What follows will be meaningless if you haven't read WATCHMEN, so feel free to move along. Otherwise, below you'll find an extract from some wag's vision of what would happen if masked vigilante Rorschach went to Comic-Con in search of openings as an artist. Absolutely catches the despair of the annual San Diego bunfest if you're trying to break in as a creator, and captures the voice of Alan Moore's brooding loner. Sample below, rest can be seen here.
RORSHACH’S JOURNAL
July 22nd, 2008
Dog carcass in alley this morning, tire tread on burst stomach. The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood.
No one notices. Chesty girl in Elektra costume walks by and lecherous men stop to take photos.
Accumulated filth and sex, whores and politicians, following the droppings of lechers and capitalists. They had a choice, all of them. They could have followed in the footsteps of good men. Decent men who believed in a day’s work for a day’s pay.
Instead, they came to Comic-Con. Now they stand on the brink, staring into bloody hell.
Hurm.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tales from the Riverbank [of Death]
One of my first bosses when I arrived in the UK used to quote an old proverb: "Wait by the river long enough and the body of your enemy will float by you". [Not sure who said it first - Confucius, Sun Tzu or some other, clever person - answers in the comments section please.] In other words, be patient and you can outlast many of those who vex you. Don't fight every battle, let nature take its course. It doesn't always work but a little patience goes a long way.
Now, there are some who say a happy TV show behind the scenes equals a poor TV show on screen. However, most of those I've heard say that tend to get off on confrontation, enjoying the rough and tumble. [One bragged about how many script editors he'd made cry, which tells you a lot about him.] In my experience a workplace with high staff turnover usually means that isn't a happy place to work. Morale is low, conditions aren't great, time to get gone.
Earlier this year I got a rejection letter from a newcomer at a TV show that was needlessly snotty. Nobody likes getting rejected, but it's an occupational hazard for writers. But the tone of the letter and its author's choice of words were overly harsh. [Sad to say, it reminded me of the brutal rejection letters I used to write as a newbie comics editor. Karma can really bite you in the arse sometimes.] Somebody was flexing their new-found muscles.
At another time I would have been crushed by that letter. Happily, I was able to write back to its author, thanked them for taking the time to read my efforts [always be polite, even when others lack the same courtesy] and say I'd made a breakthrough elsewhere. I didn't bother mentioning it was the same script they'd so disliked that got me the breakthrough. Their mind was already made up, there was no point trying to chance their opinion about it.
Yesterday I discovered the letter writer no longer works at that show. Sounds like there's various upheavals, tremors and aftershocks running through the place. Give it another few months to settle down again, it might be worth a fresh approach to the new incumbent. I'll need a new calling card script, but hopefully all I learned on last week's Doctors mini-academy will inform and enhance my next efforts. In the meantime, I'll stay here by the river.
Now, there are some who say a happy TV show behind the scenes equals a poor TV show on screen. However, most of those I've heard say that tend to get off on confrontation, enjoying the rough and tumble. [One bragged about how many script editors he'd made cry, which tells you a lot about him.] In my experience a workplace with high staff turnover usually means that isn't a happy place to work. Morale is low, conditions aren't great, time to get gone.
Earlier this year I got a rejection letter from a newcomer at a TV show that was needlessly snotty. Nobody likes getting rejected, but it's an occupational hazard for writers. But the tone of the letter and its author's choice of words were overly harsh. [Sad to say, it reminded me of the brutal rejection letters I used to write as a newbie comics editor. Karma can really bite you in the arse sometimes.] Somebody was flexing their new-found muscles.
At another time I would have been crushed by that letter. Happily, I was able to write back to its author, thanked them for taking the time to read my efforts [always be polite, even when others lack the same courtesy] and say I'd made a breakthrough elsewhere. I didn't bother mentioning it was the same script they'd so disliked that got me the breakthrough. Their mind was already made up, there was no point trying to chance their opinion about it.
Yesterday I discovered the letter writer no longer works at that show. Sounds like there's various upheavals, tremors and aftershocks running through the place. Give it another few months to settle down again, it might be worth a fresh approach to the new incumbent. I'll need a new calling card script, but hopefully all I learned on last week's Doctors mini-academy will inform and enhance my next efforts. In the meantime, I'll stay here by the river.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Simon Pegg still giving 2000 AD some love
The creators of Spaced - Edgar Wright, Simon Pegg and Jessica Hynes - went to Comic-Con to pimp the show's US DVD release. Pegg will soon be seen starring as Scottie in the new Star Trek movie, but it's good to see his heart still belongs to iconic British science fiction comic 2000 AD. Check out the retro logo t-shirt in this photo from Entertainment Weekly magazine's Comic-Con gallery.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Life at the 2008 Doctors mini-academy
My brain's still processing everything from five days in Birmingham, so apologies if this rambles or judders like a Super 8 camera missing a sprocket. This blog will mostly be a record my impressions, rather than offer a blow by blow recitation of everything we were told or taught [I've gotten my wrist slapped for that in the past by others]. And forgive jumps from I and me to the royal 'we' and 'us'.
I arrived on Sunday night, having the greatest distance to travel. The seven other invited writers turned up Monday morning - two from the North, one from Bristol, the rest from London or surrounding counties. In total there were four women, and four men. Several already had episodes of Doctors broadcast, nearly all had done trial scripts, everyone had professional writing experience in their history.
Got to say, it was a lovely, friendly, supportive group. The mixture of writing backgrounds [theatre, radio, journalism] and cultural backgrounds [one Kiwi, one Irish, one Canadian, people from various parts of the UK] kept things interesting and varied. Everybody was there to learn, everybody was eager to get involved, arrogance and egos got checked at the door. A nice bunch of people.
It helped we spent our days and nights staying at a Quaker centre, where everyone respects each other, where silence and tranquility are valued, and where people go out of their way to help one another. If we'd all been stuck in some impersonal economy chain hotel, it would have cheapened the experience. Somehow the Quakers enriched the week, added another dimension to the journey.
Monday: introductions, a tour of the Doctors sets [always smaller than you expect, the Campus Surgery especially so] and some words from producer Peter Lloyd. He's the man who decides which story pitches submitted by writers to bank, so it was good to spend time with him and get a sense of his enthusiasms. Producers and script editors had lunch with us, though I had an attack of shy. Silly boy.
In the afternoon a Doctors core writer came in to share her experiences, again in company with Peter. We watched one of her episodes, plus a recent, cracking episode by another writer that deserves every bit of praise it gets. [When Doctors flies, it soars.] Evening meal, a gentle stroll to the nearest pub for a pint or two and back to bed, knowing the hard work was all ahead of us.
Tuesday and Wednesday: enter John Yorke, head of BBC continuing drama series. He gave us his top 25 tips in the morning. After lunch Ceri Meyrick took over for the rest of that day and all the next. She showed us ten questions to ask of your protagonist, and demonstrated the five stage story structure preferred by some within the BBC. But she pushed one statement over and over again.
Writers should write about what they feel passionate. Things like the five stage structure or the ten questions were only diagnostic tools to help writers identify where a story might be misfiring. Writers mustn't substitute structure and turning points for inspiration or talent. Structure can be fixed, but great structure's no replacement for unique characters or crackling dialogue.
Thursday: the Doctors team returned to help us apply what we'd learned to writing for the show. More theories but lots of specifics, like capturing the voices of the regular characters. We also had fun with our last group exercise, small groups creating a Doctors pitch from scratch in 40 minutes. Another lunch with producers and script editors - all trace of shyness long since gone.
The rest of Thursday we spent developing our individual stories. I'd taken a dozen one paragraph ideas, and springboard sentences for another two dozen, plus a few more developed proposals. I tinkered with my favourite from among the developed pitches, before moving on to turn two single paragraph ideas into full-length efforts. Another pint in the evening to celebrate the last night.
Friday: breakfast, check out and a last minute frenzy of rewrites and printing out. Over to the production offices for pitching. Each writer spent between 60 and 90 minutes with their assigned script editor and producer, verbally pitching between two and three story ideas. Some felt their efforts went badly, others seemed pleased with the response. Most of us simply felt relieved afterwards.
A last lunch in the Doctors canteen, trying not to stare at the actors whose onscreen personas we'd been discussing all week, before an hour with the show's executive producer. Then it was time for planes, trains and automobiles [if not in that order] on the long trek home. Excited, exhilarated and exhausted in equal measure. But most of all the week left me inspired, eager to get writing.
If you ever got offered a place on one of the BBC's continuing drama series shadow schemes [let alone the 13 week Writers' Academy], I suggest grabbing it with both hands. You learn a lot, laugh a lot and get to spend time with people who shares your passion for storytelling. What could be better, right?
I arrived on Sunday night, having the greatest distance to travel. The seven other invited writers turned up Monday morning - two from the North, one from Bristol, the rest from London or surrounding counties. In total there were four women, and four men. Several already had episodes of Doctors broadcast, nearly all had done trial scripts, everyone had professional writing experience in their history.
Got to say, it was a lovely, friendly, supportive group. The mixture of writing backgrounds [theatre, radio, journalism] and cultural backgrounds [one Kiwi, one Irish, one Canadian, people from various parts of the UK] kept things interesting and varied. Everybody was there to learn, everybody was eager to get involved, arrogance and egos got checked at the door. A nice bunch of people.
It helped we spent our days and nights staying at a Quaker centre, where everyone respects each other, where silence and tranquility are valued, and where people go out of their way to help one another. If we'd all been stuck in some impersonal economy chain hotel, it would have cheapened the experience. Somehow the Quakers enriched the week, added another dimension to the journey.
Monday: introductions, a tour of the Doctors sets [always smaller than you expect, the Campus Surgery especially so] and some words from producer Peter Lloyd. He's the man who decides which story pitches submitted by writers to bank, so it was good to spend time with him and get a sense of his enthusiasms. Producers and script editors had lunch with us, though I had an attack of shy. Silly boy.
In the afternoon a Doctors core writer came in to share her experiences, again in company with Peter. We watched one of her episodes, plus a recent, cracking episode by another writer that deserves every bit of praise it gets. [When Doctors flies, it soars.] Evening meal, a gentle stroll to the nearest pub for a pint or two and back to bed, knowing the hard work was all ahead of us.
Tuesday and Wednesday: enter John Yorke, head of BBC continuing drama series. He gave us his top 25 tips in the morning. After lunch Ceri Meyrick took over for the rest of that day and all the next. She showed us ten questions to ask of your protagonist, and demonstrated the five stage story structure preferred by some within the BBC. But she pushed one statement over and over again.
Writers should write about what they feel passionate. Things like the five stage structure or the ten questions were only diagnostic tools to help writers identify where a story might be misfiring. Writers mustn't substitute structure and turning points for inspiration or talent. Structure can be fixed, but great structure's no replacement for unique characters or crackling dialogue.
Thursday: the Doctors team returned to help us apply what we'd learned to writing for the show. More theories but lots of specifics, like capturing the voices of the regular characters. We also had fun with our last group exercise, small groups creating a Doctors pitch from scratch in 40 minutes. Another lunch with producers and script editors - all trace of shyness long since gone.
The rest of Thursday we spent developing our individual stories. I'd taken a dozen one paragraph ideas, and springboard sentences for another two dozen, plus a few more developed proposals. I tinkered with my favourite from among the developed pitches, before moving on to turn two single paragraph ideas into full-length efforts. Another pint in the evening to celebrate the last night.
Friday: breakfast, check out and a last minute frenzy of rewrites and printing out. Over to the production offices for pitching. Each writer spent between 60 and 90 minutes with their assigned script editor and producer, verbally pitching between two and three story ideas. Some felt their efforts went badly, others seemed pleased with the response. Most of us simply felt relieved afterwards.
A last lunch in the Doctors canteen, trying not to stare at the actors whose onscreen personas we'd been discussing all week, before an hour with the show's executive producer. Then it was time for planes, trains and automobiles [if not in that order] on the long trek home. Excited, exhilarated and exhausted in equal measure. But most of all the week left me inspired, eager to get writing.
If you ever got offered a place on one of the BBC's continuing drama series shadow schemes [let alone the 13 week Writers' Academy], I suggest grabbing it with both hands. You learn a lot, laugh a lot and get to spend time with people who shares your passion for storytelling. What could be better, right?
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Enthuiasm. Enthusiasm. Enthusiasm.
I just love this scene from The Untouchables. Be warned: the ending ain't for the squeamish.
Back from Birmingham
I have returned from the Doctors mini-academy and I'm exhausted. Waaaaaay too tired to offer a meaningful response to five days of laughter and learning and so much more. But it was a joyous experience, hard work, brain-meltingly intense, and utterly inspirational. If somebody gives you the chance to do this shadow scheme or anything similar, grab it with both hands. More tomorrow.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Going down to Birmingham to do something
Right, I'm away for the next five days and won't be blogging again until next weekend. The BBC has invited me to Birmingham for a Doctors mini-academy - five days of writing, workshops and developing ideas for the continuing medical drama series.
Everybody knows the blog rules while I'm gone: play nice with the other kids; and if you break it, you pay for it. Most important, don't do anything I wouldn't. That should leave you plenty of scope.
Everybody knows the blog rules while I'm gone: play nice with the other kids; and if you break it, you pay for it. Most important, don't do anything I wouldn't. That should leave you plenty of scope.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Emmy nominations stiff The Wire. Again.
The Emmy noms have just been announced and, yet again, HBO's stunning show The Wire is not among the show nominated as best drama series. Congratulations, Emmy people, you managed to ignore one of the finest achievements in TV drama. Ever. You dicks. Last month the Emmy longlist was announced and The Wire made the top 10, yet it still got shut out of the final five. No, the final six - there are six nominees this year and still no place for The Wire. Sigh.
So, what did nominated for best drama series? Damages - good call. Dexter - no arguments there. House - definitely back at its peak. Lost - another strong return to form. Mad Men - the best newcomer of the past year, no question and the likely winner. And the sixth nominee? The one that got picked ahead of The Wire? Boston Legal. Boston bloody Legal. Ye gods and little fishes, who made that decision? What doofus picked Boston Legal over The Wire? Dicks.
The Wire did at least get a nom for best drama series writing, alongside an episode of Battlestar Galactica [at last, some major Emmy recognition for a much loved series], the pilot for Damages, and two helpings of Mad Men - the pilot and the first season's heartbreaking finale. If I was voting, the last of these five would win, but grud knows who will get the relevant trophy in September.
Best comedy series nominations are Curb Your Enthusiasm, Entourage, The Office, 30 Rock, and Two and A Half Men [30 Rock's my choice]. Best comedy series writing, you ask? A episode each from Flight of the Conchords, The Office and Pushing Daisies, plus two noms for 30 Rock. [I'd tap Bryan Fuller's dizzying, almost diabetic-coma inducingly sweet Pushing Daisies pilot.] So, not too many arguments on the comedy nominations front from me.
Perhaps my favourite category for juxtaposition of opposites comes in the nominees for outstanding music and lyrics. There's two songs from Flight of the Conchords, one from MAD TV, one from the Disney Channel and this gem by Sarah Silverman. Enjoy [but be warned - not so suitable for work].
So, what did nominated for best drama series? Damages - good call. Dexter - no arguments there. House - definitely back at its peak. Lost - another strong return to form. Mad Men - the best newcomer of the past year, no question and the likely winner. And the sixth nominee? The one that got picked ahead of The Wire? Boston Legal. Boston bloody Legal. Ye gods and little fishes, who made that decision? What doofus picked Boston Legal over The Wire? Dicks.
The Wire did at least get a nom for best drama series writing, alongside an episode of Battlestar Galactica [at last, some major Emmy recognition for a much loved series], the pilot for Damages, and two helpings of Mad Men - the pilot and the first season's heartbreaking finale. If I was voting, the last of these five would win, but grud knows who will get the relevant trophy in September.
Best comedy series nominations are Curb Your Enthusiasm, Entourage, The Office, 30 Rock, and Two and A Half Men [30 Rock's my choice]. Best comedy series writing, you ask? A episode each from Flight of the Conchords, The Office and Pushing Daisies, plus two noms for 30 Rock. [I'd tap Bryan Fuller's dizzying, almost diabetic-coma inducingly sweet Pushing Daisies pilot.] So, not too many arguments on the comedy nominations front from me.
Perhaps my favourite category for juxtaposition of opposites comes in the nominees for outstanding music and lyrics. There's two songs from Flight of the Conchords, one from MAD TV, one from the Disney Channel and this gem by Sarah Silverman. Enjoy [but be warned - not so suitable for work].
Where are they now: Rafe from The Apprentice
In a bizarre twist on the much-loved Life On Mars formula, popular contestant Rafe from this year's British series of The Apprentice has somehow ended up in a 1960s pop duo called Esther & Abi Ofarim. Is he mad? In a coma? Or has Rafe travelled back in time? Whatever's happened, it's like he's landed on a different planet. Enjoy!
New series by new writer on UK TV tonight
There's one thing that almost never happens in British TV drama: a new writer crafts a speculative pilot script for a new series - and it gets commissioned. But tonight sees just such a show gets its first broadcast. Harley Street is a glossy medical drama created by ex-actor Marston Bloom, and developed by Carnival Film and Television for ITV. [Robin Kelly's got a Harley Street preview here.]
There's a lot of great TV writers in Britain who got their start on continuing drama series [a.k.a. soap operas], such as Jimmy McGovern and Paul Abbott. Others rise through the ranks from children's television, like Russell T Davies. But there's also a significant clutch of scribes who got their start as actors before turning to writing as a way of expressing themselves. Lynda La Plante and Kay Mellor are examples that spring to mind.
Have to confess I'm not bursting with enthusiasm to see yet another medical drama, having watched Doctors, Casualty and Holby City non-stop since Christmas to prepare for my BBC Writers' Academy application. [Congratulations to blogger Michelle Lipton who's gotten through to the second stage of academy selection this year, by the way.] But I'll probably giving Harley Street a try so I can study the storytelling choices.
There's a lot of great TV writers in Britain who got their start on continuing drama series [a.k.a. soap operas], such as Jimmy McGovern and Paul Abbott. Others rise through the ranks from children's television, like Russell T Davies. But there's also a significant clutch of scribes who got their start as actors before turning to writing as a way of expressing themselves. Lynda La Plante and Kay Mellor are examples that spring to mind.
Have to confess I'm not bursting with enthusiasm to see yet another medical drama, having watched Doctors, Casualty and Holby City non-stop since Christmas to prepare for my BBC Writers' Academy application. [Congratulations to blogger Michelle Lipton who's gotten through to the second stage of academy selection this year, by the way.] But I'll probably giving Harley Street a try so I can study the storytelling choices.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Hungry City: scratching a seven year itch
This Sunday you can hear a friend of mine on Radio 4, talking about issues raised in her new book. Here's what the relevant Radio Times listing: The Food Programme, Sunday 20 July, 12:32pm - 12:57pm, BBC Radio 4. Hungry Cities: How will we feed the cities of the future? Sheila Dillon is joined by architect and author Carolyn Steel, who explains how food has shaped cities over the centuries. What lessons can planners of today learn from the past?Carolyn has been working on her book Hungry City for seven years. But it's not some vast, sprawling mass of academic prose and high-falutin' ideological arguments. She's got a relaxed, enjoyable prose style and a choice turn of phrase, and her analysis of how food has influenced the way we live now [and in the future] makes for compelling reading. Her book is getting lots of positive reviews, which must be gratifying after working on it for so long.
[If you want to know more about the book, you can see exclusive excerpts and listen to podcasts by Carolyn at the Hungry City mini-site. There's also a blog that charts reaction to the book, and highlights news stories that relate to ideas in Hungry City.]
One of the things I admire most about Carolyn's book is the time and effort she put into it. Like a lot of non-fiction projects, this was an absolute labour of love. Few writers make money from non-fiction, unless they find a canny way to subsidise their efforts through publishing work in progress articles. Grud knows I couldn't survive financially writing one book for seven years, and my boredom threshold would certainly drive me on to something else.
There's a fascinating article in the Independent newspaper about the preponderance of female commissioners in British TV drama. In it industry people debate why these powerful, important roles are almost exclusively filled by women. Everybody tries to avoid gender stereotyping, but there's a broad consensus that women are more meticulous and have longer attention spans - vital qualities in an area where the development process can take years.
The closest I can get to matching Carolyn's Hungry City odyssey is my big book THRILL-POWER OVERLOAD, detailing the history [and behind the scenes intrigues] of iconic British science fiction weekly 2000 AD. That started life as a short series of articles for the Judge Dredd Megazine. But the more I delved into my subject, the deeper and more fertile it became. There were 16 articles by the end, and I'd interviewed dozens of people.
I'd been well paid for the articles and felt wearied by my efforts, but there was still an itch there I needed to scratch. I wanted to see the features collected under one cover, to preserve them as a book. I wanted to correct the mistakes I'd made when the articles were appearing monthly, a constant work in progress. And there was so much more I'd discovered too late to include in the original features. It needed, it deserved to be a book.
But finding a publisher proved problematic. I approached Titan Books at a time when the company was pumping fresh 2000 AD books into the marketplace, but they turned it down. I tried big publishers, I tried small publishers, all without success. A major sticking point was the need to lavishly illustrate the book. There's no point publishing a book about a visual artform unless you're going to show some artwork, it kind of misses the point.
I knew THRILL-POWER OVERLOAD would expand from the original 80,000 words worth of articles to something significantly larger [about 120,000 words it proved to be]. Throw in plenty of illustrations, many in colour, and you're talking an expensive tome aimed at a niche market. Happily, 2000 AD's publisher Rebellion had now ventured into book publishing. A deal was struck and I dived back into the project that consumed much of 2002 and 2003.
The finished volume finally came out a year ago to glowing reviews from the comics press and healthy sales of the hardback edition. I'm told only a few copies remain to be sold of that first edition, and there are tentative plans afoot to publish a paperback version once the hardback sells out. All in all, it was a monumental effort and I'm unlikely tackle such a sprawling subject again. But I'm proud to have scratched that particular itch.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
I want a Knights Templar t-shirt too
Watched the first episode of Bonekickers twice last week - once on iPlayer after it screened south of the border in England, and again on Friday night when BBC Scotland broadcast it. The first time round I didn't enjoy the show, having bought into all the 'from the creators of Life on Mars' hype. Second time of asking? Loved it. Bonekickers is the biggest, daftest piece of fun on British TV this summer.Let's face it, there's no much new on telly to get excited about at the moment. Summer is traditionally the silly season, when less successful commissions get burnt off by channels. Nobody launches their great new shows when most people are outside enjoying the sunshine [largely a theoretical notion here in Scotland] or on holiday. Three weeks spent in New Zealand earlier this year means I don't get a summer holiday.
Instead I get to stay home and watch top notch tosh like Bonekickers. Found myself pining for a new episode last night when there was feck all worth watching on the telly. Savoured the delights of Cracker instead - specifically the one where Robert Carlisle shaves his head and goes on a killing spree. Forgotten how funny Cracker is, in between the murder and angst. Written by Jimmy McGovern, produced by Paul Abbott - now that's a TV drama dream team.
Anyway, Bonekickers is back on the BBC tonight [if you don't live in Scotland]. I'm guessing the Army of God [actually two blokes in limited edition Knights Templar t-shirts] won't be back, as this week's episode seems to be about the slave trade. Perhaps somebody could merchandise those t-shirts with a few choice quotes from relevant episode on the back, such as 'Identify yourself, creepy caller!'
Guess I'll just have to watch some more Cracker while I'm waiting.
Monday, July 14, 2008
City Hall: so much talent, and yet...
Had a John Cusack DVD double-header yesterday, with High Fidelity followed by City Hall. The latter's a film I find fascinating and frustrating in equal measure, a classic example of a creative endeavour being less than the sum of its parts. City Hall is a political thriller set in New York, directed by Harold Becker. There's a crackerjack cast, great visuals and a stunning score - yet it doesn't quite work in my humble opinion.For a start there's a bookend voiceover that adds little, telling the story instead of simply letting the visuals show what happens. There's a feast of scenery chewing from Al Pacino, in stark contrast to restrained turns by the rest of the cast. It's amazing the depth of acting talent this project attracted, yet so little use is made of their manifest talents. Wonderful Brit Lindsay Duncan plays Pacino's wife and gets all of seven lines in the whole film.
It's a political thriller but the thrills are few and far between. Dodgy moments drag down the film. Where a dead character gets fished out of water, the corpse is laughably bad. Scenes take place in random locations for no apparent reason. One sequence on board a jet boat at night features feeble back projection that only serves to draw attention to itself. There's an epilogue that feels like it wandering in from another movie by mistake.
I always feel there's a better movie fighting to escape from City Hall, but that doesn't stop me enjoying it, flaws and all. Jerry Goldsmith's score is a thing of beauty, full of aching melancholy and Copland-esque brass. Every time I watch the film I spot another great actor buried in a minor role, like Richard Schiff [better known as Toby Ziegler in The West Wing] or John Slattery [Roger Sterling in Mad Men]. Plus John Cusack's always watchable.
But I'd love to know how a film written by Paul Schrader [whose past credits include Taxi Driver, and Raging Bull], Nicholas Pileggi [Goodfellas, Casino] and Bo Goldman [One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Scent of a Woman] ended up misfiring. Too many cooks? Not enough focus? Bad test screenings leading to reshoots? I reckon City Hall would make a good case study for screenwriting students - does this film need fixing? How would you improve it?
Saturday, July 12, 2008
It's the [illustrated] my writing space meme
Inspired by Andrew T and Miss Read, here's a photo of my writing space as it was yesterday afternoon. I was about to claim tidiness is the hobgoblin of little minds, but I've looked up the quote and Ralph Waldo Emerson was talking about foolish consistency, so bang goes that excuse. In other words, I'm something of a slob. But it's a work in progress kind of space and I know where everything is [mostly], so it seems to suit me.The crappy desk is the corner was bought online from the Cotswold Company for two reasons - the malformed pentagon shape that fits nicely in the corner under the sloping roof, and it was cheap. Pride of place goes to my iMac, while other office essentials sprawl across the surface: phone, mouse and pad, post-it notes, coffee mug, plenty of pens, sundry stationery. The A4 pages are the synopsis for my job of the day: writing my 36th issue of The Phantom.
Left of the desk is a handy bookcase, with two or three project-related stacks on each shelf. The top surface is for current projects like pitching story of the day ideas to Doctors, hence the newspaper clippings, Complete Family Health Guide and dictionary [trustier than any spell check]. Right of my desk is my printer, CDs and other detritus. Under the desk is a space heater for when my toes get cold. Better to warm my feet than the whole house.
The walls are awash with notes, reference material and favourite images. The moody, inverse photograph was the poster for a local production of Pulitzer Prize-winning play Proof. The green and red picture is a reproduction of a painting by artist Dean Ormston, Spicy Mystery Tales, his homage to pulp fiction book covers of decades past. There's nothing in the corner because I can't see that when I'm sitting down.
I hereby tag Jason, Lucy and Lianne with this meme. Go on, get out your digital cameras and show us where you write.
Friday, July 11, 2008
"Revenge is a kind of wild justice"
Trying to decide what I should write as my entry for this year's Red Planet Prize. Not that I expect to win, you understand, but the contest deadline creates a useful imperative to devise and develop another original spec script for my portfolio. Last year you could submit most anything in script form. I submitted the first ten pages of both my TV pilots, though neither got past the first sift. If I'd had a feature, that would have gone in too.
This year the criteria have been tightened a little. Only one entry per person for a start, so best make sure it's your finest work. And it has to be the pilot for a TV series or serial. I could resubmit my favourite old script, given a polish, but can't see the value in that. Better to create some new, using the craft skills I've honed in the past year. So now it's decision time: what to I write about?
Obviously, I'm not starting from scratch. Every writer I've ever met has a stack of ideas they're mulling over, looking for a suitable home or opportunity. I've got 15 titles written on index cards and pinned to the wall in my office: one-offs, features, series and serials. My problem is choosing the one to which I should devote a hefty helping of next few months. Think I've narrowed it down to two.
One is a comedy drama set in a fictional version of the place where I live. It's got long legs - the core concept seems to generate story after story, spinning out of the characters and their find out of water situation. But comedy drama is not something I've done much of up until now, so that makes me a bit skittish. Plus the Red Planet Prize requires a brilliant cold open. Not sure this ideas has that element.
The other contender is a slick, saucy comedy thriller. This one's all about the sizzle, with lashings of sex and heightened reality. Not sure how many series I could get out of the concept, but certainly enough stories for a first run. In truth I'd want to run it like a writers' room, invite others to come and have fun with the characters and their capers. It's got a great title too.
Hmm, think I'm leaning towards Bachelor Number Two. There's a slam bang first ten pages to be had from it, now I just need to plot and plan enough twisty-turny moments to make the rest of the script fly. Oh, if you're wondering about this post's title, that's a quote from Francis Bacon [the writer, not the painter]. I dug that out to accompany my comedy thriller concept: The Revengers.
This year the criteria have been tightened a little. Only one entry per person for a start, so best make sure it's your finest work. And it has to be the pilot for a TV series or serial. I could resubmit my favourite old script, given a polish, but can't see the value in that. Better to create some new, using the craft skills I've honed in the past year. So now it's decision time: what to I write about?
Obviously, I'm not starting from scratch. Every writer I've ever met has a stack of ideas they're mulling over, looking for a suitable home or opportunity. I've got 15 titles written on index cards and pinned to the wall in my office: one-offs, features, series and serials. My problem is choosing the one to which I should devote a hefty helping of next few months. Think I've narrowed it down to two.
One is a comedy drama set in a fictional version of the place where I live. It's got long legs - the core concept seems to generate story after story, spinning out of the characters and their find out of water situation. But comedy drama is not something I've done much of up until now, so that makes me a bit skittish. Plus the Red Planet Prize requires a brilliant cold open. Not sure this ideas has that element.
The other contender is a slick, saucy comedy thriller. This one's all about the sizzle, with lashings of sex and heightened reality. Not sure how many series I could get out of the concept, but certainly enough stories for a first run. In truth I'd want to run it like a writers' room, invite others to come and have fun with the characters and their capers. It's got a great title too.
Hmm, think I'm leaning towards Bachelor Number Two. There's a slam bang first ten pages to be had from it, now I just need to plot and plan enough twisty-turny moments to make the rest of the script fly. Oh, if you're wondering about this post's title, that's a quote from Francis Bacon [the writer, not the painter]. I dug that out to accompany my comedy thriller concept: The Revengers.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Getting a foot in the door at Doctors
Before I tell this story, I need to point something out: you're not supposed to do what I did. If you want to write for Doctors, you should start sending scripts to the BBC writersroom. That's the portal created to find and nurture new writing talent. Send the writersroom an original script, and mention you'd like to write for Doctors in your covering letter. Chances are you'll need to submit several scripts, rare is the person who hits the target first time.
Keep plugging away and keep mentioning how you'd like to write for Doctors. If you're good enough, the writersroom may invite you to a workshop, or even pass your details along to the script team at Doctors. Keep an eye out for opportunities like the recent Sharps initiative, they're a great way to advance your cause. But all of this depends upon the quality of your writing - your voice, your grasp of craft, your ability to respond to feedback.
Let me repeat: don't do what I'm about to describe. It worked for me, but I believe that stemmed from particular circumstances...
In September last year I came to the end of my screenwriting MA course. I'd built up a small but useful portfolio of original scripts, had a BBC radio play under my belt and even won an international screenwriting prize for a short film script. I figured it was time to take another crack at writing for Doctors, the BBC's daytime medical drama series. It broadcasts around 250 episodes a year, so needs a lot of writers and ideas. Maybe there'd be an opening.
First step: watch the show. I'd been avid viewer back in 2002, but was surprised and intrigued by how much the show had moved in since then. The entire cast had changed, the show's storytelling approach was looser and whole episodes never even went near the health centre. Doctors was a much broader church now, ready to tweak its format to tell the best possible story - be that hostage drama, comedy capers or even a full-on film noir mini-epic.
I kept watching the show, taking copious notes about the regular cast members and even transcribing whole episodes to get a grip on their individual voices. I also contacted two writers I know who work on the series, seeking their advice about the best way of approaching the script team. Both writers underlined a key fact: getting established at Doctors takes a long time, a lot of patience and a lot of persistence. Don't expect overnight success.
Having faithfully watched the show for several months, I composed a letter to the person who'd dealt with me back in 2002. [Happily, they were still on the show.] I mentioned their sage advice about needing to get more experience and expertise. I listed what I'd done recently, and asked if they'd look at my current work. Another member of the script team wrote back, offering to read my original scripts. Now, what the hell should I send in?
My prize-winning script Danny's Toys was an obvious choice. The soapy TV pilot I'd written as the final project for my MA course was another. Last but not least, I added my radio play in script form. Unlike the other two it had a contemporary setting, and told the sort of human interest story that Doctors does so well. I printed out pristine copies, put them in the post and waited.
Soon I got a reply. My scripts were well received - would I like to write a trial episode of Doctors? Yes, please! I got sent all the background material given to new writers, and told me to get in touch once I was ready to do my trial. There were no guarantees, no promises of a commission - just the chance to try out. What I did with that chance was up to me. I studied that background material like it was the Bible, determined to do my best.
A typical episode of Doctors [if such a thing exists] splits into story of the day and several slices of serial material. The latter is ongoing plot arcs centred on series regulars, their lives and loves, problems and challenges. The serial material is created in-house. Freelance writers supply the story of the day, which forms the largest part of each episode, with three guest characters and a strong role in that story for one of the regulars.
For the trial script, I was given serial material to incorporate with whatever story of the day I'd devised. From the moment the serial material arrived, I had ten calendar days to deliver my trial script. I'd a fistful of potential story of the day ideas, but wanted to chose one that would create some resonance with the serial material. When it arrived, I found myself setting aside all the ideas I'd been hoarding. I needed a new story.
Fast forward ten days: I'd finished my trial script, gotten some feedback on it from trusted and discrete sources, written a new draft and polished it several times. I sent off my best effort and crossed my fingers. Not long after I got a phone call: congratulations, my trial script was a success. Flawed, but a success. I was being invited to submit story of the day ideas. No guarantees, no commissions and no money - but I'd cleared a major obstacle.
The person dealing with me at Doctors said something that concisely sums up my current situation: 'You've got a foot in the door. Now you're inside, you've got a very long staircase to climb.' Getting a story of the day idea accepted is not easy. You pitch and rewrite, pitch and rewrite. Far more ideas get submitted than will ever get accepted, and even then there's no guarantee they'll get made. To succeed at Doctors, you must commit to the long game.
I've got so much still to learn about writing for Doctors, writing for TV, about writing. So many lessons to absorb, so much I've still to discover. It's daunting but also exciting. Every step forward is another step closer to my ambition of writing TV drama. I want this to be my profession as well as my passion. I want to tell stories that millions of people can see simply by tuning in. I want to tell stories from both my head and my heart.
I want this.
Onwards!
Keep plugging away and keep mentioning how you'd like to write for Doctors. If you're good enough, the writersroom may invite you to a workshop, or even pass your details along to the script team at Doctors. Keep an eye out for opportunities like the recent Sharps initiative, they're a great way to advance your cause. But all of this depends upon the quality of your writing - your voice, your grasp of craft, your ability to respond to feedback.
Let me repeat: don't do what I'm about to describe. It worked for me, but I believe that stemmed from particular circumstances...
In September last year I came to the end of my screenwriting MA course. I'd built up a small but useful portfolio of original scripts, had a BBC radio play under my belt and even won an international screenwriting prize for a short film script. I figured it was time to take another crack at writing for Doctors, the BBC's daytime medical drama series. It broadcasts around 250 episodes a year, so needs a lot of writers and ideas. Maybe there'd be an opening.
First step: watch the show. I'd been avid viewer back in 2002, but was surprised and intrigued by how much the show had moved in since then. The entire cast had changed, the show's storytelling approach was looser and whole episodes never even went near the health centre. Doctors was a much broader church now, ready to tweak its format to tell the best possible story - be that hostage drama, comedy capers or even a full-on film noir mini-epic.
I kept watching the show, taking copious notes about the regular cast members and even transcribing whole episodes to get a grip on their individual voices. I also contacted two writers I know who work on the series, seeking their advice about the best way of approaching the script team. Both writers underlined a key fact: getting established at Doctors takes a long time, a lot of patience and a lot of persistence. Don't expect overnight success.
Having faithfully watched the show for several months, I composed a letter to the person who'd dealt with me back in 2002. [Happily, they were still on the show.] I mentioned their sage advice about needing to get more experience and expertise. I listed what I'd done recently, and asked if they'd look at my current work. Another member of the script team wrote back, offering to read my original scripts. Now, what the hell should I send in?
My prize-winning script Danny's Toys was an obvious choice. The soapy TV pilot I'd written as the final project for my MA course was another. Last but not least, I added my radio play in script form. Unlike the other two it had a contemporary setting, and told the sort of human interest story that Doctors does so well. I printed out pristine copies, put them in the post and waited.
Soon I got a reply. My scripts were well received - would I like to write a trial episode of Doctors? Yes, please! I got sent all the background material given to new writers, and told me to get in touch once I was ready to do my trial. There were no guarantees, no promises of a commission - just the chance to try out. What I did with that chance was up to me. I studied that background material like it was the Bible, determined to do my best.
A typical episode of Doctors [if such a thing exists] splits into story of the day and several slices of serial material. The latter is ongoing plot arcs centred on series regulars, their lives and loves, problems and challenges. The serial material is created in-house. Freelance writers supply the story of the day, which forms the largest part of each episode, with three guest characters and a strong role in that story for one of the regulars.
For the trial script, I was given serial material to incorporate with whatever story of the day I'd devised. From the moment the serial material arrived, I had ten calendar days to deliver my trial script. I'd a fistful of potential story of the day ideas, but wanted to chose one that would create some resonance with the serial material. When it arrived, I found myself setting aside all the ideas I'd been hoarding. I needed a new story.
Fast forward ten days: I'd finished my trial script, gotten some feedback on it from trusted and discrete sources, written a new draft and polished it several times. I sent off my best effort and crossed my fingers. Not long after I got a phone call: congratulations, my trial script was a success. Flawed, but a success. I was being invited to submit story of the day ideas. No guarantees, no commissions and no money - but I'd cleared a major obstacle.
The person dealing with me at Doctors said something that concisely sums up my current situation: 'You've got a foot in the door. Now you're inside, you've got a very long staircase to climb.' Getting a story of the day idea accepted is not easy. You pitch and rewrite, pitch and rewrite. Far more ideas get submitted than will ever get accepted, and even then there's no guarantee they'll get made. To succeed at Doctors, you must commit to the long game.
I've got so much still to learn about writing for Doctors, writing for TV, about writing. So many lessons to absorb, so much I've still to discover. It's daunting but also exciting. Every step forward is another step closer to my ambition of writing TV drama. I want this to be my profession as well as my passion. I want to tell stories that millions of people can see simply by tuning in. I want to tell stories from both my head and my heart.
I want this.
Onwards!
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
How one Doctor lead me towards Doctors
I like Doctor Who. These days, that's akin to saying you're partial to breathing, or fond of sunshine - nothing unique about it. Six years ago saying you liked Doctor Who was not the national hobby it is now. Back in 2002 the show had been off air since 1989, barring a one-off TV movie. Fans wanting new Who could buy the official magazine, get licensed tie-in novels or listen to Big Finish audio dramas. Me, I did all those things, and wrote for some of them.
That year I was an official guest at America's biggest Who convention, Gallifrey in Los Angeles. Among the other guests was another Who author who also wrote for the BBC daytime medical drama series Doctors. I picked his brains about how he'd gotten into TV writing, what was expected and what was needed. He was kind enough to share the wisdom he'd gleaned, and even contacted his script editor at Doctors to say I might be submitting.
I fancied writing TV drama. I'd read half of The Writer's Journey. I'd been to Robert McKee's Story Structure seminar, thanks to the generosity of a former employer when I was a comics editor. How hard could writing for TV be, right? Ahh, the arrogance of ignorance. I had some basic storytelling skills, but no grasp of the need for craft, theme, tone, depth of characterisation or most anything else. [I know a little more now, but you never stop learning.]
So I wrote a Doctors spec script. I studied what the friendly Who author had done in his latest episode, using the two-page story of the day pitch, scene by scene document and finished script as my template. I devised a story of my own, based upon personal experience and that old chestnut, write what you know. I did my medical research, and watched lots of Doctors episodes to get a grasp on the regular cast members. Finally, I submitted my script.
Hands up who can see all the things I did wrong? First of all, in the UK you don't write spec scripts for existing shows, not unless you've been invited to do so. [I believe it's still common for new writers in the US to write spec scripts for existing shows, but you never submit them to that same show. Want to write for a cop show? You submit a spec for another cop show, not the same one.] So that was definitely mistake number one.
Secondly, I sent in my first draft. Sure, I give it a few polishes, buffed off the rougher edges, but I didn't put the script through a ruthless, stringent rewrite process. I'd had several novels published without ever needing to rewrite, my stupid brain decided, so what should I bother rewriting my TV script? Hell, I wasn't even being paid to write this. Talk about your no-brainer strategy to embrace failure. Putz.
Thirdly, I didn't get feedback from anybody else about my script. You think I'd at least have had the wit to get my friend the working TV writer to peruse my efforts, tell me if I was barking up the right tree. In an ideal world, I'd have gotten feedback from at least three people, done a rewrite and then gotten more feedback before at least a third draft. But no, I knew better. Grud forbid anyone criticize my work, I thought. Again: putz.
Lastly, my script was all about plot mechanics, all story and no heart. I kind of stumbled in the direction of creating a whisper of resonance between my A and B stories, but the series regulars had no meaningful involvement with my story of the day, no emotional stake in events. There might have been a good tale to be extracted from the mess I concocted, but I lacked to ability to find any diamonds amid the rumble and tumble of my script.
Unsurprisingly, my misguided stab at a spec script did not get the glowing reception I was expecting from Doctors. In essence, I'd done everything wrong. Months went by and nothing happened. The production team went on a national roadshow tour to encourage new writers, so I schlepped all the way from Scotland to Leicester to introduce myself to the script editor I'd targeted. I also got the working writing I did know to give the script editor a nudge for me.
More time passed, but towards the end of 2002 I got my reply. Sorry, but Doctors would not be taking me forward as a writer at that time. I felt crushed. So much time and effort, for two lines on a page. A day or two later I did one sensible thing: I phoned the script editor, politely thanked them for taking the time to read my script and asked for advice on what I should do next to achieve my dream of writing for TV. And then I shut up and listened.
The advice was all sound, sensible stuff. Go and get some experience. Try writing for radio drama, where new talents and new voices are nurtured. Think about getting some training. Learn more about the craft and skills required to break in as a TV writer.
Alas, I didn't take that advice straight away. I went back to doing what I was doing, making a comfortable living from writing that didn't challenge me. Took another three years before the itch to learn, to improve, to have another go at writing for TV or film overtook me. Finally, I took the script editor's advice to heart. Did an MA in screenwriting. Wrote for radio drama and got my first play commissioned by the BBC.
Took every course and workshop going, absorbing knowledge like a sponge - script editing, storylining, pitching, writing for continuing drama. Took up blogging, and discovered an online world of advice and support. Embraced feedback and criticism, rewriting and more rewriting. Most of all, I wrote a lot more material, stories for myself, stories I cared about, stories from the heart as well as the head. And I got a little better, bit by bit.
I'm not big on stories or anecdotes that end with a moral, but there's a nugget of wisdom buried inside that rambling tale you've just read: when a professional gives you advice, you should pay attention. They know what they're talking about. If they suggest you need more training or experience, maybe it's because you do. If they say you're not ready yet, may you're not. You can save yourself a lot of wasted time by listening and paying attention.
Here endeth the lesson. Tomorrow: what happened next.
That year I was an official guest at America's biggest Who convention, Gallifrey in Los Angeles. Among the other guests was another Who author who also wrote for the BBC daytime medical drama series Doctors. I picked his brains about how he'd gotten into TV writing, what was expected and what was needed. He was kind enough to share the wisdom he'd gleaned, and even contacted his script editor at Doctors to say I might be submitting.
I fancied writing TV drama. I'd read half of The Writer's Journey. I'd been to Robert McKee's Story Structure seminar, thanks to the generosity of a former employer when I was a comics editor. How hard could writing for TV be, right? Ahh, the arrogance of ignorance. I had some basic storytelling skills, but no grasp of the need for craft, theme, tone, depth of characterisation or most anything else. [I know a little more now, but you never stop learning.]
So I wrote a Doctors spec script. I studied what the friendly Who author had done in his latest episode, using the two-page story of the day pitch, scene by scene document and finished script as my template. I devised a story of my own, based upon personal experience and that old chestnut, write what you know. I did my medical research, and watched lots of Doctors episodes to get a grasp on the regular cast members. Finally, I submitted my script.
Hands up who can see all the things I did wrong? First of all, in the UK you don't write spec scripts for existing shows, not unless you've been invited to do so. [I believe it's still common for new writers in the US to write spec scripts for existing shows, but you never submit them to that same show. Want to write for a cop show? You submit a spec for another cop show, not the same one.] So that was definitely mistake number one.
Secondly, I sent in my first draft. Sure, I give it a few polishes, buffed off the rougher edges, but I didn't put the script through a ruthless, stringent rewrite process. I'd had several novels published without ever needing to rewrite, my stupid brain decided, so what should I bother rewriting my TV script? Hell, I wasn't even being paid to write this. Talk about your no-brainer strategy to embrace failure. Putz.
Thirdly, I didn't get feedback from anybody else about my script. You think I'd at least have had the wit to get my friend the working TV writer to peruse my efforts, tell me if I was barking up the right tree. In an ideal world, I'd have gotten feedback from at least three people, done a rewrite and then gotten more feedback before at least a third draft. But no, I knew better. Grud forbid anyone criticize my work, I thought. Again: putz.
Lastly, my script was all about plot mechanics, all story and no heart. I kind of stumbled in the direction of creating a whisper of resonance between my A and B stories, but the series regulars had no meaningful involvement with my story of the day, no emotional stake in events. There might have been a good tale to be extracted from the mess I concocted, but I lacked to ability to find any diamonds amid the rumble and tumble of my script.
Unsurprisingly, my misguided stab at a spec script did not get the glowing reception I was expecting from Doctors. In essence, I'd done everything wrong. Months went by and nothing happened. The production team went on a national roadshow tour to encourage new writers, so I schlepped all the way from Scotland to Leicester to introduce myself to the script editor I'd targeted. I also got the working writing I did know to give the script editor a nudge for me.
More time passed, but towards the end of 2002 I got my reply. Sorry, but Doctors would not be taking me forward as a writer at that time. I felt crushed. So much time and effort, for two lines on a page. A day or two later I did one sensible thing: I phoned the script editor, politely thanked them for taking the time to read my script and asked for advice on what I should do next to achieve my dream of writing for TV. And then I shut up and listened.
The advice was all sound, sensible stuff. Go and get some experience. Try writing for radio drama, where new talents and new voices are nurtured. Think about getting some training. Learn more about the craft and skills required to break in as a TV writer.
Alas, I didn't take that advice straight away. I went back to doing what I was doing, making a comfortable living from writing that didn't challenge me. Took another three years before the itch to learn, to improve, to have another go at writing for TV or film overtook me. Finally, I took the script editor's advice to heart. Did an MA in screenwriting. Wrote for radio drama and got my first play commissioned by the BBC.
Took every course and workshop going, absorbing knowledge like a sponge - script editing, storylining, pitching, writing for continuing drama. Took up blogging, and discovered an online world of advice and support. Embraced feedback and criticism, rewriting and more rewriting. Most of all, I wrote a lot more material, stories for myself, stories I cared about, stories from the heart as well as the head. And I got a little better, bit by bit.
I'm not big on stories or anecdotes that end with a moral, but there's a nugget of wisdom buried inside that rambling tale you've just read: when a professional gives you advice, you should pay attention. They know what they're talking about. If they suggest you need more training or experience, maybe it's because you do. If they say you're not ready yet, may you're not. You can save yourself a lot of wasted time by listening and paying attention.
Here endeth the lesson. Tomorrow: what happened next.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Not just a card game
Patience is a virtue, as recent events have shown me. I've spent much of this year nudging along projects that never seemed to be making much progress. Some got a little way and stalled, brought to a halt by apathy, institutional inertia or insufficient inspiration. This happens. Good stories go unappreciated or untold. Maybe the time wasn't right, or the opening lacked bite, or simply lacked quality.
But sometimes all the nudging and hoping and persistence pays off. Back in January I wrote some sample text for a proposed tie-in. It was a new area for me, outside the genres of science fiction, war, horror and fantasy that have been my stock in trade. It was an exciting opportunity, offering the chance to challenge myself as a writer. No money upfront, of course, but the possibility of cash.
A long, lingering silence followed.
So I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Once a month I'd touch base with my contact, see if there was any movement, keep the lines of communication open. Finding and nurturing relationships with contacts was something I learned while a daily newspaper reporter. Back then I was looking for stories, nowadays I'm looking for work as a creative writer. But the principles are the same - stay in touch, be genuinely interested in people.
Don't fake it. Never fake it, people can tell. Fakes get found out. Don't be afraid to ask for advice. You're not asking for a job, you're asking for a few minutes of their time, knowledge and expertise. When somebody asks my advice, I'm always happy to oblige. Why wouldn't I be? Treat people with respect and they'll remember you well. It doesn't cost you anything to be polite and friendly, does it?
Six months on from writing that sample, it looks like there'll be a meeting. No guarantees of anything yet, but it's progress. As a freelance writer, you've got to play the long game. Building a career is like building a house. Doing it on your own takes forever, chances are you'll never finish. But if you've made some friends, maybe they'll help. Like that barn-building scene in Witness.
Writing is a solitary career. You need friends, you need a support network to help you through the dark days and the months without work and the rough spots. You need talent and craft. You need to invite criticism, listen to that criticism and learn the lessons within it. You never know when your break will come, or from where. Most of all, you need patience. Not just a card game. It's a career strategy.
But sometimes all the nudging and hoping and persistence pays off. Back in January I wrote some sample text for a proposed tie-in. It was a new area for me, outside the genres of science fiction, war, horror and fantasy that have been my stock in trade. It was an exciting opportunity, offering the chance to challenge myself as a writer. No money upfront, of course, but the possibility of cash.
A long, lingering silence followed.
So I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Once a month I'd touch base with my contact, see if there was any movement, keep the lines of communication open. Finding and nurturing relationships with contacts was something I learned while a daily newspaper reporter. Back then I was looking for stories, nowadays I'm looking for work as a creative writer. But the principles are the same - stay in touch, be genuinely interested in people.
Don't fake it. Never fake it, people can tell. Fakes get found out. Don't be afraid to ask for advice. You're not asking for a job, you're asking for a few minutes of their time, knowledge and expertise. When somebody asks my advice, I'm always happy to oblige. Why wouldn't I be? Treat people with respect and they'll remember you well. It doesn't cost you anything to be polite and friendly, does it?
Six months on from writing that sample, it looks like there'll be a meeting. No guarantees of anything yet, but it's progress. As a freelance writer, you've got to play the long game. Building a career is like building a house. Doing it on your own takes forever, chances are you'll never finish. But if you've made some friends, maybe they'll help. Like that barn-building scene in Witness.
Writing is a solitary career. You need friends, you need a support network to help you through the dark days and the months without work and the rough spots. You need talent and craft. You need to invite criticism, listen to that criticism and learn the lessons within it. You never know when your break will come, or from where. Most of all, you need patience. Not just a card game. It's a career strategy.
Monday, July 07, 2008
Short term goals and forward planning
A collision of circumstances has got me thinking forwards. The Screenwriters' Festival was an empowering experience, a bunch of paying projects I've been nurturing for months are shuffling towards becoming live commissions, and not making the BBC Writers' Academy has helped clarify where I'll be in the months ahead. On her blog Miss Read says what she hopes to write before the end of September.
So it's a good time to plot a course for the rest of 2008 and into next year. The past six months have been a barren period for paying work, but that's turning round at last. I've got some audio drama opportunities close to bearing fruit, another novel in danger of being commissioned and several other gigs on the horizon with fees attached. That will make paying bills that little bit easier, so big thumbs up there.
Paying work does cramp the ability to devise and scripts more speculative ventures, but everyone who writes for a living has to find the right balance of time for both sides of that equation. I probably devoted too much of January-June to spec scripts and not enough to paying the bills, but it's by no means an exact science. Grud knows, I spent plenty of time chasing jobs - now that effort's coming good.
But the rest of the 2008 can't just be about making money. I've got two particular spec projects I want to pursue. One is a TV pilot, a comedy thriller with plenty of sass and sauce. Most definitely a post-watershed project, I'm aiming for high concept gloss and a little hard-boiled grittiness. That's for the Red Planet Prize, but it's also for my portfolio, the sort of show I'd like to watch on TV.
The second major spec job is a feature. It's long past time I wrote a full-length screenplay, and I've developed a tale that deserves 90 minutes and cinematic storytelling. Most of my previous efforts have fallen into two categories - short films that couldn't be stretched beyond 30 minutes, and TV projects. But this new story needs room to breath and plenty of silence to satisfy its creeping horror.
Like Miss Read, I'm using a competition to give my writing impetus - there's nothing better than an external deadline to fire the synapses. Both the feature and TV pilot need to be finished and polished by the end of September, so I'll be folding those around paying work in the next three months. Thereafter I should be writing my next novel and a few other paying jobs, plus one last spec job for 2008.
That's right, folks, it's time to stop talking about another radio project and starting writing one. Every writer can always find an excuse not to tackle a difficult, non-urgent task. I'm been fannying about with radio drama for far too long, not giving my play the focus and drive I apply to other projects. Unless I get a TV commission, I will spend time from October-December writing a radio play.
What does that leave to do in 2009? Still need an agent. I did the rounds at the end of last year, got some positive feedback from several big London agencies but no offers. Frankly, my portfolio wasn't up to snuff at the time and my prospects were limited. What agent would take on a new client with a limited portfolio and little chance of making them money? Not me. So there's that still to do.
More projects on my to-do list: get another radio drama commission; get my first TV drama commission; get on to another script workshop and/or mentoring scheme. The first of these is part of my plan for Oct-Dec 2008. The second is something I devoted a lot of the last six months to achieving, and will be doing so again in the months ahead.
The last bears fruits later this month, but I'll so no more now to avoid cursing it. I'm not the world's most superstitious person, but there's no point pushing your luck, right? Right. Onwards.
So it's a good time to plot a course for the rest of 2008 and into next year. The past six months have been a barren period for paying work, but that's turning round at last. I've got some audio drama opportunities close to bearing fruit, another novel in danger of being commissioned and several other gigs on the horizon with fees attached. That will make paying bills that little bit easier, so big thumbs up there.
Paying work does cramp the ability to devise and scripts more speculative ventures, but everyone who writes for a living has to find the right balance of time for both sides of that equation. I probably devoted too much of January-June to spec scripts and not enough to paying the bills, but it's by no means an exact science. Grud knows, I spent plenty of time chasing jobs - now that effort's coming good.
But the rest of the 2008 can't just be about making money. I've got two particular spec projects I want to pursue. One is a TV pilot, a comedy thriller with plenty of sass and sauce. Most definitely a post-watershed project, I'm aiming for high concept gloss and a little hard-boiled grittiness. That's for the Red Planet Prize, but it's also for my portfolio, the sort of show I'd like to watch on TV.
The second major spec job is a feature. It's long past time I wrote a full-length screenplay, and I've developed a tale that deserves 90 minutes and cinematic storytelling. Most of my previous efforts have fallen into two categories - short films that couldn't be stretched beyond 30 minutes, and TV projects. But this new story needs room to breath and plenty of silence to satisfy its creeping horror.
Like Miss Read, I'm using a competition to give my writing impetus - there's nothing better than an external deadline to fire the synapses. Both the feature and TV pilot need to be finished and polished by the end of September, so I'll be folding those around paying work in the next three months. Thereafter I should be writing my next novel and a few other paying jobs, plus one last spec job for 2008.
That's right, folks, it's time to stop talking about another radio project and starting writing one. Every writer can always find an excuse not to tackle a difficult, non-urgent task. I'm been fannying about with radio drama for far too long, not giving my play the focus and drive I apply to other projects. Unless I get a TV commission, I will spend time from October-December writing a radio play.
What does that leave to do in 2009? Still need an agent. I did the rounds at the end of last year, got some positive feedback from several big London agencies but no offers. Frankly, my portfolio wasn't up to snuff at the time and my prospects were limited. What agent would take on a new client with a limited portfolio and little chance of making them money? Not me. So there's that still to do.
More projects on my to-do list: get another radio drama commission; get my first TV drama commission; get on to another script workshop and/or mentoring scheme. The first of these is part of my plan for Oct-Dec 2008. The second is something I devoted a lot of the last six months to achieving, and will be doing so again in the months ahead.
The last bears fruits later this month, but I'll so no more now to avoid cursing it. I'm not the world's most superstitious person, but there's no point pushing your luck, right? Right. Onwards.
Friday, July 04, 2008
BBC Writers' Academy - not this year
Got my rejection email for the 2008 BBC Writers' Academy. Can't say it was a great surprise, as I'm just starting to make an impression with the BBC. Still, there's always next year. What I most need to do now is get some commissions, prove myself as a credible candidate. Commiserations to other scribes and bloggers who haven't gotten the news they wanted today, and congratulation to those selected.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Screenwriters' Festival 2008 - notes and stuff
Right, here’s my report from the Screenwriters’ Festival 2008 at Cheltenham. I got to quite a few sessions, though some clashed and quite a few staged outside the main tent were swamped. Hopefully other bloggers will fill in the gaps from what I missed. As you’ll see, I didn’t take copious notes, Here’s what stood out for me.
BARBARA MACHIN: The creator of Waking The Dead gave the opening address, encouraging all screenwriters to embrace nerve, verve and fervour as their watchwords. She said the industry faced troubled times and all too often this encouraged a play it safe mentality. Writers should give audiences something they didn’t even dream of.
Machin said US drama seems bolder, different and fresh in the way it tells stories. But in the UK audiences for a show like Casualty have slumped from peaks of 21 million to an average of seven million. Where once the show made 12 episodes a year, now that number is more like 48. TV drama is an artform, but the length of time it takes to create often sees process often invention. Inventive storytelling needs to be effortlessly brave.
Machin said the industry was scared of frightening the audience, when all that matters is enthralling the audience. It’s not just US TV drama that can have unshackled, inventive storytelling. Compare Desperate Housewives to The Street. Both set in a single road, telling the residents' stories, yet both can be compelling drama.
She suggested showrunning was the way forward, where creative riches could be unlocked. Fear-ridden writing does not make great storytelling. In the past writers came from other media and had the courage of successes in those other media. All too often pragmatism trumps flair. Audiences need to be nurtured, be made excited.
Machin accused the industry of dumbing down drama. She wants TV that demands audiences pay attention. Drama has to be the most exciting thing in the room. She encouraged writers to rise up and be brave. Be inspired, not just market savvy. Dare to dream.
DEBORAH MOGGACH: A novelist and screenwriter, she talked about her experiences of adapting both her own work and that of others for film and TV. She said novels are often all about nouns, while a screenplay is about verbs. Situations and solutions in screenplays are often more conflicted and active than in a novel. When she adapts one of her own stories for the screen, there are like two different lives being lived.
Moggach said an important trick was giving scenes time to breath on screen, despite the enormous brevity required in an adaptation in comparison to its source material. There’s so much plot to pack in, so much that must be cut, yet the writer must leave time for actors to react on screen, leave room for silence.
Moggach has adapted The Dairy of Anne Frank into a five-part TV series for the BBC. She said it was quite a job to find a shape to each episode. All had to have their own complexion, be funny, tragic and complex. Talking about Pride and Prejudice, Moggach confessed to having a terrible memory, but this helped her forget previous adaptations such as the mid-90s BBC TV version.
RED PLANET: Tony Jordan took the stage first thing on Wednesday, along with blogging legend Danny Stack and the writer who won the first Red Planet Prize, Joanna Lee. The prize was launched at last year’s festival and Jordan kicked off the second running of the competition. He described the contest as a red herring, devised to help his production company find the next generation of great TV writers.
Jordan aims to build a family of writers for Red Planet, describing his company as writer-led. If a writer gets a show commissioned via Red Planet, they will executive producer of their creator, write several episodes, get input on the others – have a full involvement.
The 2007 Red Planet Prize had few parameters, but this year’s incarnation is more focused. As before, writers are expected to submit the first ten pages of an original screenplay. But this time it must be the first ten pages of a pilot for a new TV series. Short films, radio plays, screenplays for features or stage plays are not eligible.
In addition to the first ten pages, writers must include two other things: an application form [downloadable from the Red Planet site] including disclaimer; and a one-page outline of where the series is going. Deadline for entries is September 30th 2008, and – according to the website – only one entry per person.
Jordan said the vast majority of last year’s entries were TV scripts, hence the narrowing of focus this year. Keeping the entries down to ten pages of script makes assessing them a more manageable process, for obvious reasons. Once all the entries have been read, an unspecified number will be invited to submit their full script.
From these a winner will be chosen, getting five thousand pounds, representation by a leading agency and also a commission from Red Planet. Runners-up will receive mentoring from Red Planet – workshops, encouragement, etc. Last year’s winner is getting her script developed as a biopic for BBC4.
Danny Stack gave some top tips and things to avoid, based on last year’s entries. Start telling your story on page one, don’t be languid in your pacing. Scripts need to grab a reader. A nice turn of phrase helps, as does good use of subtext. Show there’s something happening. Turnoffs are familiar situations and superficial writing. It’s crucial to nail the tone – thrillers must be thrilling, comedies must be funny.
Jordan advised everyone to write from the heart, focus on stories they want to tell, not second-guessing. [Jordan also sucks his own blood, as he showed after discovering he’d cut his hand before coming on stage.] He stresses how crucial it was to start scenes late and end them as soon as they stop mattering – when it’s over it’s over.
He also passed on a tip that had served him well on how to make dialogue better. Keep taking words away from each sentence, one at a time. So long as the dialogue still makes sense, it will be better – shorter, tighter, pithier.
Jordan wants to love a character from their first sentence, their first appearance. Fro the outline, don’t bother detailing every plot twist for the next few episodes. Talk about the characters, their world, the area of the story. Entries can be for series or serials. Jordan said 30 or 60 minutes was fine [the Red Planet website stipulates 60 minutes only]. He was happy to see sitcom scripts, if they were funny.
Jordan suggested the outline talk about the entry’s tone – maybe throw in a movie reference or two. For Hustle, it was a modern take on Robin Hood, with parallels to films like The Sting. He suggested it was better to hit the ground running in your first ten pages, while setting up core characters over the whole 60 pages, rather than front-loading the script with exposition. Half a page, even a line can be enough to nail a character.
There’s a blog to accompany the competition, a place for entrants to keep tabs on progress.
LAURA MACKIE: ITV’s director of drama addressed a packed tent yesterday. She noted 11 drama series launched by the BBC and ITV last year, yet only three returned. A thousand projects were submitted to ITV last year, yet Mackie didn’t feel spoiled for choice. New series need to be original, ambitious and inventive, yet also mainstream and commercial – an approach she called having your cake and eating it.
Mackie believes ITV viewers are too smart for reheated project or clones of material on other channels. She cited Britain’s Got Talent as a classic ITV show, particularly its optimism. Dramas for ITV have to have heart, someone for whom the audience can root. Audiences don’t just want comfort viewing in tough times. When pitching a new series, she suggested explaining it as if telling an anecdote.
Less is more when it comes to pitching, sometimes a couple of lines can be enough. Your series needs to stand out from the crowd. Mackie prefers to read an idea first and – if she likes it – then have a conversation with the writer. Talk costs nothing. She enthused about the Voicebox Writers’ Studio, a venture to foster new writers established by Paul Abbott.
Mackie cited dramas that had excited her: Cracker, Cutting It, At Home With the Braithwaites, Life on Mars. The latter two were examples of shows that took familiar genres and gave them a fresh twist. The family relationship drama of Braitwaites was enlived by its premise; what if you won the lottery and didn’t tell your family? Life on Mars juxtaposed modern policing with 70s methods.
Clarity is not a dirt word. Make your pitch irresistible. You’re better to get it right than rush to meet a deadline, there’s millions at stake. Mackie said it was no surprise so many series failed, as too many get commissioned too fast and are under developed. In the current climate you can’t busk a series, something she admitted British TV drama had been guilty of doing. Make drama good as it can be, not just good enough.
A dazzling first episode alone isn’t enough. Mackie said there should be environment where attention gets lavished on subsequent scripts too. Standards have to be high through a series, otherwise tumbling ratings are inevitable – you have to deliver on your promises. ITV prefers to spend more developing fewer series, giving them the time and money they deserve. Mackie believes you can’t create drama by committee.
The protagonist of a TV drama doesn’t have to be nice, but they must engage the audience – witness the success of House, Doc Martin, Cracker. Research can help development but it can’t replace creativity. Nobody aims to make bad TV. Mackie believes tone meetings are a great innovation. Location is crucial to establish a sense of places for a drama series. Be proud of good work, even if it isn’t a hit.
SCRIPT BITES: Not having been to the festival before, I don’t know if these were a new innovation – but they’re a great idea. Essentially, guest speakers sat at a table in the main dining marquee for half hour stints and attendees could ask them questions directly. Some were swamped, others easier to be part of, but all offered extra opportunities for access and answers. Hopefully these will be retained for future festivals.
I sat in on a session by a coach called William Pennington, who helps creative people develop strategies to make the most of their potential. If that all sounds a bit hippy dippy, well, it wasn’t. He cited examples of strategies I’d unwittingly adopted by a process of trial and error. Best of all was an old quote by Graham Greene: ‘writing is a habit’. Write at the same time every day and you’ll be productive.
Pennington stressed the need to create time and space in your life to write. Some of his clients go so far as to keep everything related to specific projects in different boxes, right down to the mug they drink from while writing a particular script or book. That’s making compartmentalisation literal. He also suggested voluntary VAT registration, as it creates the illusion you turnover more than seventy grand a year and makes you seem more professional to clients.
I went to other sessions, but my flailing migraine precluded note-taking. All in all, I’d say the festival was a worthwhile experience [especially since I got a free pass as a guest speaker]. Would I go back next year? It’ll depend on the guest speakers, my workload and finances, but I’d definitely be up for another trip to Cheltenham.
BARBARA MACHIN: The creator of Waking The Dead gave the opening address, encouraging all screenwriters to embrace nerve, verve and fervour as their watchwords. She said the industry faced troubled times and all too often this encouraged a play it safe mentality. Writers should give audiences something they didn’t even dream of.
Machin said US drama seems bolder, different and fresh in the way it tells stories. But in the UK audiences for a show like Casualty have slumped from peaks of 21 million to an average of seven million. Where once the show made 12 episodes a year, now that number is more like 48. TV drama is an artform, but the length of time it takes to create often sees process often invention. Inventive storytelling needs to be effortlessly brave.
Machin said the industry was scared of frightening the audience, when all that matters is enthralling the audience. It’s not just US TV drama that can have unshackled, inventive storytelling. Compare Desperate Housewives to The Street. Both set in a single road, telling the residents' stories, yet both can be compelling drama.
She suggested showrunning was the way forward, where creative riches could be unlocked. Fear-ridden writing does not make great storytelling. In the past writers came from other media and had the courage of successes in those other media. All too often pragmatism trumps flair. Audiences need to be nurtured, be made excited.
Machin accused the industry of dumbing down drama. She wants TV that demands audiences pay attention. Drama has to be the most exciting thing in the room. She encouraged writers to rise up and be brave. Be inspired, not just market savvy. Dare to dream.
DEBORAH MOGGACH: A novelist and screenwriter, she talked about her experiences of adapting both her own work and that of others for film and TV. She said novels are often all about nouns, while a screenplay is about verbs. Situations and solutions in screenplays are often more conflicted and active than in a novel. When she adapts one of her own stories for the screen, there are like two different lives being lived.
Moggach said an important trick was giving scenes time to breath on screen, despite the enormous brevity required in an adaptation in comparison to its source material. There’s so much plot to pack in, so much that must be cut, yet the writer must leave time for actors to react on screen, leave room for silence.
Moggach has adapted The Dairy of Anne Frank into a five-part TV series for the BBC. She said it was quite a job to find a shape to each episode. All had to have their own complexion, be funny, tragic and complex. Talking about Pride and Prejudice, Moggach confessed to having a terrible memory, but this helped her forget previous adaptations such as the mid-90s BBC TV version.
RED PLANET: Tony Jordan took the stage first thing on Wednesday, along with blogging legend Danny Stack and the writer who won the first Red Planet Prize, Joanna Lee. The prize was launched at last year’s festival and Jordan kicked off the second running of the competition. He described the contest as a red herring, devised to help his production company find the next generation of great TV writers.
Jordan aims to build a family of writers for Red Planet, describing his company as writer-led. If a writer gets a show commissioned via Red Planet, they will executive producer of their creator, write several episodes, get input on the others – have a full involvement.
The 2007 Red Planet Prize had few parameters, but this year’s incarnation is more focused. As before, writers are expected to submit the first ten pages of an original screenplay. But this time it must be the first ten pages of a pilot for a new TV series. Short films, radio plays, screenplays for features or stage plays are not eligible.
In addition to the first ten pages, writers must include two other things: an application form [downloadable from the Red Planet site] including disclaimer; and a one-page outline of where the series is going. Deadline for entries is September 30th 2008, and – according to the website – only one entry per person.
Jordan said the vast majority of last year’s entries were TV scripts, hence the narrowing of focus this year. Keeping the entries down to ten pages of script makes assessing them a more manageable process, for obvious reasons. Once all the entries have been read, an unspecified number will be invited to submit their full script.
From these a winner will be chosen, getting five thousand pounds, representation by a leading agency and also a commission from Red Planet. Runners-up will receive mentoring from Red Planet – workshops, encouragement, etc. Last year’s winner is getting her script developed as a biopic for BBC4.
Danny Stack gave some top tips and things to avoid, based on last year’s entries. Start telling your story on page one, don’t be languid in your pacing. Scripts need to grab a reader. A nice turn of phrase helps, as does good use of subtext. Show there’s something happening. Turnoffs are familiar situations and superficial writing. It’s crucial to nail the tone – thrillers must be thrilling, comedies must be funny.
Jordan advised everyone to write from the heart, focus on stories they want to tell, not second-guessing. [Jordan also sucks his own blood, as he showed after discovering he’d cut his hand before coming on stage.] He stresses how crucial it was to start scenes late and end them as soon as they stop mattering – when it’s over it’s over.
He also passed on a tip that had served him well on how to make dialogue better. Keep taking words away from each sentence, one at a time. So long as the dialogue still makes sense, it will be better – shorter, tighter, pithier.
Jordan wants to love a character from their first sentence, their first appearance. Fro the outline, don’t bother detailing every plot twist for the next few episodes. Talk about the characters, their world, the area of the story. Entries can be for series or serials. Jordan said 30 or 60 minutes was fine [the Red Planet website stipulates 60 minutes only]. He was happy to see sitcom scripts, if they were funny.
Jordan suggested the outline talk about the entry’s tone – maybe throw in a movie reference or two. For Hustle, it was a modern take on Robin Hood, with parallels to films like The Sting. He suggested it was better to hit the ground running in your first ten pages, while setting up core characters over the whole 60 pages, rather than front-loading the script with exposition. Half a page, even a line can be enough to nail a character.
There’s a blog to accompany the competition, a place for entrants to keep tabs on progress.
LAURA MACKIE: ITV’s director of drama addressed a packed tent yesterday. She noted 11 drama series launched by the BBC and ITV last year, yet only three returned. A thousand projects were submitted to ITV last year, yet Mackie didn’t feel spoiled for choice. New series need to be original, ambitious and inventive, yet also mainstream and commercial – an approach she called having your cake and eating it.
Mackie believes ITV viewers are too smart for reheated project or clones of material on other channels. She cited Britain’s Got Talent as a classic ITV show, particularly its optimism. Dramas for ITV have to have heart, someone for whom the audience can root. Audiences don’t just want comfort viewing in tough times. When pitching a new series, she suggested explaining it as if telling an anecdote.
Less is more when it comes to pitching, sometimes a couple of lines can be enough. Your series needs to stand out from the crowd. Mackie prefers to read an idea first and – if she likes it – then have a conversation with the writer. Talk costs nothing. She enthused about the Voicebox Writers’ Studio, a venture to foster new writers established by Paul Abbott.
Mackie cited dramas that had excited her: Cracker, Cutting It, At Home With the Braithwaites, Life on Mars. The latter two were examples of shows that took familiar genres and gave them a fresh twist. The family relationship drama of Braitwaites was enlived by its premise; what if you won the lottery and didn’t tell your family? Life on Mars juxtaposed modern policing with 70s methods.
Clarity is not a dirt word. Make your pitch irresistible. You’re better to get it right than rush to meet a deadline, there’s millions at stake. Mackie said it was no surprise so many series failed, as too many get commissioned too fast and are under developed. In the current climate you can’t busk a series, something she admitted British TV drama had been guilty of doing. Make drama good as it can be, not just good enough.
A dazzling first episode alone isn’t enough. Mackie said there should be environment where attention gets lavished on subsequent scripts too. Standards have to be high through a series, otherwise tumbling ratings are inevitable – you have to deliver on your promises. ITV prefers to spend more developing fewer series, giving them the time and money they deserve. Mackie believes you can’t create drama by committee.
The protagonist of a TV drama doesn’t have to be nice, but they must engage the audience – witness the success of House, Doc Martin, Cracker. Research can help development but it can’t replace creativity. Nobody aims to make bad TV. Mackie believes tone meetings are a great innovation. Location is crucial to establish a sense of places for a drama series. Be proud of good work, even if it isn’t a hit.
SCRIPT BITES: Not having been to the festival before, I don’t know if these were a new innovation – but they’re a great idea. Essentially, guest speakers sat at a table in the main dining marquee for half hour stints and attendees could ask them questions directly. Some were swamped, others easier to be part of, but all offered extra opportunities for access and answers. Hopefully these will be retained for future festivals.
I sat in on a session by a coach called William Pennington, who helps creative people develop strategies to make the most of their potential. If that all sounds a bit hippy dippy, well, it wasn’t. He cited examples of strategies I’d unwittingly adopted by a process of trial and error. Best of all was an old quote by Graham Greene: ‘writing is a habit’. Write at the same time every day and you’ll be productive.
Pennington stressed the need to create time and space in your life to write. Some of his clients go so far as to keep everything related to specific projects in different boxes, right down to the mug they drink from while writing a particular script or book. That’s making compartmentalisation literal. He also suggested voluntary VAT registration, as it creates the illusion you turnover more than seventy grand a year and makes you seem more professional to clients.
I went to other sessions, but my flailing migraine precluded note-taking. All in all, I’d say the festival was a worthwhile experience [especially since I got a free pass as a guest speaker]. Would I go back next year? It’ll depend on the guest speakers, my workload and finances, but I’d definitely be up for another trip to Cheltenham.
Unnerved by Hammershoi, unwell at Bristol
Back from the Screenwriters’ Festival at Cheltenham. It all started so well, and ended with me being violently ill in the toilets at Bristol airport with a diamond-splitter migraine that made me want to gouge out my eyeballs. Not pretty. I’ll post a report on the festival later, but here’s a few random thoughts from several days in transit.
I headed south on Sunday, spending two nights with friends in London. Discovered there are people even more obsessed with US presidential politics than me. Enjoyed staying in the capital, even if too many corners smell of stale urine [bleurgh]. Went to the National Portrait Gallery and saw Simon Davis’s painting in the BP Portrait Awards. Nice.
Had a spooky moment involving a painting at the Royal Academy. I’m developing a supernatural suspense screenplay at the moment, and happened to see an article in the Guardian about a new exhibition. Two of the paintings pictured caught exactly the mood of my putative feature – disturbing, unnerving, perturbing.
So I made a pilgrimage to the Royal Academy to see the first British exhibition of works by Danish painter Hammershoi. Some stunning works, the muted colours and recurrent imagery seem to worm their way under your skin. But most freaky of all was one particular painting, and the coincidence of its title.
Just before heading south I wrote a two-page list of statements – images, moods, plot points and moments – for my feature; half tone document, half plot synopsis. One of the statements was ‘Dust drifts in shafts of sunlight’. What is one of Hammershoi’s paintings called? ‘Dust Motes dancing in the Sunbeams’. Uncanny.
Apparently there’s an early filmmaker who was much inspired by Hammershoi, so I’ll have to search out some of his work. The other odd thing about the Hammershoi show was seeing an actor from Torchwood visiting the exhibition. He played a very creepy character in the TV show’s first series. All in all, a most unnerving visit.
Got up at dawn on Tuesday and travelled to Cheltenham for the festival. Saw lots of people I knew, met lots of others for the first time and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. The Thistle Hotel left a lot to be desired, but I was a guest of the festival and not paying for my accommodation, so complaining seemed churlish at best.
Think I caught the sun on Tuesday, and woke up with a creeping headache on Wednesday. Alas, this wasn’t a hangover as I first thought [I didn’t drink enough Tuesday night to get one]. My hangovers start bad and ease off. My migraines creep up on me during a day, getting ever more debilitating.
By the time I got in a taxi bound for Bristol airport, my head was caught in the vice-like grip of doom. By the time I reached the airport, I was ready for death. Two painkillers and water got me through security, but I spent the next hour trying not to vomit and failing. It was touch and go whether I made it on the plane home.
I forced myself to board and felt better by the time we arrived at Edinburgh. Drove home, and collapsed in a gibbering heap. Doubt I’ll get much work done today, just need to recover. Don’t know if it was dodgy food or migraine that made me throw up, but vomiting was the turning point. After that I only got better.
I’ll type up my Cheltenham report and post that later but, in the meantime, here’s a picture of something coming from Mattel in October. Yes, it’s the toy you’ve always wanted, an Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds Barbie Doll – just forty-four dollars and ninety-nine cents. This may actually be real. Enjoy…
I headed south on Sunday, spending two nights with friends in London. Discovered there are people even more obsessed with US presidential politics than me. Enjoyed staying in the capital, even if too many corners smell of stale urine [bleurgh]. Went to the National Portrait Gallery and saw Simon Davis’s painting in the BP Portrait Awards. Nice.
Had a spooky moment involving a painting at the Royal Academy. I’m developing a supernatural suspense screenplay at the moment, and happened to see an article in the Guardian about a new exhibition. Two of the paintings pictured caught exactly the mood of my putative feature – disturbing, unnerving, perturbing.
So I made a pilgrimage to the Royal Academy to see the first British exhibition of works by Danish painter Hammershoi. Some stunning works, the muted colours and recurrent imagery seem to worm their way under your skin. But most freaky of all was one particular painting, and the coincidence of its title.
Just before heading south I wrote a two-page list of statements – images, moods, plot points and moments – for my feature; half tone document, half plot synopsis. One of the statements was ‘Dust drifts in shafts of sunlight’. What is one of Hammershoi’s paintings called? ‘Dust Motes dancing in the Sunbeams’. Uncanny.
Apparently there’s an early filmmaker who was much inspired by Hammershoi, so I’ll have to search out some of his work. The other odd thing about the Hammershoi show was seeing an actor from Torchwood visiting the exhibition. He played a very creepy character in the TV show’s first series. All in all, a most unnerving visit.
Got up at dawn on Tuesday and travelled to Cheltenham for the festival. Saw lots of people I knew, met lots of others for the first time and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. The Thistle Hotel left a lot to be desired, but I was a guest of the festival and not paying for my accommodation, so complaining seemed churlish at best.
Think I caught the sun on Tuesday, and woke up with a creeping headache on Wednesday. Alas, this wasn’t a hangover as I first thought [I didn’t drink enough Tuesday night to get one]. My hangovers start bad and ease off. My migraines creep up on me during a day, getting ever more debilitating.
By the time I got in a taxi bound for Bristol airport, my head was caught in the vice-like grip of doom. By the time I reached the airport, I was ready for death. Two painkillers and water got me through security, but I spent the next hour trying not to vomit and failing. It was touch and go whether I made it on the plane home.
I forced myself to board and felt better by the time we arrived at Edinburgh. Drove home, and collapsed in a gibbering heap. Doubt I’ll get much work done today, just need to recover. Don’t know if it was dodgy food or migraine that made me throw up, but vomiting was the turning point. After that I only got better.
I’ll type up my Cheltenham report and post that later but, in the meantime, here’s a picture of something coming from Mattel in October. Yes, it’s the toy you’ve always wanted, an Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds Barbie Doll – just forty-four dollars and ninety-nine cents. This may actually be real. Enjoy…
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