I probably won’t ever run a TV show. But if I do, I’ll try to follow these guidelines:
1. The rules of the world will be established before the writing, not during. Or after.
This means I will not have to figure out halfway through the story how exactly my characters’ magical abilities work, resulting in retroactive plot holes. I will not change a character’s backstory just because I realize it’d be neat. This goes for small details, too, because:
2. I will keep in mind that my fans love to think about the story.
They remember everything that happens, they analyze it, and they try to guess what will happen next: using their knowledge of what is and isn’t possible in the setting, and their understanding of the characters. Surprising them is alright, as long as it is still within the realms of what I’ve previously established as believable.
Every plot hole, every retcon, is a slap in the face of my audience.
3. The characters determine the story.
I will not have my characters make stupid and obvious mistakes just because the story won’t work otherwise. When a solution to a problem is obvious, my characters will actually figure it out (along with the audience). If my villains cannot come up with better plans, then I need better villains.
4. Some characters are best in small doses.
No matter how popular this one side-character proves, and how much I myself have come to love him: I will keep him a side-character. When I develop him and make his role larger, I will first wonder what makes him popular, and I will try to preserve this aspect at all costs – even if it means I will have to give up on my plan to give him a bigger role.
5. Character development is necessary, but a challenge.
I will let my characters change according to their experiences, at a realistic pace and in natural ways. But I will also have to keep an eye on what this means for the character chemistry on the show, and whether it is still in harmony with the overall storyline, or my messages. I will try to find ways to avoid a character changing too much, if it means he would not work out anymore.
6. I will introduce new characters only when necessary.
When I introduce a new character, they will have a role to play in the storyline, and this will be obvious soon after their introduction. Their introduction must not come across as forced, but has to feel like a natural consequence of the other characters’ actions.
7. I won’t advertize my show with “Everyone could die!”
Suspence should not come from the question whether a character survives, but how he survives. Besides, each of my characters will be too awesome to be sacrificed for a cheap shock effect. I will also remember that every killed-off character means that I alienate a part of my fanbase. So if I do have to kill off a character, I will do it meaningfully. And I will remember:
8. There are other ways than death for a character to leave a show.
If an actor becomes unavailable, my cast becomes too big or a character just doesn’t work out anymore, I still won’t kill them: I will have them move to a different town or country, get fired from their job, declare that they need to go soul-searching for a while, or disappear on a secret mission. That way, I can theoretically bring them back if it turns out that writing them off was not a good idea, the actor becomes available again, etc. They can also return in single episodes as special guest stars! But even if they won’t actually get to return on the show, it’s nicer for their fans to think that they’re out there, somewhere, happy and busy with their own lives, rather than six feet under.
9. If I do kill a character, he will stay dead.
Everything else just cheapens the experience, probably won’t be convincing (though this depends on the setting of the show), and opens the door for complaints about double standards: Why bring back her, but not her?
10. Being dead does not mean being forgotten.
If a character dies, my surviving characters will still remember them. They might still talk about them. They might need time to overcome their grief. They might wish to avenge them, they might become traumatized, depressed, guilt-ridden. Or joyful. It all depends.
The emotional consequences of death will be explored.
11. My characters need stability.
Instead of catapulting my legions of characters all over the place and have my storyline driven by nothing but lack of communication, misunderstandings and grave and stupid mistakes, instead of throwing my characters into unchartered waters and seperating them from all their loved ones as soon as the season starts, in an attempt to create a fast-paced, action-oriented, mind-blowing mess of a storyline; I will give my characters time to sit back, form an alliance (which will actually be positive, and will last), assess their situation, share information and then choose their next step with a certain degree of thought involved. It will make for much more satisfying watching for the audience. After all, the audience have enough time, each week, to think about what would be the best option for my characters. Why not reward those who love the show enough to speculate about its future course?
OK, this might have been aimed quite directly and exclusively at Heroes.
12. I will be confident.
I will be confident about my ideas, characters and themes. If a part of my fanbase (or the media, or casual viewers) express doubt or mistrust, I won’t be intimidated, because *I* know my story best. I know why I am doing what I am doing, I know where I am going with it all. As long as I stay true to my original ideas (especially the underlying themes) I cannot disappoint and alienate my fans, because they will still be getting what they originally fell in love with.
A lot of this can be summed up with: I will be consistent! Nothing annoys me more about a show than a sudden change to the rules, the premise, the mythology, the very foundation of it all. It means that the creative forces behind it have run out of ideas, or would rather be making a similar, yet significantly different show. Well, why don’t they then?
Nothing inspires less confidence than a showrunner who promises one thing, and some months later delivers the exact opposite.