q&a: screenwriter nina kim ("joy ride," "the l word") on her hot WGA strike summer
"the past few years have definitely opened me up to the grim reality of being in this industry."
Welcome to an it’s steffi interview! Today I’m here with Nina Kim, a television writer who has written for Joy Ride, The L Word, Blumhouse’s latest series The Bondsman, and more. This interview has been condensed for clarity.
Last week, the trade union Writers Guild of America (WGA) reached a contract with the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP), ending the 148 day strike and giving film and television writers several crucial worker’s protections. It was the second longest strike in Hollywood history, and was a powerful show of unity and solidarity that disrupted strongholds of the industry.
Nina Kim, a Nashville-raised writer whose resume includes titles like Joy Ride, The L Word, Generation Q and The Bondsman, was one of the writers who stood on the picket lines for months. Hustle is something I’ve always associated with Nina; ever since we met as interns on the historic lot of Sunset Gower Studios, Nina has always had the vision and drive for the work she wants to make. But I think as we’ve grown up together, and began working through a constant barrage of unprecedented times, our relationship to work has changed immensely. And particularly, with the looming uncertainty of our industries, this summer proved to be a reflective one.
“I mean, I got my steps in,” she said. “That’s for sure.”
Nina and I reflected on what the strike was like for her, the worries she has now, and how her relationship to writing has changed. This is a snapshot of one writer’s life during the WGA strike.
Congratulations on the contract.
I’m glad we came to a deal, but it’s crazy how long it took. The strike was 148 days. The last one was like, 100 days or something. And the actors are still going.
How are you feeling about it?
I am thankful for it. It’s a huge, culturally historic thing we did. In a lot of personal and selfish ways, I also just needed this break. I needed a moment to pause, to go home and spend time with my parents. I got to see the world a bit and do my solo, reset, Eat Pray Love trip. Also, seeing the solidarity gave me a lot of hope I did not have before.
Now, I feel that hope. The deal was good, mostly everything we asked for, and I’m just happy that staff writers are getting paid weekly now. A lot of [the lowest level of writing staff] are BIPOC writers, queer writers, so that’s a huge move. The industry doesn’t change overnight, and I think in the next few months — maybe years — we’re hopefully going to see the fruits of our labor. I’m not going to immediately pat the AMPTP on their back until I see the actual fruits. I guess I’m excited.
You picketed through those months. Do you have any standout memories from it?
Okay, this might be weird, but as long as I’ve lived in LA, I’ve never seen paparazzi. I’ve always been curious where they are. They seem to be everywhere in this city, but I’ve never seen them. So this was the first time in my life where I’ve seen paparazzi. It felt like a real LA bucket list moment. But yeah, otherwise, my memories are pretty much waking up, grabbing my sign and water bottle, maybe a speaker, and driving to meet up with my friends.
There was also a Black writers’ group meet up the same day as the Asian writers’ one. I don’t know if they coordinated it, but it was a lot of people, people everywhere, spilling out into the street. This one woman had a speaker on wheels and was blasting “Bitch Better Have My Money” on loop. That was really fun. That felt like a block party. Like, we’re all here, and broke and sad, but look at us, having this moment outside Paramount.
Was there a learning curve at all?
When the strike was announced, it was kind of a realization like, oh shit, I’m a part of this. I can’t be complacent. I need to show up and educate myself. That was a huge part of it, was educating myself on what these contracts even saying. I do feel spoiled because I joined the Guild pretty quickly. And I’m extremely lucky for it.
As for stopping work, maybe it’s because of the pandemic and staying inside so long, and the nature of being a writer means being unemployed for long periods of time, but I was strangely used to it. Last year I was unemployed for almost six months, so it almost felt like that. I shouldn’t be used to it, but I am.
I’m sure a lot of people are curious — how did you pay your rent and bills over the summer? Did you make any money?
I got so lucky. I was working a job that ended literally a day before the strike. So I knew prior that it would most likely happen, so I didn’t spend a lot of money — I saved a lot of those checks. Which sucks, because I was just burning through it during the summer. So no, I didn’t make any money. I got one L Word residual check, which was a really sad check, because it couldn’t even cover one month’s rent. Which I guess was a reminder of, damn, this is what we’re fighting for. But I mean, thanks, I guess.
It’s so funny to think about how we spent our summers out of work, because as long as we’ve known each other, we’ve been hustling towards this idea of working in creative fields. Yet we were always much more focused on the creative part than the work and labor part.
Yeah. When I first started out, I was so oblivious and naive. Just unaware of anything related to unions and labor behind the creative work we do. I just wanted to work as a writer and write fun, meaningful stories.
Do you feel like film school prepared you for what the machinations of doing this work looked like?
Hell no! Film school? Film school was all about the dirty work. Get down and dirty, even if the pay is shit. Keeping your head down and rolling up your sleeves. Of course, it perpetuates toxic work culture, low pay, abuse. In the beginning, I was an extreme people pleaser. I mean, it got me a lot of jobs. But it wasn’t good for my mental health, and bled into my personal life — being a people pleaser doesn’t stop at work. It’s isolating. But at least this labor movement really shed light on the fact that I’m not alone, and I saw how so many people went through so much just to get that one opportunity. I really hope after the 148 days we do see a shift.
Has your relationship to writing changed since you started working?
Oh, definitely. I think I quickly got a reality check once I started working, which is that the stuff you write turns into a product. The stuff you write becomes the roof over the head, food on the table.
Yeah, and I think we felt pretty unprepared for all the new fears that would be introduced when the thing you love the most becomes your job.
Yes, exactly. There were so many new fears introduced. Oh no, this won’t make money. This isn’t commercial enough. This isn’t meeting their quota, or whatever. It does suck the artistry out a little, because it can also just be about getting a check.
It’s hard to keep the optimism that first lit up your path, especially when so many scary things are happening — not just in the industry, but in the world as well. I’ve gotten more cynical, but I’m doing everything I can to hold onto the initial passion I know I have. There’s genuinely nothing else I can do or see myself doing. The past few years have definitely opened me up to the grim reality of being in this industry and just being an adult. I’m not the same writer I was, naturally.
There have been growing pains, that is for sure.
We met over five years ago, which is crazy. Do you remember the day we met?
Wait, no. Is it embarrassing? Oh no.
We met in the hallways of our internship. I initially went in for a hug, and I could tell that’s not your thing. So I was like oh, she’s cool. She’s a cool girl who doesn’t do hugs.
I didn’t hug you? How the tables have turned.
Yeah, I was like, Steffi’s so edgy. You were such a baller and had such giant balls. You called out our boss, and you checked anyone. I hate when people say this shit to me, but I was intimidated. Not in that I felt powerless. But I felt empowered.
Well, that’s because I was abrasive. But you were always the favorite.
They had me doing the most random errands! I remember I had to search the town for these artisan mini baby pickles. I didn’t even know they existed. I was like, what? Peruvian puff peppers? I was gone for like, six hours.
You were going down to Torrance from Hollywood to look for some fucking pickles. And that’s why we need worker protections.
You aged when I came back. I was searching all over the city. Did I ever tell you about the most traumatic thing that happened to me that summer?
What? No?
Traumatic is a dramatic word. But it happened at the end of our internship, after we went to Boba Guys to celebrate. Do you remember that day?
Yes! You left early to go to a networking event in Hollywood.
Okay, for those that don’t know, Boba Guys is in Culver City, which is far from Hollywood, particularly during rush hour. We drove all the way there to get boba, but I had to go back for this industry speaker event hosted by our school. I’d been going to this series all summer, and I was really determined to go to all of them. So after we finished our drinks, I naively was like, oh, it’s a 45 minute drive. No worries. I had to pee a little, but I just figured it was not a bad drive, so I could hold it. More importantly, since the speaker event was school-run, they were so strict about being late. They’d kick you out of the out of the summer program if you were even a minute late. So I didn’t want to stop by a gas station to pee or anything.
I leave, get in the car and start driving, and immediately get stuck in LA traffic. I already needed to pee, but I was fighting for my life in that car. You know the kind of needing to pee where it hurts? By the time I get to Hollywood, I’m about to bust at the seams. I’m so close to the place, but there is so much traffic. We’re not moving. I’m fighting demons at this point. I was like, I’m going to pee my pants in this rental car, and I can’t go to the event because I’ll have a giant spot on my outfit. At some point, sitting there, I was like, I can’t hold this anymore. So I pull over in a neighborhood street next to Paramount Studios, unbutton my pants, and look around. There’s lines and lines of cars in traffic. I can’t do it. I can’t get out of the car. There are too many people. Beads of sweat are building up on my forehead. I have to pee. But I can’t pee when there are so many people. So, I climb to the backseat, grab the empty drink, crouch down, and piss into my empty Boba Guys cup.
Why are you telling me this now?
And it was a long one. I filled that cup up to the brim, and let me tell you, I got a large. I got the largest cup of boba. But Steffi, the relief I felt. The joy. I’ve never felt anything like it.
There are tears streaming down my face.
Anyhow, I finish my little detour and pull into the event space. There’s valet in this building. I pull in, and the valet approaches. I’ve made it. So here I am, with my large lemon mango boba cup in the cupholder. I’m just looking at the valet. And I give him my keys. Then I run into the building and wash my fucking hands.
Okay, I know I’m wheezing right now, but this is a weirdly perfect vignette of how a few years can change so much. Like, you wanted to make this dream happen so badly, you were willing to pee in the back of your car instead of just like, finding a hotel bathroom and risk being two minutes late.
Here’s the other thing I think about when I remember that story: Hollywood is horrendous. The things that I’ve seen people do, whipping their dicks out in the middle of the road and all. I couldn’t just piss on the street like a grown up; I was so shy I had to like, army crawl to the back of my rental car in shame. I don’t know, I was so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed back then. But wow, wasn’t I determined and resourceful? If I were on a stranded island, I could probably make it out. I was fighting demons. I can’t believe I never told you about that.
I think it’s kind of nice to think about how much you’ve grown since using a Boba Guys cup as a toilet.
Every time I drive past Paramount, I think of that.
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You can follow Nina Kim on Instagram or Twitter @ninakimpossible.
Note: An earlier version of this draft stated that Nina pulled into an alleyway, but she was in a street.