When I mentioned in a screenwriting networking group that I was attending the 30th Annual Hollywood Pitchfest, several writers asked me to come back afterward and share how it went. So this is that follow-up.

I attended the event once before, about fifteen years ago, but at the time I had only one script and very little sense of how these meetings actually worked. This time, I went in with multiple projects, a full schedule of pitches, and a much better idea of what I wanted to accomplish.

What follows is my honest account of how the event was organized, what the pitching process felt like, what worked, what didn’t, and whether the cost and travel were ultimately worth it.

How the signup process worked

A couple of days before the event, the Pitchfest organizers released the list of executives who would be attending, along with the two-hour blocks during which each person would be available.

Those blocks were divided into individual five-minute appointments. An executive listed for the 9:00 to 11:00 a.m. block might have meetings at 9:00, 9:05, 9:10, and so on. When you signed up, you selected one available five-minute slot within that executive’s scheduled block.

Saturday was divided into four two-hour blocks: 9:00 to 11:00 a.m., 11:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m., 2:00 to 4:00 p.m., and 4:00 to 6:00 p.m. Lunch was provided from 1:00 to 2:00. Sunday started at 10:00 a.m. and continued in two-hour blocks until 6:00 p.m., with no lunch provided.

There was also a mixer for attendees at the hotel on Friday night. That was part of the reason I arrived early and stayed four nights. It gave writers a chance to meet one another before the pitching started and made the weekend feel like more than just a series of five-minute appointments.

When it was time to sign up, each writer was given fourteen pitch credits. For the first thirty minutes, however, only three credits were available. We were told to use those first three credits on the companies or agencies we wanted most.

The reasoning was simple. It gave more writers a chance to book at least one meeting with the better-known companies before anyone could fill an entire schedule with the most popular names.

There were some major companies and agencies there, including ABC, CBS, Miramax, Hulu, and Gersh. Those meetings went fast. Everyone was trying to book the same names, and I only landed one of my top three choices. That meeting was with Gersh, which is still a major agency, so I came away from the first round with at least one strong target.

After the first thirty minutes, the remaining eleven credits were added to each writer’s account. From there, you could start filling in the rest of your schedule.

Because each writer had only fourteen scheduled pitches spread across two days, the gaps between appointments varied considerably. Sometimes I had only ten minutes between meetings. At other points, I had an hour or two with nothing scheduled. Those longer breaks were when the standby line became useful.

The range of companies attending

There were some major studios, networks, streamers, agencies, management companies, and production companies on the roster. The list included ABC/Hulu, CBS, Miramax, Gersh, UTA, Paradigm, Anonymous Content, MRC, Gaumont, Alcon Television Group, Media Res, Marc Platt Productions, MACRO, LAIKA, Raimi Productions, Ubisoft Film & Television, Leverage, and many others.

Some of those names are immediately recognizable. Others may be less familiar to people outside the industry, even though they have studio deals, active development slates, recognizable credits, or relationships with major talent.

For example, Media Res listed credits including The Morning Show and Pachinko. Marc Platt Productions listed Wicked, La La Land, and How to Train Your Dragon. Raimi Productions is Sam Raimi’s company. LAIKA listed films including Coraline, ParaNorman, The Boxtrolls, and Kubo and the Two Strings. Ubisoft Film & Television listed Mythic Quest, Splinter Cell: Deathwatch, and Assassin’s Creed.

That matters because Hollywood doesn’t operate only through the handful of studio names the general public recognizes. Smaller production and management companies are often the first people to read a script, develop it, attach talent, package it, arrange financing, or take it to a larger buyer.

They may not be household names, but many are still active players with real credits and industry relationships.

That doesn’t mean every company on a pitch-event roster is equally valuable. Writers should research the people they’re meeting, look at their credits, understand what they’re currently seeking, and decide whether the project is genuinely a fit.

But unfamiliar shouldn’t automatically mean unimportant. In many cases, those smaller companies are exactly the places looking for material they can discover and champion before everyone else does.

The pitch rooms

The actual setup felt a little like speed dating for screenwriters.

The pitches took place in hotel conference rooms, with executives seated at separate tables. Depending on the time block, there might be only five or six executives in the room, while some sessions had as many as seventeen.

There were also a few executive cancellations. As far as I could tell, those were through no fault of the organizers. Some canceled meetings were moved to Zoom sessions later in the week.

Each pitch lasted up to five minutes. The organizers gave a one-minute warning so you knew it was time to wrap up. Their recommendation was to spend roughly three minutes pitching and leave two minutes for questions.

They also suggested bringing a one-sheet for every script, along with the first ten pages of each project you planned to pitch. I followed that advice. I brought seven one-sheets, although I had only planned to pitch five of the projects.

I also brought the opening ten pages of each script.

In practice, the meetings moved quickly, and the executives appeared more focused on the verbal pitch and the one-sheet than on reviewing sample pages at the table. I wasn’t asked to hand over the first ten pages during any of my meetings, and I didn’t notice anyone else doing so either.

That doesn’t mean bringing them was a mistake. It was still better to be prepared in case someone asked. But if I attend again, I’d probably treat the ten-page packets as backup material rather than something I expected to use.

The basic process was straightforward. You pitched the project, and if the executive liked what they heard, they could submit a request through the Pitchfest organizers. The writer would then receive the official request and send the material afterward.

The standby line

There was also a standby line for writers who had time between their scheduled pitches and wanted a chance at an additional meeting.

If a writer failed to show up for a scheduled appointment, the first person in the standby line would be sent in to fill the open slot. It was essentially a bonus pitch, but you couldn’t choose which executive you would meet. You were assigned to whoever suddenly had an opening.

The standby line was particularly useful when you had a long gap in your schedule. Since everyone had only fourteen credits spread across the entire weekend, it was common to have an hour or even several hours between scheduled meetings.

The line required patience. Sometimes writers waited close to two hours before reaching the front. If you had a regularly scheduled pitch while waiting, you had to leave the line, attend that meeting, and then return to the back afterward.

No one was required to use the standby line, but I decided to take advantage of it. By the end of the weekend, I had picked up three extra pitches that I hadn’t originally scheduled.

Sometimes, though, the standby line was a wash.

My first scheduled pitch on Saturday was at 9:15. I arrived early and was second in the standby line at 9:00. When an opening appeared, they sent me in to meet the same executive I was already scheduled to pitch fifteen minutes later.

So I didn’t really gain an extra pitch. I just had the meeting ten minutes early.

The meeting was with a manager from one of the companies attending the event.

I started pitching my script The Pied Piper, and about two minutes into the pitch, he stopped me.

He literally said:

“Stop, stop, stop.”

Naturally, my first thought was that he hated the idea.

Then he said:

“I love it. I don’t need to hear any more. I want to see your script.”

That was a good way to start the weekend.

I gave him a one-sheet with my contact information, and I’m still waiting to see whether the official request comes through. Realistically, these executives heard a large number of pitches over two days, so I don’t expect an immediate response.

A week? Two weeks? Three weeks?

I honestly don’t know.

I attended the same Pitchfest about fifteen years ago, but at that time I only had one script. I was in a very different place as a writer, and I don’t remember enough about the follow-up process to know what the normal response time should be.

Still, being stopped during my first meeting and told the executive wanted to read the script was a very positive way to begin.

What came out of the weekend

By the end of the second day, three companies had given me direct email addresses and asked me to send the script I had pitched.

Two of those companies also asked me to include a brief synopsis of my other scripts. That was useful because it meant the meeting wasn’t limited to a single project. They were also interested in seeing what else I had written and whether another script might fit their needs.

I’m also hoping to hear from a few others who may choose to request material through the official Pitchfest process.

I’m deliberately not naming the companies that requested scripts here. They asked for my material directly, and I don’t want this post to be mistaken for an invitation to send them unsolicited submissions.

It’s important not to read too much into how enthusiastic someone appears during a five-minute meeting. Most of the executives seemed encouraging and engaged with most of the writers they met. That’s part of being good in the room, and it makes immediate reactions difficult to judge.

A warm response is better than a cold one, of course, but it isn’t the same as a request. A request isn’t the same as an option, sale, or production deal.

That distinction matters.

Writers can walk out of a room convinced something went well because the executive smiled, laughed, asked questions, or said the project sounded interesting. All of that is encouraging, but none of it means much until someone asks to read the script.

Even then, the script still has to do the real work.

Was it worth the cost?

That’s the harder question.

The cost of the two-day event was $700.

I stayed at the hotel where the Pitchfest was held at Hollywood and Vine. Because I was traveling from the East Coast and wanted to attend the Friday-night mixer, I arrived a day early and stayed four nights.

Once you add the hotel, airfare, food, transportation, and the event fee, the total cost rises quickly.

Was it worth it?

Right now, it’s too early to say.

The only real way to measure the result is by what happens next. If one of these meetings leads to representation, an option, a sale, or a serious working relationship, then the trip may prove to have been well worth the expense.

If nothing comes from the requests, then it becomes a much more complicated calculation.

I did get direct access to working producers, managers, and agents. I pitched multiple projects. I received several script requests. I also learned more about which concepts caught attention quickly and which pitches needed more work.

That has value.

But writers should be careful about calling an event a success simply because the room felt positive.

The real test comes afterward, when the excitement of the weekend is over and people have to decide whether they actually want to read, respond, or move a project forward.

For now, I’d say the event created opportunities.

Whether those opportunities become anything more is still an open question.