern Life

Original title card from

“Let the TV party

Jay Ward’s Crusader Rabbit

It became apparent in the late 1940s that the children’s television

Hanna-Barbera Productions. With the premiere of The Ruff and Reddy

© Hanna Barbera/Time Warner

Huckleberry Hound with

© Ward Productions Inc.

main content was commercial-free lively programming and puppet shows.

and Nickelodeon. Turner Broadcasting purchased

Nickelodeon hit the

Part of Aspiration Is Inspiration

—Rob Renzetti, creator of the Nickelodeon animated series

else does the work.”

Part of Aspiration Is Inspiration

rewarding cake. On a creative note, pursuing a career as a cartoonist merely to

Rocko in a still from the

Part of Aspiration Is Inspiration

Reasons to Plow Ahead

Part of Aspiration Is Inspiration

of hyperconsumerism, and you can make an impact on the ethics of

Are You Prepared?