What Happens When You Don’t Copyright Your Script

Introduction: The Nightmare of the Unregistered Script

Imagine this scenario (it’s every screenwriter’s nightmare): You’ve written a brilliant screenplay – the kind that could launch your career. You’re buzzing with excitement and share it widely, figuring no one would actually steal your work. Fast forward a year: you’re scrolling Netflix and suddenly see a trailer for a film with a disturbingly familiar plot and characters. It’s basically your story, but you had no idea it was being made. You scramble to take action… only to realize you never formally copyrighted your script. This introduction isn’t to scare you for fun – it’s to illustrate what can happen when you don’t copyright your script. In this post, we’ll explore the fallout of not protecting your screenplay, following a hypothetical case of a writer who learned the hard way. We’ll then show how a simple, timely registration (made effortless with tools like Fortress) could have prevented the whole mess. If you’ve ever thought “Eh, I’ll register later,” keep reading – you might reconsider.

The Hypothetical Case Study: Jane’s Stolen Script

Meet Jane, an aspiring screenwriter. Jane spent a year writing “The Shadow Trail,” an original thriller. She’s proud of it and eager to get it out there. She queries some agents, enters a couple of contests, and even posts about it in a screenwriting forum seeking feedback. A mid-level producer (let’s call him Bob) hears about the script through the grapevine and asks to read it. Jane, thinking this is a great opportunity, sends it over without any NDA or registration – after all, Bob has some legit credits, why would he steal it?

Months pass. Bob passes on the script with a polite “not for us.” Jane shelves it as she works on a new project. Then one day, Jane sees an announcement: a thriller film with a plot very similar to hers has begun production, produced by Bob’s company. The title is different, but the logline, even some character names, are like a mirror of “The Shadow Trail.” Jane is flabbergasted. It looks like Bob (or someone) took her script’s core and ran with it.

Jane consults a lawyer. The first question: “Did you register your screenplay?” Jane’s heart sinks – she did not. The lawyer explains that this severely limits what they can do. Jane can file a copyright registration now, but because the alleged infringement (the new film) is already underway, she won’t be eligible for statutory damages or attorney’s fees in a lawsuit. This means even if she sues and wins, she could only recover provable actual damages – which for a newbie writer might be calculated as the lost license fee (maybe a few thousand dollars). Not exactly the millions one imagines in a movie theft case, and likely not worth the cost of litigation.

But Jane is determined. She pays to register her script belatedly and then, with her lawyer, sends a cease-and-desist letter to Bob’s production, claiming they stole her screenplay. Bob’s lawyers fire back: “Your client’s work was not registered at the time of any alleged infringement. Additionally, any similarities are purely coincidental. Our film is based on an original script by another writer (who, conveniently, is Bob’s friend).” They provide a copyright registration number for their script – dated six months ago. Essentially, Bob’s team has their paperwork in order, and Jane doesn’t.

Now Jane faces an uphill battle:

• Burden of Proof: Without direct evidence (like emails where Bob admits copying, which of course don’t exist), Jane must prove that Bob’s film is so substantially similar to her script that it couldn’t be coincidence, and that Bob had access to her script. Access might be provable (he read it, after all), but substantial similarity is arguable. Bob’s team made sure to change enough details to have some deniability. This kind of case is often a toss-up and notoriously hard to win.

• No Injunction Likely: Jane would love to stop the film’s release. But courts are hesitant to issue an injunction (halting the film) unless infringement is very clear. With no registration at the outset, she’s already at a disadvantage. The film is nearly done, money invested – the studio (if Bob partnered with one) will fight tooth and nail to avoid delay.

• Legal Costs: Because Jane didn’t register in time, even if she somehow wins, she can’t recoup legal fees. Her attorney requires a substantial retainer to even proceed with a suit, likely tens of thousands of dollars. Jane’s not rich; this is devastating. Many lawyers would advise her at this point to consider settlement or mediation if possible, rather than an all-out lawsuit, due to the cost-benefit imbalance.

Emotionally, Jane is crushed. She feels betrayed and angry – rightfully so. Her dream project is essentially stolen and there’s no easy remedy. The film will come out, and she might have to watch her scenes and twists play out with zero credit.

This hypothetical is unfortunately not far from reality. There have been numerous instances in Hollywood where writers claim their scripts were used without credit. The difference between those who prevail and those who don’t often comes down to what kind of proof and legal footing they have. Jane had put herself on shaky ground by not registering and by freely giving out her script.

Legal Recourse When You Didn’t Register: Slim to None

Let’s analyze what legal recourse Jane (and writers in her position) have when a script isn’t copyrighted:

• Register Late and Sue (Civil Suit): Jane did the first necessary step – she registered once she realized the issue. You cannot sue for copyright infringement until you have a registration (or at least, the application filed – but after the 2019 Supreme Court decision, the general rule is the registration has to be issued). So she did that. Now, she can file a lawsuit, albeit with limitations. In her complaint, she would allege that the film infringes her copyright (which is now registered). She must prove (a) Bob had access to her work, and (b) the film is “substantially similar” to protectable elements of her screenplay. Because she registered after infringement, she is not entitled to statutory damages or attorney’s fees. That means even if she wins, she could only get actual damages (perhaps the fair market value of her script or a share of profits if she can argue for that). No punitive $150k per infringement or anything – those statutory awards are only for timely registered works. This drastically reduces her leverage.

• Breach of Implied Contract (Idea Theft): Jane could try a different angle, often used in idea theft cases: claim that when she submitted the script to Bob, there was an implied contract that if he used her idea, he’d compensate her. This is what some writers have done in lieu of copyright (the Montz v. Pilgrim Films case, etc.). In California, for instance, the famous Desny v. Wilder case allows writers to sue on an implied contract theory for idea submission. However, these are hard cases too. She’d have to show that industry custom or their interaction implied an agreement. Bob will say, “No such promise was made or implied – she just showed me her script unsolicited.” Still, this claim sometimes succeeds where straight copyright claims fail (especially if the idea itself isn’t protectable by copyright). If Jane’s story idea isn’t wholly original (few are) but the submission can be framed as a business transaction, she might have a shot here. But this is a complex path and still requires legal help and expense.

• Credit Arbitration or Guild Action: If Bob’s film involved WGA writers, Jane could approach the WGA, but since she’s not a member and her work was not under a WGA contract, the Guild likely can’t do much. There’s no formal arbitration for a non-guild writer claiming credit on a produced film. If Bob’s friend plagiarized her, the WGA could theoretically investigate if a member violated certain rules, but this is unlikely to benefit Jane directly.

• Public Pressure: Outside the courts, sometimes public opinion and media attention can shame credit-thieves into a settlement. If Jane went public with her story (say, on social media or via a journalist), it could pressure Bob’s team. But this is a double-edged sword: it can also provoke a defamation response from the accused if she overstates things. It’s risky and messy. Some writers have gotten settlements when studios wanted to avoid bad PR, but it’s far from guaranteed.

Looking at this, “slim to none” is a fair summary of Jane’s chances. The deck is stacked against an unregistered work’s creator in an infringement scenario. In many cases like this, the writer ends up with nothing, or at best, a modest settlement that’s a fraction of what the script might have sold for – basically go-away money.

How Timely Registration Could Have Protected Jane

Now let’s rewind and imagine an alternate timeline where Jane did things differently:

Jane finishes “The Shadow Trail.” Right away, she uses Fortress to register her screenplay with the U.S. Copyright Office (Fortress handled the paperwork and got her a confirmation within 24 hours). She now has a copyright certificate (or at least a number) in hand as she starts sharing her work.

When Bob requested her script, Jane sent it, but her title page included a copyright notice (“© 2025 Jane Doe. All Rights Reserved.”) and perhaps even a line that it’s registered. Bob, seeing that, might think twice about doing anything shady – it’s a psychological and legal warning. He knows she could sue and get statutory damages if he steals it, which is a big deterrent.

Suppose Bob still went ahead and developed a film using her script. The moment Jane saw those similarities, she’d be in a much stronger position. Her script was registered before any infringement. This means:

• She can sue and, if she wins, ask for statutory damages up to $150,000 per infringed work (here, that’s likely just one work – her script – but that’s a lot more than actual damages might be). Also, she could ask for her attorney’s fees to be paid by the other side. This alone often forces a quicker and larger settlement. The studio or producer won’t like that risk – they can’t just pay her a nuisance fee and walk away, because if she goes to trial and wins, they might owe six figures plus her lawyer bills.
• She could potentially get a preliminary injunction to halt the film’s release, since she can show a likelihood of success (her lawyer can brandish the two scripts and the timing). The threat of an injunction can bring the other side to the table fast – they don’t want their release delayed or tangled.
• Bob’s team, knowing Jane has her paperwork and evidence lined up (especially if Fortress provided a robust chain-of-evidence, maybe even indicating if Bob’s friend’s draft was created after Jane’s, etc.), would likely opt to settle quietly. That settlement could include credit (perhaps “Based on a screenplay by Jane Doe”) and compensation. Or at least a monetary payoff with NDA to keep it quiet.

Essentially, with timely registration, the power dynamic flips. Jane goes from an underdog to someone holding real legal ammunition. A true story in industry lore: when the creators of The Matrix were sued by a woman claiming they stole her ideas, it dragged on for years and she had no copyright registrations to bolster her case (not to mention the claims were outlandish). Contrast that with a case like the Coming to America situation we mentioned earlier: Buchwald had a contract and a paper trail, so he won. Or the case of the film Ted – a guy claimed they stole his vulgar talking bear idea; he actually had registered scripts to support his claim. That case still failed on other grounds (the ideas weren’t as similar as he thought), but the point is, with registration, he got his day in court and was taken seriously.

If Jane had Fortress backing her up, not only would registration be done, but she’d also have proof of exactly when her script was created and that it hadn’t been changed since (Fortress’s timestamping). If Bob’s team tried to claim they independently created the same script, Jane could challenge: “Really? Because my Fortress record shows I had this dialogue and character long before your writer supposedly came up with it.” It’s essentially evidence of copying.

In summary, timely copyright (which Fortress makes easy and fast) is the preventative medicine that would have saved Jane’s script from being “stolen” in the first place or at least given her a clear remedy after the fact. It’s like wearing a seatbelt: you hope you don’t need it, but if a crash (infringement) happens, it can save your life (or in this case, your story).

The Moral: Don’t Skip the Copyright Step

The saga of Jane’s unregistered script teaches a simple, powerful lesson: don’t skip the copyright registration. It’s not a bureaucratic formality – it’s the legal foundation of your ownership. Without it, your creative work is an unsecured asset. With it, you have a figurative lock, alarm system, and insurance policy on your creation.

We’ve walked through worst-case scenarios here: stolen ideas, legal battles, heartbreak. Not every unregistered script will meet such a fate, of course. But some do – and you often hear about those in hindsight, a writer lamenting how they “had that idea first” but got no credit or compensation. As creatives, our ideas and scripts are our currency. Protecting them isn’t just about money or credit, it’s about respect for our craft. If we don’t take the step to secure our rights, how can we expect others in the industry to respect those rights?

Here’s what can happen when you don’t copyright your script:

• You might unknowingly give others a free pass to mine your material.
• You limit your options to respond if someone does copy you (pretty much exactly what happened to Jane).
• You potentially miss out on significant financial restitution even if you prove theft.
• You endure stress and regret that could overshadow the joy of creating.

And here’s what happens when you do copyright your script (especially using a streamlined tool like Fortress):

• You gain immediate legal advantages that make others think twice about crossing you.
• You open the door to full remedies – injunctions, statutory damages, etc. – which makes you a formidable rights-holder, not an easy victim.
• You signal professionalism. People in the industry, when they see you’ve handled your IP properly, know you’re not an amateur. It sets a tone in negotiations and collaborations that “this creator has their business together.”

In Jane’s story, the ending in our original timeline is bleak. But if she had registered, the ending likely would be very different – maybe Bob would have optioned her script legitimately instead of plagiarizing, or if he still played dirty, Jane would have won a settlement that could finance her next project (and a story credit on a released film). Either way, she wouldn’t be empty-handed.

Conclusion: Your Script Deserves Protection – Don’t Leave It Exposed

The hypothetical we explored is a cautionary tale, but it doesn’t have to be your tale. The power to protect your script is literally a few clicks away – not an exaggeration if you’re using something like Fortress’s one-click registration, or even just the Copyright Office’s online form which is straightforward enough. The small effort now can prevent enormous pain later.

If you take nothing else from this discussion, remember this mantra: “Write, register, then reveal.” Write your script, register it, then start revealing it to the world (agents, producers, contests, etc.). That step in the middle makes all the difference between “just trust me, it’s mine” and “here’s the proof it’s mine.”

What happens when you don’t copyright your script? Potentially nothing bad… but possibly everything bad. It’s a gamble with terrible odds. And it’s a completely unnecessary gamble. Especially with modern solutions at hand: we live in 2025, not 1985. You don’t have to snail-mail yourself a copy and hope for the best; you can get an official registration in a day or two, with digital timestamps and even blockchain verification if you wanted. Use these tools to your advantage. As the saying goes, “trust in God but lock your car.” In screenwriting terms, trust in your collaborators, but lock your script with copyright.

So, to every screenwriter, filmmaker, and creator reading: learn from “Jane.” Let her story be the horror story you heard but never had to live. Protect your work. It’s part of taking your craft seriously. And it might just save your dream project from turning into someone else’s blockbuster.

In the end, the cost of registration is tiny, but the cost of not registering could be your entire creation. That equation should make the decision easy. Don’t wait. Protect your script – your future self will thank you, and your muse will too, because she’ll know her creations won’t be lost.

Stay safe, write on, and remember: a protected story is a powerful story.