How are you facing the current economic situation?
Are you hunkering down until things blow over? Are you turning crisis into opportunity and branching out? Are you retraining for a different career (or a variation on your current theme)? Are you dialing back? Or is it business as usual for you? 
In the previous post, “Rock On!”, we looked at a really bad cover letter from aspiring animation professional Rock N. Thamouse (pictured above). I was amused to receive a few emails taking me to task for the “exaggerated” and/or “obvious” aspects of this admittedly fictitious aggregate. How I wish that it were so! 
To the cry of “exaggeration”, while I have indeed never come across a cover letter that displayed all of the trouble that poor Rock gets himself into, I have unfortunately encountered each and every one of the mistakes and missteps contained therein, many times.
Regarding how “obvious” the errors are, we’ll see. Some readers have pointed out the more notable problems, but the fact of the matter is that if these mistakes were all so “obvious”, applicants would not keep making them. Yet they do, time and time again - undermining their opportunities in the process.
Nevertheless, I should observe that the reference to Cal Arts is not an indictment of its students in particular. I simply created this example while teaching there, and have much love for my peeps in Valencia. (Full disclosure: I’ve seen the good, the bad and the ugly from other students and from other professionals - myself included. I still cringe at the thought of my cover letter to ILM in the mid-90’s, in which I looked forward to meeting with “their people”. Ugh! Got a callback though… two years later. Woo hoo.)
The cover letter - too often treated as an afterthought - is truly the welcome mat to your application, and should be treated as such. There’s no lack of opinions on the subject, so I’ll proceed to add mine. To begin with, let’s take a look at the problems with Rock’s attempt, from top to bottom.
The first thing you notice is that Rock’s cover letter is printed on 3-hole punch paper, and is off-register. Most likely, Rock ran off a photocopy and didn’t bother to check the type of paper that was loaded into the cassette. And, if he did notice the holes later on, Rock couldn’t be bothered to load the copier (or better yet, the PRINTER) with the proper paper. (Don’t laugh - this is art imitating life.) DO make the effort to print your cover letter (and all other documentation) on the highest quality paper you can afford - something that feels good in your hands - from the highest quality output device you can access.
The next issue is Rock’s graphic in the upper right corner. First of all, it’s ginormous - taking up a lot of real estate that could be put to better use. Secondly, it’s unnecessary. As an employer, I’m interested in your work - period. At best, your graphic fails to annoy me. At worst, it sits there like an ugly blotch, or even more terrible for you: it’s the best thing about your submission! For some reason, students around the world have taken to imitating Hollywood-style production graphics in a misguided attempt to look more “professional”, with logos that trumpet “Rock N. Thamouse Productions” or “Skidmark Studios”. (You’ll even see student reels with absurdly top-heavy opening credits such as: “Rock N. Thamouse Productions & Skidmark Studios presents… a Rock N. Thamouse film… written, directed & produced by Rock N. Thamouse…Copyright 2008 Rock N. Thamouse Productions, All worldwide rights reserved”. Word to the wise: stop it. Please.)
The third (and less immediately obvious) problem with this logo is that it reproduces poorly. Something that most applicants fail to consider is that their documentation may be photocopied and re-photocopied, faxed and re-faxed. Pretty soon, your lovely graphic is a nice, big ink-cartridge-wastin’ smudge on the page. If despite these warnings, you absolutely MUST include a graphic (there’s at least one of you out there), do yourself a favor and fax it to yourself on the crappiest fax machine you can find. Then, re-fax the output. If you’re happy with the degraded result, keep the graphic. If not, lose it.
Moving on to Rock’s contact information, we have to at least give him credit for providing both phone and email. The problem is that he provides two of each. Recruiters don’t want to guess which email or phone to use, so provide ONE email address for contact purposes, and make sure that it is neither inappropriate (”nippletwist.com”) nor erroneous (”calarts.ed”). Also, make sure that the email you use will not expire within the next year - especially if it is an academic account. Potential employers usually keep you on file, and you never know when one may come calling (to wit: my ILM reference above).
With respect to phone numbers, the ideal is to provide ONE number - preferrably your mobile. However, if you don’t have a cell phone, it’s ok to provide more than one number if they are clearly differentiated (ie. “H” for home and “W” for work), and you can answer each at any given time without embarrassment. Home numbers are fine as long as you can keep background noise to a minimum, and aren’t saddled with flaky roommates who screw the pooch in some way (answering rudely or forgetting to tell you that Pixar called). Work numbers are generally ill-advised, unless you are SURE that you can answer at any time, and you are SURE that you can speak freely without the line being monitored. And for God’s sake, DON’T list your current employer’s front desk receptionist as your work number! (Again you laugh, but…)
Adding a return mailing address is always a good idea. Your potential employer will need this information eventually, so why not provide it right up front? If your submission has the desired effect, you’ll be receiving paperwork soon enough.
Now let’s look at Rock’s salutation: “To who it may concern,” Aside from the grammatical error, the biggest problem with this opening line is that Rock has not addressed his submission to anyone in particular. This is the quickest way to end up at the bottom of the pile or in the “round file” - not because people are insulted at being addressed anonymously, but because of the utter lack of initiative that it demonstrates on the applicant’s part. If you don’t know who to address your submission to, FIND OUT. A simple phone call to the main desk of the studio in question works wonders: “Hi, this is Rock N. Thamouse. Could you please provide me with the name, title and contact information of your artistic recruiter? Thank you very much.” Done.
Within the body of the cover letter, there are a number fun things going on, many of which were correctly observed by Gerard de Souza in the “Comments” section of the previous post. Spelling mistakes abound, as do text-message-style abbreviations (”How R U?”) Once again, these are not far-fetched. They happen. And while I’m certainly open-minded enough to engage in an intellectual conversation on how text messaging may economically evolve our written language, the fact of the matter is that such shortcuts and informalities are entirely out of place in business correspondence - irrespective of whether it is printed or emailed. The insidious thing is that email and texting have become so pervasive, that even relatively “old-fashioned” abbreviations like “FYI” and “BTW” appear to have become acceptable. They aren’t. If you’re already taking shortcuts while applying for the job, what can I hope to expect once you’re on the clock?
Spelling errors are best addressed with 4-step coverage: 1) run spell check 2) read the result through on screen 3) print the letter out and read it on paper 4) have a friend read it. Sound excessive? It’s not. (In fact, I probably have an uncaught spelling error in this post.)
Other formal problems in Rock’s cover include hand-corrected errors (you’d be amazed at how many people attempt to white out and ink in corrections instead of just printing a new letter) and the lack of a proper signature. A hand-written signature is always a good finish, especially when it’s elegant and/or strong. Your signature is like your handshake: it doesn’t make or break the deal, but it speaks volumes of you as a person.
Ok… enough about form, let’s get to content. Rock starts out by painting a rather uncertain graduation picture. Not only does this reflect poorly upon his studiousness, but it fails to provide the potential employer with a clear idea of when Rock will be available for work.
Confidence is great, but our friend Rock appears to be soaking in it. Your prospective employer will be the one to decide how great your work is, and whether or not you are right for them, so there’s no need to offer your own assessment on this front. Likewise, the unqualified opinions of others matter very little, although qualified letters of recommendation and references can be helpful (as long as you’re sure you won’t be undermined or downright sabotaged by that person whose good word you are counting on… you’d be surprised).
Rock fails to provide his demo reel, although he is kind enough to mention that it is coming later. If the demo reel has been uploaded to the company (an increasingly common requirement), he should say so - and should still include an auto-play DVD reel (with no menus) AND a VHS copy (for employers rocking it old school). This convenience never hurts, unless the application guidelines specifically discourage physical reels. When multiple formats are provided, the content should be identical. (I stopped saying “It goes without saying.” years ago.)
Rock proceeds to make vague, sweeping reference to his software proficiencies, and admits to software piracy (which puts him in league with 90% of computer users, including perhaps his future employers, but still - not cool in a cover letter). He closes this paragraph with a bit of hubris about visiting professionals who apparently “stole” his ideas. No doubt Rock has indeed noticed similarities between his techniques and those employed by major studios. (In this day and age of technical disclosure at conferences, on DVDs, in magazines and over the internet, how could he not?) If so, Rock should be pleased that he is on the right track, and feel free to mention the congruency, but in a more modest way. The personal aside that Rock makes to his “lady” is also a little more information than we need in a hiring situation.
In the next paragraph, Rock commits the cardinal sin of applying for a position that he doesn’t really want, with the intention of using it as a toehold for the position he really does want. There’s nothing wrong with being clear on what you would like to do (in fact, it’s highly encouraged), and there’s nothing wrong with pursuing career aspirations and learning new things, but there’s nothing good about an employee who agrees to a position they could care less about with the intention of angling for something “better”. I’ve witnessed this firsthand, and it’s a recipe for diz-ass-ter.
Insulting your potential employer is never a good tactic, but nobody appears to have informed Rock of this principle, as he charitably offers to raise the quality of the studio to which he is applying. Believe it or not, the line: “Based on your last movie, I could definitely help raise your game.” is copied word-for-word from an actual applicant’s cover letter. That applicant ended up “raising” someone else’s game, not for the moronic comment (true professionals are not that petty) but for the lame reel that accompanied it.
Next, Rock gives a conflicting assessment of his drawing abilities, and after a poor attempt to spin his deteriorating draftsmanship, makes broad assumptions about his future employer’s willingness to train him. Many studios do indeed have training programs, but these are intended to burnish existing talent to a high shine - not to polish turds.
Forging ahead (you sorta have to admire the guy at this point), Rock dictates his terms: he’s a late sleeper, so he requires flex time, and his future boss needs to earn his respect. While managers, leads and supervisors do indeed reap the best results from employees who respect the person instead of fearing the title, it’s not Rock’s place to advance this as a prerequisite for his productivity. Furthermore, it’s NEVER a smart idea to badmouth your colleagues. As beaten to death as it is, the old saying holds true: “If you can’t say something good about a person, don’t say anything at all.” (I’m going to be struck by lightning at any moment.)
Finally, Rock sets the conditions for future correspondence and meetings at his convenience, not the employer’s, and doesn’t seem to really care if things go further or not. The sad thing is that Rock probably does care - he’s just never been shown the proper way to approach this. Had Rock attended my “Industry Survival Tips” seminar, he would have been exposed to the following key points on cover letters:
DO…
DON’T…
So with these points in mind, here is Rock’s revised cover letter.
If you want to have your own materials reviewed by an industry pro with major studio supervisory and recruiting experience, drop me a line at kevingeiger@animationoptions.com
For a flat fee of $100 USD ($60 USD for students) I’ll review and make recommendations on your cover letter, resume, shot list, reel and associated materials. How often can you get candid feedback from anyone these days - let alone the very stripe of person to whom you are applying - without using up an opportunity in the process?
Exercise your options.
Kevin Geiger
Every semester at Cal Arts, no matter what subject I happened to be teaching, we would reserve an evening for my “Industry Survival Tips” seminar, covering things you typically learn “the hard way” - things you wish they taught you in school. It quickly became the most popular night of the year.
This fictitious (but not unheard of) example of a really bad cover letter became a small hit of sorts (no offense to Cal Arts students or TDs named “Rock”).
See how many problems you can find, and we’ll review in the next day or two.
At the SIGGRAPH 2008 conference in Los Angeles this past week, I saw one of the the most depressing student films ever made. It was shown during a panel I participated in entitled, “Teaching Computer Animation For Results”, hosted by my old friend Craig Caldwell of the Griffith University Film School in Brisbane. Each of the four presenters focused upon an educational segment (I drew the “graduate” straw). The short film in question was screened during the undergraduate level portion. In it, a flabby animator pulls an all-nighter in his cubicle. He stares at the cavorting cartoon character on his monitor and wearily laments, “I use to like bears.” Noticing that his coffee pot is empty, he gets up to leave his cube in search of more java. But his ergonomic chair blocks his exit - subtly at first, and then with mounting confrontation. The animator’s desperate attempts to escape this nightmare prove futile as he is forced back into the chair - which “soothingly” rubs his shoulders as he sobs uncontrollably before his unsympathetic monitor: slave to the mis en scene.
The beat outline for this film was described as follows:
Somebody slit my wrists now… please. Frankly, I’d expect this sort of “story” from an animation school in North Korea - not from one located in the Southeastern United States. Needless to say, the student filmmaker has probably already been gobbled up by a major studio who is happy to see that someone “gets it”. Who wouldn’t want an employee who “understands” that they can’t leave their cubicle for a cuppa?
Now, I’m no pollyanna. As an animation industry vet, I’ve seen the good, the bad and the ugly. I’ve put in my share of overtime - burning the midnight oil on studio assignments and independent projects alike. I’ve dealt with work-induced RSI, back pain, stress and exhaustion. I know the realities of our business, and it’s not all kittens and unicorns (even when we may be animating kittens and unicorns). So, I wasn’t bothered by the fact that the film’s hapless protagonist didn’t get to take his prescribed union coffee break, or was probably working unpaid OT, or had clearly let his health and personal life go to pot in the service of a menial “effects wizard” position. What bothered me was the loss of fire in the belly, underscored by the opening gag line: “I used to like bears.” Here was a self-portrait (or soon-to-be self-portrait) of an artist whose spark was extinguished, who was forced to sit at his desk and feed the machine without pause like one of those human Duracells in “The Matrix”. There’s nothing wrong with “paying your dues”, but NOT at the cost of your soul.
Ironically, this was a perfect segue into my own segment on the graduate level. The three hallmarks of a graduate education in computer graphics & animation as I see them (based upon my tripod of experience as a graduate student, professor, and recruiting animation supervisor) are as follows:
In addressing these points, the seminal question that I posed to the SIGGRAPH audience was this: “What are you preparing your students for?”
While these three are not mutually exclusive, they are hierarchical. There’s certainly nothing wrong with a job. We all need one - coming in handy as they do for little things like clothes on your back, food in your belly and a roof over your head. But one can easily shlep along from job to job without any sense of a career arc, which is the next level up. Preparing a student for a job involves training, while preparing a student for a career requires education: if job preparation addresses the buttons and menus, then career preparation addresses the concepts and principles underlying those buttons and menus. And vocation preparation addresses the vision that these functional aspects serve. The distinction between career and vocation is that between artisan and artist: the distinction between the hand and the heart. And even the major studios need more of the latter, whether they know it or not.
Which brings me to the subject of the animation industry’s relationship to academia - a dissertation in itself, but something that I will touch upon briefly here. On my flight to Taipei a couple days ago, I was flipping through the latest issue of 3D World magazine, and came across an article in which industry “pressure group” Games Up? was bemoaning the skills crisis in UK games development, and laying blame squarely at the feet of UK schools and universities. In the first place, let me observe that the stance of “pressure group” is very telling, and significantly different than that of “support group”. A “pressure group” is a pointed finger, while a “support group” is a helping hand. And guess which one is superior in terms of intention, commitment and results? My suspicions regarding the attitude of the companies in question were confirmed by a subsequent comment in which an art director spoke ruefully of CG candidates with “salary issues”. Note to companies: like it or not, when demand exceeds supply - as it clearly does in the landscape addressed by the CG World article - any “salary issues” belong to YOU, not your prospective employees. That sword cuts both ways.
The article posed the question: “Are graduates up to the job?” I’d like to turn that right around and ask: “Are companies up to the job?” Are companies willing to partner with schools to create mutually-enriching programs? Are companies willing to democratically support the percentage that is “irrelevant” to them, in order to more effectively seed and leverage upon the percentage that is “relevant”? Are companies brave enough to pleasantly surprise themselves by looking for talent outside of their cookie cutter preconceptions (anyone remember the days before “digital content departments”, when CG artists came from the ranks of biology, architecture and dance programs)? Are companies forward-thinking enough to realize that what they want today is not necessarily what they need tomorrow? And are companies committed enough that if they can’t find what they need today, they don’t just stand there pointing fingers from the self-satisfied ring of their “pressure group”? Rather, they invite schools into their circle: they get involved. It’s a symbiotic relationship, and the more prescient studios - such as Sony Imageworks with their IPAX program - are already wise to this.
That said, I’ll advance the “radical” liberal arts notion that there’s more to an education than turning out “a good little worker bee”. As a student, you should ask yourself: “Do I want to be a drone, or a trailblazer?” And as an institution of higher learning, you should examine yourself: “Do we want to turn out graduates who slot neatly into the job opening of existing production companies, or do we want to turn out graduates who revolutionize the industry, and knock those companies on their @sses?” What is the more inspiring goal? Which philosophy best serves our students (and ultimately our industry) in the long run?
And to the kid and his instructors responsible for the short film about the animator trapped at his desk, take it from a seasoned pro: there’s ALWAYS time for coffee!
No, this isn’t another blog entry about “Beowulf”.
Over the years, I’ve spoken with many colleagues who were upset about something or another with respect to the impact of market forces upon their career. One time, the conversation was with a TD who was frustrated that he wasn’t moving up the promotional ladder as fast as he “should”. Another time, it was with a traditional artist who was happy to be employed on a feature film again, but upset that he wasn’t making as much money as he “should”. (When previously, it was with an executive who said he “shouldn’t” have to pay his artists so much.) Recently, it was with an animator who was upset about ongoing outsourcing trends. In the latter case, the individual adamantly maintained that “somebody should do something”, but was resistant to the suggestion that the best “somebody” to “do something” in response to the effect of market forces on his personal situation was him.
Many talented people in our industry reside in the “Unhappy Valley”: a place they used to find pleasant - with dreams of settling in for a while - but suddenly find subject to forces that have rendered their idyllic glen unrecognizable. Take the example of a fertile valley that is now prone to flooding, whether due to climate changes, man-made interference or some combination of the two. You’ve lived in that valley for many years - carving out a place for yourself and building something from nothing - only now to find that your livelihood as it stands is challenged by forces larger than yourself. Note how the word “challenged” denotes a different mindset in evaluating the situation than the word “threatened”. Victims are threatened. Entrepreneurs are challenged. And these days, if you’re not thinking like an entrepreneur - even if you work for somebody else - you’re dead in the water (pun intended).
As always, you DO have choices. (I’m always amazed at people who adamantly insist that they don’t.) You could sit there in the valley and refuse to move, lamenting your situation as the flood takes its toll upon you year after year. You could pick up stakes and move on, endlessly griping to anyone who will listen about “how good you had it” before everything was “ruined”. OR you could study the forces at work, evaluate them with respect to your current situation, devise an adaptive plan, and then proceed to realize that plan with enthusiasm, intellectual curiosity, and elbow grease. What that plan will be is as particular to you as your taste in music: driven by your preferences and your standards. Perhaps you will make the effort to move to higher ground. Perhaps you will even choose to capitalize on the situation: stay where you are, get a boat, raise your house up on stilts, and open a bait & tackle shop.
The choices are limitless, but only when your thinking is not limited. The Unhappy Valley doesn’t need to be so, but it all starts with YOU. As Abraham Lincoln once said, “People are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.”
(A great quote, even though it appears that ol’ Abe made up his mind to be rather dour.)
