Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Red Planet Prize: progress report for August
Tony Jordan announced this year's incarnation of the Red Planet Prize at the start of July. Short version: submit the first ten script pages of an original TV pilot. Last year you could send in almost anything, but the deadline was only two months. This year those looking to enter had close on three months to make ready. The prize remained the same: £5000, representation and a commission from Red Planet - all for no entry fee. Bit of a no-brainer, right?
Well, two months have passed and I've walked away from two projects I'd intended to submit. The first felt derivative and shallow, so that got binned after wasting a month of my time. [It's not like that was all I did in July, far from it, but still the days slid by.] The second project I'm still intending to take further, but recognised I couldn't get it ready in time. A feature screenplay is no small undertaking, but it's a finite story.
Developing a TV pilot is so much more, IMHO. You've got to develop an ensemble cast, all with their own compelling tales to tell. You've got to interweave those stories, creating resonance via juxtaposition, contrast and counterpoint. You've got a whole world to create, one that can sustain multiple episodes, that naturally generates stories and conflict. You want visual ways of telling all those stories too, not just people talking in rooms.
Last year I submitted two entries [only one is allowed this year]. One was the opening episode of a drama serial, TAKING LIBERTIES. The second was the pilot for a continuing drama series set in Glasgow during WWII. I developed FAMILIES AT WAR as the final project for my screenwriting MA, and flung that into the Red Planet Prize at the last possible minute. Looking back at the first ten pages of that script, I'm not surprised it didn't make the cut.
When applying to the BBC Writers' Academy this year, I dug out Families At War and gave it a thorough rewrite. Stripped out several redundant characters and storylines that did little beyond duplicating each other. Crucially, I cut the pilot script in half. That kept the focus on the two families at the heart of the drama, a significant improvement on the diffuse original version. Still very much a soap, but far more efficient and streamlined.
[Ironically, my writing sample may have been too soapy for the Writers' Academy. Bold and daring trumps familiar in getting people's attention at the BBC. Lesson learned.]
Having ditched my first two efforts for the RPP this year, I decided to give FAMILIES AT WAR another chance. Could I make the script more visual? Was each scene pulling its weight? What scenes had I left out that would add depth to the key characters? Did every character in a scene need to be present? Being in mind the RPP first round only requires the first ten pages, how could I make those pages pop? What was the most powerful ending I could find?
Happily, I had all sorts of epiphanies along the way. Scenes got swapped round, new ones added, others cut altogether. Fresh conflicts arose, as did a new character. And the ten pages now ends with a massive turning point that affects every character in the pilot. New ideas came to me that would never have crossed my mind a few months ago, let alone this time last year. Fingers crossed, the new FAMILIES AT WAR is a significant step forward.
But I'm not sitting on my hands. Two trusted scribes are reading the first ten pages this week for feedback. I'll see what they have to say, where more improvements can be made. After that I'll reach out to other industry professionals, see what else still needs honing and finessing. Getting the first ten pages is hyper-important, but the whole script needs to deliver on the promise of its opening. Plenty more work to be done yet, I suspect. Onwards.
Well, two months have passed and I've walked away from two projects I'd intended to submit. The first felt derivative and shallow, so that got binned after wasting a month of my time. [It's not like that was all I did in July, far from it, but still the days slid by.] The second project I'm still intending to take further, but recognised I couldn't get it ready in time. A feature screenplay is no small undertaking, but it's a finite story.
Developing a TV pilot is so much more, IMHO. You've got to develop an ensemble cast, all with their own compelling tales to tell. You've got to interweave those stories, creating resonance via juxtaposition, contrast and counterpoint. You've got a whole world to create, one that can sustain multiple episodes, that naturally generates stories and conflict. You want visual ways of telling all those stories too, not just people talking in rooms.
Last year I submitted two entries [only one is allowed this year]. One was the opening episode of a drama serial, TAKING LIBERTIES. The second was the pilot for a continuing drama series set in Glasgow during WWII. I developed FAMILIES AT WAR as the final project for my screenwriting MA, and flung that into the Red Planet Prize at the last possible minute. Looking back at the first ten pages of that script, I'm not surprised it didn't make the cut.
When applying to the BBC Writers' Academy this year, I dug out Families At War and gave it a thorough rewrite. Stripped out several redundant characters and storylines that did little beyond duplicating each other. Crucially, I cut the pilot script in half. That kept the focus on the two families at the heart of the drama, a significant improvement on the diffuse original version. Still very much a soap, but far more efficient and streamlined.
[Ironically, my writing sample may have been too soapy for the Writers' Academy. Bold and daring trumps familiar in getting people's attention at the BBC. Lesson learned.]
Having ditched my first two efforts for the RPP this year, I decided to give FAMILIES AT WAR another chance. Could I make the script more visual? Was each scene pulling its weight? What scenes had I left out that would add depth to the key characters? Did every character in a scene need to be present? Being in mind the RPP first round only requires the first ten pages, how could I make those pages pop? What was the most powerful ending I could find?
Happily, I had all sorts of epiphanies along the way. Scenes got swapped round, new ones added, others cut altogether. Fresh conflicts arose, as did a new character. And the ten pages now ends with a massive turning point that affects every character in the pilot. New ideas came to me that would never have crossed my mind a few months ago, let alone this time last year. Fingers crossed, the new FAMILIES AT WAR is a significant step forward.
But I'm not sitting on my hands. Two trusted scribes are reading the first ten pages this week for feedback. I'll see what they have to say, where more improvements can be made. After that I'll reach out to other industry professionals, see what else still needs honing and finessing. Getting the first ten pages is hyper-important, but the whole script needs to deliver on the promise of its opening. Plenty more work to be done yet, I suspect. Onwards.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
I am busy; hear me twitter
Deadlines swallowing all known time and space, so my ability to blog at length each day seems chronically impaired at present - apologies. However, I sneak in a Twitter or two most days. So if you've pining for my misanthropic brain splurges, go here.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Deadline soon for SBT's brill mentoring project
I plugged this a few weeks back, but it's well worth repeating as the deadline for applications closes soon. Note: you need to be resident in or working in Scotland to be eligible...
Two years I was lucky enough to be selected for the Scottish Book Trust's mentoring project. For nine months I was guided and challenged by screenwriter Adrian Mead, learning a huge amount in the process and it made me a better writer. Now the SBT wants applications for its next wave of mentoring. You can be a novelist, a poet, an aspiring screenwriter, an illustrator or striving to become one of these.
You don't have to pay for this great opportunity, and there are no application fees. Sounds too good to be true? It isn't. I can't recommend this project highly enough. To find out more, read all about it here and study the application guidelines here. I believe the deadline for applying is Monday September 8th this year, but best to check that with the book trust's writer development co-ordinator Caitrin Armstrong: caitrin.armstrong@scottishbooktrust.com
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Dr Who: he can ride a bike with no handlebars
Lovely fanvid but be warned: you may have a wait a while for it to load in [yes, even on broadband]. Be patient, tis worth the wait.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Niche is the new normal
There's a cracking article on the Wired website that details how network TV is circling the drain in America, swamped by minority interest channels. Fifty-five per cent of the total audience is watching cable - basic channels and pay services like HBO and Showtime. The old model of broadcast TV that tries to please everyone simply doesn't work in a modern, fragmented media market. Niche is the new normal.
I'm no expert, but it looks like the same situation's arising in the UK. Broadcast reports today that terrestrial TV [i.e. BBC1, BBC2, ITV, Channel 4 and Five] accounted for 66.6% of market share. In other words two thirds of all viewers were watching one of the five main channels. The rest were watching digital channels like Dave, Sky One, E4 or BBC3 via satellite or cable. So British hasn't fragmented as badly - yet.
There's another significant differences between the UK and the US. On this side of the pond the BBC doesn't depend upon advertising revenue to survive, so two of the five main channels have some protecting from our splintering viewing habits. The others have already adopted some of the strategies for survival outlined in the Wired article, like pursuing a slice of the non-terrestrial audience via digital spin-off channels [e.g. ITV 2, C4+1].
But the nature of television is changing, evolving ever more rapidly on both sides of the Atlantic. what the future holds remains unclear, but one thing seems certain: as audiences for individual shows gets smaller, so budgets will contract. Imagination remains the best hope. People always want to be told stories. So let's tell them the best stories we can. Onwards.
I'm no expert, but it looks like the same situation's arising in the UK. Broadcast reports today that terrestrial TV [i.e. BBC1, BBC2, ITV, Channel 4 and Five] accounted for 66.6% of market share. In other words two thirds of all viewers were watching one of the five main channels. The rest were watching digital channels like Dave, Sky One, E4 or BBC3 via satellite or cable. So British hasn't fragmented as badly - yet.
There's another significant differences between the UK and the US. On this side of the pond the BBC doesn't depend upon advertising revenue to survive, so two of the five main channels have some protecting from our splintering viewing habits. The others have already adopted some of the strategies for survival outlined in the Wired article, like pursuing a slice of the non-terrestrial audience via digital spin-off channels [e.g. ITV 2, C4+1].
But the nature of television is changing, evolving ever more rapidly on both sides of the Atlantic. what the future holds remains unclear, but one thing seems certain: as audiences for individual shows gets smaller, so budgets will contract. Imagination remains the best hope. People always want to be told stories. So let's tell them the best stories we can. Onwards.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Balancing time, cash and committments
Simple freelance fact: some commissions pay better than others. For example, I can plot and script an issue of The Phantom comic in a week. For the amount of time required, it's my best paying gig. I've written hour-long audio dramas that took weeks of plotting, writing and rewriting - and only got paid half as much as I do for an issue of The Phantom. A licensed tie-in novel takes more than a month, yet most pay about twice as much as the comic.
In truth, this is like comparing apples and oranges - they're both fruit, but they're essentially different and that's that. As a freelancer, you can [hopefully] pick and choose your work. I write five or six issues of The Phantom most years, it's a lovely bread and butter job. The stories are fun to write, and they don't take a massive creative effort because the character's world is already established. But I wouldn't want to only write comics.
Switching from one medium to another keeps me fresh, the variety offers challenges I wouldn't get otherwise. In January 2006 I calculated I'd written nine novels in the previous 27 months - that's a new novel from scratch every three months. I was doing other work as well, but the books were dominating my output. I felt burnt out as a consequence, and have only written three more in the 29 months since [albeit each was at least 100,000 words long].
There's a temptation when freelancing to chase every pound, go after the highest paying gigs. That's perfectly natural, you never know when work might dry up and writing is often a seasonal career. Not as bad as, say, strawberry picking but you try getting a new commission signed off between mid-December and the end of January, or during the dog days of summer. Insecurity and creativity are often bedfellows, so that's another factor at work.
But every freelancer has to strike a balance between working for money and working for the love of what they do. [If you don't love your job, it's time to get another.] You can't be afraid to turn down work, and you must have the courage to take a lesser paying job if it offers other compensations. I'm investing long-term in becoming a TV drama writer. I've spent plenty learning skills and craft, but earned next to nothing thus far in the medium.
I've written non-fiction books that almost cost me money, and spent months on other projects that came to naught. Sometimes you begrudge that, on other occasions it feels like no loss at all. As a wiser man than me once said, experience is what you get when you don't get what you wanted. Finding the balance between the value of your time, the money offered by a job and the committment that job will require is not easy, but it's something you need to nurture.
Speaking of time committments, I've got a few deadlines looming so can't guarantee my usual ramblings will be quite some frequent the next few weeks. If the writing's going well, I'll be blogging less until the end of this month. Of course, if the writing's going really well, I might be blogging more. What can I say, sometimes my brain gets full and needs emptying. Onwards.
In truth, this is like comparing apples and oranges - they're both fruit, but they're essentially different and that's that. As a freelancer, you can [hopefully] pick and choose your work. I write five or six issues of The Phantom most years, it's a lovely bread and butter job. The stories are fun to write, and they don't take a massive creative effort because the character's world is already established. But I wouldn't want to only write comics.
Switching from one medium to another keeps me fresh, the variety offers challenges I wouldn't get otherwise. In January 2006 I calculated I'd written nine novels in the previous 27 months - that's a new novel from scratch every three months. I was doing other work as well, but the books were dominating my output. I felt burnt out as a consequence, and have only written three more in the 29 months since [albeit each was at least 100,000 words long].
There's a temptation when freelancing to chase every pound, go after the highest paying gigs. That's perfectly natural, you never know when work might dry up and writing is often a seasonal career. Not as bad as, say, strawberry picking but you try getting a new commission signed off between mid-December and the end of January, or during the dog days of summer. Insecurity and creativity are often bedfellows, so that's another factor at work.
But every freelancer has to strike a balance between working for money and working for the love of what they do. [If you don't love your job, it's time to get another.] You can't be afraid to turn down work, and you must have the courage to take a lesser paying job if it offers other compensations. I'm investing long-term in becoming a TV drama writer. I've spent plenty learning skills and craft, but earned next to nothing thus far in the medium.
I've written non-fiction books that almost cost me money, and spent months on other projects that came to naught. Sometimes you begrudge that, on other occasions it feels like no loss at all. As a wiser man than me once said, experience is what you get when you don't get what you wanted. Finding the balance between the value of your time, the money offered by a job and the committment that job will require is not easy, but it's something you need to nurture.
Speaking of time committments, I've got a few deadlines looming so can't guarantee my usual ramblings will be quite some frequent the next few weeks. If the writing's going well, I'll be blogging less until the end of this month. Of course, if the writing's going really well, I might be blogging more. What can I say, sometimes my brain gets full and needs emptying. Onwards.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
TAPS continuing drama workshop
I did the TAPS continuing drama workshop last September, and have had a few people who are doing it this year get in touch for advice. Looking back, I'm not sure how useful the experience was for me. The long weekend boiled down to two things - learning about writing for continuing drama [with a heavy focus on Emmerdale], and creating your own script for a one-off drama to a tight deadline [with a large number of caveats and restrictions attached].
If you've done a half decent MA in screenwriting or made efforts to start learning your craft, I'm not sure this workshop tells you much that's new. Tt was fascinating to hear about the creative process at Emmerdale, but the reality is that show doesn't recruit emerging writers. The time and production pressures under which the Emmerdale team creates six new episodes a week precludes hand-holding new writers until they can get up to speed.
All those who attend the TAPS workshop emerge from the process with an original, 23-minute standalone drama script, complete with a cliffhanger in the middle. A few get their scripts filmed with professional actors to create industry showcase DVDs. [You may be able to watch past showcases on the TAPS website, I can never get them to play on my computer.] Sounds great, doesn't it?
However, the nature of the filming imposes a lot of restrictions on what you can write - no exteriors, a maximum of three interior sets [last year these were chosen from a selection of Emmerdale sets] and six actors. Anything involving stunts, fight choreography, complex effects or props [wounds, bleeding] were all non-starters. Essentially, you needed to write a story based around several people in a few rooms talking - nothing filmic.
Now, several people in a few rooms can make for compelling TV - last night's episode of EastEnders where stroke victim Jim Branning came home to visit was a great example. But the most memorable moments in continuing drama stem from long-term character development, paying off traits and plotlines set up over months or even years. The TAPS workshop is about continuing drama, yet they ask you to write a one-off play to be performed for cameras.
I gave up trying to write an original script that fitted all the restrictions. I didn't want to write a kitchen sink drama, or something that felt like a radio play with pictures. Instead I wrote a script I was passionate about, knowing it wouldn't get past the first round. The workshop gave me a deadline for creating a new, original script, and that's what I took away from the experience.
If you've done a half decent MA in screenwriting or made efforts to start learning your craft, I'm not sure this workshop tells you much that's new. Tt was fascinating to hear about the creative process at Emmerdale, but the reality is that show doesn't recruit emerging writers. The time and production pressures under which the Emmerdale team creates six new episodes a week precludes hand-holding new writers until they can get up to speed.
All those who attend the TAPS workshop emerge from the process with an original, 23-minute standalone drama script, complete with a cliffhanger in the middle. A few get their scripts filmed with professional actors to create industry showcase DVDs. [You may be able to watch past showcases on the TAPS website, I can never get them to play on my computer.] Sounds great, doesn't it?
However, the nature of the filming imposes a lot of restrictions on what you can write - no exteriors, a maximum of three interior sets [last year these were chosen from a selection of Emmerdale sets] and six actors. Anything involving stunts, fight choreography, complex effects or props [wounds, bleeding] were all non-starters. Essentially, you needed to write a story based around several people in a few rooms talking - nothing filmic.
Now, several people in a few rooms can make for compelling TV - last night's episode of EastEnders where stroke victim Jim Branning came home to visit was a great example. But the most memorable moments in continuing drama stem from long-term character development, paying off traits and plotlines set up over months or even years. The TAPS workshop is about continuing drama, yet they ask you to write a one-off play to be performed for cameras.
I gave up trying to write an original script that fitted all the restrictions. I didn't want to write a kitchen sink drama, or something that felt like a radio play with pictures. Instead I wrote a script I was passionate about, knowing it wouldn't get past the first round. The workshop gave me a deadline for creating a new, original script, and that's what I took away from the experience.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Verily, bump does beginneth with the letter B
Hottest theatre ticket in the UK right now is a production of Hamlet starring Doctor Who's David Tennant and Patrick Stewart [Jean-Luc Picard from Star Trek: the Next Generation]. It's a safe bet they didn't do this Sesame Street version of Hamlet's most famous speech in rehearsal. [Excuse the poor video quality of this clip.]
Where next for River City?
There's revolution afoot at the BBC Scotland continuing drama series River City. After years of appearing as a twice-weekly soap only broadcast in Scotland, the show is mutating into an hour-long weekly drama. There are reports of massive staffing changes, including executive producer Sandra MacIver. It remains to be seen what the effect will be on the show, but the consequences for emerging TV writers based in Scotland is clear - look south of the border.
In truth, that much has been obvious for some time. Two years ago this month MacIver was interviewed on stage at the Edinburgh Film Festival. She outlined the path for writers looking to break in via River City: submit a critique of the show, along with a sample of your original writing. Dozens of people applied and I was among the many offered a chance to write half a sample episode for River City based on supplied scene by scene breakdowns.
MacIver said the best 15-20 people would be invited for a weekend workshop with the script team at River City, learning more about the process of writing for the show. All those invited would write a full trial script and, hopefully, one or two could be offered commissions for the series. No guarantees, but plenty of encouragement. The process had worked before: Louise Ironside came through it, becoming one of the show's most outstanding writers.
That was September 2006. We all got emails thanking us for our effort [we'd had a long weekend to write our trial scripts], and the progress of feedback later that week. The following week we got an email apology for the delay, but the promise of feedback soon. After that the emails dried up, leaving those who'd done trials in the dark. Some gave up, others kept chasing for a reply. I believe in persistence, so I kept in contact as best I could.
Fast forward to September 2007. After a year of waiting, I got a rejection letter from River City based on what I'd written. I phoned up the person who'd actually read my material and asked for further feedback. They offered to read more recent material, so I sent in my latest original script. More phone calls, more gentle nudging, no replies. In December I discovered that person had left the show.
After 15 months of this, I admitted defeat. If you wanted to break into TV writing via continuing drama, it seemed apparent you had to look south of the border. I switched my focus to Doctors, which has a tradition of finding and nurturing new writing talent. After two years of faithfully watching River City, I gave up on the show. All that waiting and all those broken promises soured it for me.
My decision to look elsewhere for openings was confirmed a few months back. Somebody at River City rediscovered the original script I'd sent in for feedback. They sent it back and said the show would not be looking at new writers for at least twelve months, but I was welcome to get back in touch sometime during 2009!
In truth, I'm not bitter about what happened with River City. It was frustrating at the time, but I wasn't ready. I've still got so much to learn, but believe I'm nearer the standard required now than I was two years ago. I do think it's a shame there are so few opportunities for writers based in Scotland who want to break into TV drama. River City used to a potential doorway - not anymore.
In truth, that much has been obvious for some time. Two years ago this month MacIver was interviewed on stage at the Edinburgh Film Festival. She outlined the path for writers looking to break in via River City: submit a critique of the show, along with a sample of your original writing. Dozens of people applied and I was among the many offered a chance to write half a sample episode for River City based on supplied scene by scene breakdowns.
MacIver said the best 15-20 people would be invited for a weekend workshop with the script team at River City, learning more about the process of writing for the show. All those invited would write a full trial script and, hopefully, one or two could be offered commissions for the series. No guarantees, but plenty of encouragement. The process had worked before: Louise Ironside came through it, becoming one of the show's most outstanding writers.
That was September 2006. We all got emails thanking us for our effort [we'd had a long weekend to write our trial scripts], and the progress of feedback later that week. The following week we got an email apology for the delay, but the promise of feedback soon. After that the emails dried up, leaving those who'd done trials in the dark. Some gave up, others kept chasing for a reply. I believe in persistence, so I kept in contact as best I could.
Fast forward to September 2007. After a year of waiting, I got a rejection letter from River City based on what I'd written. I phoned up the person who'd actually read my material and asked for further feedback. They offered to read more recent material, so I sent in my latest original script. More phone calls, more gentle nudging, no replies. In December I discovered that person had left the show.
After 15 months of this, I admitted defeat. If you wanted to break into TV writing via continuing drama, it seemed apparent you had to look south of the border. I switched my focus to Doctors, which has a tradition of finding and nurturing new writing talent. After two years of faithfully watching River City, I gave up on the show. All that waiting and all those broken promises soured it for me.
My decision to look elsewhere for openings was confirmed a few months back. Somebody at River City rediscovered the original script I'd sent in for feedback. They sent it back and said the show would not be looking at new writers for at least twelve months, but I was welcome to get back in touch sometime during 2009!
In truth, I'm not bitter about what happened with River City. It was frustrating at the time, but I wasn't ready. I've still got so much to learn, but believe I'm nearer the standard required now than I was two years ago. I do think it's a shame there are so few opportunities for writers based in Scotland who want to break into TV drama. River City used to a potential doorway - not anymore.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
So, is it all about the writing - or not?
Michelle Lipton has kindly posted extracts from an article about what people advise those trying to break in at the medical drama series Casualty. [Read more here.] In the comments section we got into a discussion about whether or not great writing alone will get you a gig. Here's one of my contributions to the discussion...
So, is it all about the writing - or not?
Well, I guess there’s an element of dues paying to be done. On the Doctors mini-academy, everybody had paid their dues somewhere to get their shot - theatre, radio, novels, TV. People who had tried out, failed and come back for more
Sometimes I think writing is like getting a driving licence. Many people fail the practical first time of asking [I did, back before the dawn of time]. Does that make you a bad driver? No, just an inexperienced, nervous driver.
You want a licence, you go away, learn more, practice more, you take the test again.
The difference is look how many people have driving licences in Britain alone. Millions.
How many people write a broadcast episode of EastEnders, Casualty, Holby City in any given year? Maybe 100 in total. Another 100 on Doctors, at a wild, flailing guess.
So, no, I guess it’s not all about the writing, just like getting a licence isn’t all about the driving. It’s about the practice, the practical knowledge and experience - and all the other things that make a good driver, or a great writer.
Then there’s instinct, talent, being able to work and play well with others, and so many other things…
Still, nobody said it would be easy. Alas.
Friday, August 08, 2008
Sigh. It's the Olympics. Again
Much as I enjoy watching sport [and, Grud help me, even taking part sometimes], the Olympics always come tinged with a sadness for me. Let's leave aside the Jamie Hewlett animation that's been omni-present on the BBC for weeks on end - it was enjoyable the first few times, but irritating as f**k ever since. Let's ignore the fact I'm living in the UK which makes it almost impossible to see Kiwi competitors in action, unless they're alongside a Brit.
No, my melancholy dates back to the Seoul Olympics in 1988. My mother was dying from liver cancer at the time, diagnosis coming way too late to make any difference. Watching the sporting endeavours and exuberance on TV was a welcome diversion, something to take your mind off the reality of what was coming. But ever since then, I can't help associating the Olympics with that loss. What should be a thing of joy is also a thing of sadness.
Thinking of you, mum.
No, my melancholy dates back to the Seoul Olympics in 1988. My mother was dying from liver cancer at the time, diagnosis coming way too late to make any difference. Watching the sporting endeavours and exuberance on TV was a welcome diversion, something to take your mind off the reality of what was coming. But ever since then, I can't help associating the Olympics with that loss. What should be a thing of joy is also a thing of sadness.
Thinking of you, mum.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Perverted vegetable rodeo cake shock
Oh. My. Grud. Just been sent a link and have to share it. Cake Wrecks features photos of the most extraordinary cakes you're ever likely to see. The above horror show beggars belief, for example. Why so many babies on one cake? Why do the babies have Mohawk haircuts? And why - whywhywhywhywhy - are they all riding carrots? Sometimes, words just fail me.
Under the radar actors: Dennis Quaid
Always had affection for American actor Dennis Quaid. He's never likely to win an Oscar, been in plenty of underwhelming movies and has a shit-eating quality to his grin that doesn't sit well with some people - but I always enjoy watching him. An all-American everyman, the sort of guy you imagine you could sink a few beers with. Maybe the reality would be different, but that's the quality he projects to me.His first role of note was ex-quarterback Mike in Breaking Away (1979), a cracking movie about growing up in a town dominated by its university. Quaid nailed the melancholy of a young man who knows the best years of his life are already over. The actor's next standout performance was in crowded astronaut ensemble The Right Stuff (1983), where his natural cocky charm made a significant impact amid a cluster of great acting talent.
Fast forward another four years and you hit Quaid's peak in pop culture terms. He hooked up with America's sweetheart Meg Ryan while they were making Innerspace, gave a crackerjack performance in The Big Easy and cemented his above the title billing opposite Cher in Suspect. All very different films, yet the actor didn't look out of place in any of them. Quaid was everywhere, all at once.
The 90s didn't bring the best choices film-wise, though he shone in the likes of Flesh and Bone (1993) and Wyatt Earp (1994), even if the movies didn't catch fire. Quaid's batting average improved in 2000 with sleeper hit Frequency and Steven Soderbergh's acclaimed mosaic movie Traffic. Two years later the actor got kudos for his role in Far From Heaven, and won hearts in a baseball biopic called The Rookie.
Dennis Quaid's in his 50s now, getting to play a lot of dads, mentors and father figures. Soon he'll cast in roles as cops finishing their last week on the force, or in late bloomer romances. But no matter how old he gets, I hope Quaid still has that twinkle in the corner of his eye. He's survived remarkably well in a Hollywood system that chews through fresh faces in no time, staying under the radar while enhancing almost every film he's in.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
2000 AD artist features in NYC project
New York photographer Seth Kushner is taking photos of graphic novelists based in the Big Apple for a planned publishing project. Appearing alongside the likes of Pulitzer Prize winner Art Spiegelman and Molly Crabapple [above] is 2000 AD artist Simon Fraser [below], co-creator for one of my favourite characters, Nikolai Dante. You can see more of Kushner's work in progress at his blog.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Applications open for SBT's mentoring project
In 2006 I was lucky enough to be a mentee with the Scottish Book Trust's mentoring project. For nine months I was guided and challenged by screenwriter Adrian Mead, learning a huge amount in the process. It made me a better writer, and for that I'm grateful. Now the SBT has opened applications for the next wave of mentoring. You can be a novelist, a poet, an aspiring screenwriter, an illustrator or striving to become one of these.
You don't have to pay for this great opportunity, and there are no application fees. Sounds too good to be true? It isn't. I can't recommend this project highly enough. to find out more, read all about it here and study the application guidelines here. I believe the deadline for applying is Monday September 8th this year, but best to check that with the book trust's writer development co-ordinator Caitrin Armstrong: caitrin.armstrong@scottishbooktrust.com
UPDATE: It's worth noting that you need to be resident in or working in Scotland to apply. And yes, mentee is an ugly word, but it's quicker than typing 'person being mentored' several times.
You don't have to pay for this great opportunity, and there are no application fees. Sounds too good to be true? It isn't. I can't recommend this project highly enough. to find out more, read all about it here and study the application guidelines here. I believe the deadline for applying is Monday September 8th this year, but best to check that with the book trust's writer development co-ordinator Caitrin Armstrong: caitrin.armstrong@scottishbooktrust.com
UPDATE: It's worth noting that you need to be resident in or working in Scotland to apply. And yes, mentee is an ugly word, but it's quicker than typing 'person being mentored' several times.
Can't please all the readers all the time
The BBC writersroom is a brilliant resource. Anyone with a drama script - radio, TV, film, etc - can send it in and get some kind of feedback. The majority of efforts get a brief, negative response, while a fraction get detailed feedback and are invited to submit another script. It's one of the many ways the BBC finds and nurtures new writing talent. Every year one or two scribes are selected from the pile and get recommended to producers or script editors.
But there's a caveat worth bearing in mind if you submit material to the writersroom. Every person who reads a script is subjective, whether they work for the BBC, a screen agency, a production company or a literary agency. Readers bring their own notions of what constitutes a good story, compelling drama, an emotionally satisfying journey on the page. One reader's meat is another one's poison, to paraphase an old adage. You can't please everyone.
A few months back I submitted a script to the writersroom for the first time. [It was the pilot for a WWII soap I devised as the final project on my MA screenwriting course.] The first ten pages were considered good enough for the whole script to be read. I got some detailed, useful feedback, along with an invitation to submit another script. I didn't think I had anything suitable, until I heard the writersroom would consider any script over ten pages.
So I sent in DANNY'S TOYS, a short film script of 18 pages that's gotten me lots of meetings and attention. It won first prize in the short film script category last year's Page International Screenwriting Awards, and was placed in the Blue Cat Screen Lab contest. An Edinburgh producer spent several months trying to raise development funding for an animation version. I was interested to see what the writersroom would make of DANNY'S TOYS.
They didn't like it.
Does that make DANNY'S TOYS a bad script? No. It's simply one person's opinion, just as valid as any other person's views. You can't place too much stock in a single response, unless the person involved has the power to commission or torpedo your story. For example, someone further up the BBC food chain phoned me at home to say how much they'd enjoyed DANNY'S TOYS and suggested several independent producers that might help develop it further.
Feedback is always useful, but you shouldn't judge your worth as a writer on the opinions of others. You have to believe in yourself, believe in what you're writing. Take responsibility for the quality of that writing, push yourself to make it the best you can possibly do, here and now. Keep learning, keep listening, keep striving to improve. Don't expect everyone to like everything you write. You are your own, best audience, so trust your voice.
But there's a caveat worth bearing in mind if you submit material to the writersroom. Every person who reads a script is subjective, whether they work for the BBC, a screen agency, a production company or a literary agency. Readers bring their own notions of what constitutes a good story, compelling drama, an emotionally satisfying journey on the page. One reader's meat is another one's poison, to paraphase an old adage. You can't please everyone.
A few months back I submitted a script to the writersroom for the first time. [It was the pilot for a WWII soap I devised as the final project on my MA screenwriting course.] The first ten pages were considered good enough for the whole script to be read. I got some detailed, useful feedback, along with an invitation to submit another script. I didn't think I had anything suitable, until I heard the writersroom would consider any script over ten pages.
So I sent in DANNY'S TOYS, a short film script of 18 pages that's gotten me lots of meetings and attention. It won first prize in the short film script category last year's Page International Screenwriting Awards, and was placed in the Blue Cat Screen Lab contest. An Edinburgh producer spent several months trying to raise development funding for an animation version. I was interested to see what the writersroom would make of DANNY'S TOYS.
They didn't like it.
Does that make DANNY'S TOYS a bad script? No. It's simply one person's opinion, just as valid as any other person's views. You can't place too much stock in a single response, unless the person involved has the power to commission or torpedo your story. For example, someone further up the BBC food chain phoned me at home to say how much they'd enjoyed DANNY'S TOYS and suggested several independent producers that might help develop it further.
Feedback is always useful, but you shouldn't judge your worth as a writer on the opinions of others. You have to believe in yourself, believe in what you're writing. Take responsibility for the quality of that writing, push yourself to make it the best you can possibly do, here and now. Keep learning, keep listening, keep striving to improve. Don't expect everyone to like everything you write. You are your own, best audience, so trust your voice.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Routine and discipline for writers
Talent, creativity and a way with words are all important qualities for a writer. But if you want to make a living from your writing, more than anything else you'll need discipline. Being a professional means hitting deadlines, writing to specification, and sometimes it means routine. If you've got an 80,000 word novel to write, there's a lot of typing involved. That means bum on seat and staying there, foregoing more exciting things for your career.
It kind of sounds counter-intuitive, talking about creativity to order. Some people expect creative types to be wacky and wild flakes, on the edge mavericks who walk to a different beat. In my experience, the more touch by genius someone is, the flakier they tend to be. That's not always true, of course, but it does reflect my years of experience working with creatives. Genius defies deadlines and still gets another chance, because it's genius.
For most of us making a living from writing, there are days when you have to grind it out. Not every word is perfect, nor does it need to be - that's why we have rewriting. But you can't rewrite what doesn't exist. There are times I've felt frozen at the start of a project, not wanting to sully a page with any attempt to transport the perfect story from my imagination to some decidedly imperfect version on the computer screen on page. Get over it.
No first draft is perfect - hell, no final draft is perfect. Everything you ever write is a work in progress, awaiting the next polish, the next rewrite. Everything can be improved. Some canny sod once said, 'art is never finished, only abandoned'. I'm not claiming what I do is any work of art, but every story must finally be abandoned, unleashed upon the world, sent forth for feedback. Give it a chance to be seen and seen if it can be improved.
I've a new project to write this month. Can't type about it here, due to contractual obligations and non-disclosure clauses. I'm also trying to develop my second stab at this year's Red Planet Prize competition, and there's a feature I'm itching to write. Of these, the last is just for myself, an idea that's been nagging away at the back of my imagination since I walked past a particular painting in New Zealand four months ago and it triggered something.
But my paying job for this month is the new project, and my deadline is September 1st. So today I need to establish a routine for August and inject some discipline into my writing efforts. It may not be glamorous or exciting, involve festivals, plane flights or meeting important people from the industry - but it's a vital part of the job. All the networking in the world don't mean a thing if you don't back it up with words. A writer writes. Onwards.
It kind of sounds counter-intuitive, talking about creativity to order. Some people expect creative types to be wacky and wild flakes, on the edge mavericks who walk to a different beat. In my experience, the more touch by genius someone is, the flakier they tend to be. That's not always true, of course, but it does reflect my years of experience working with creatives. Genius defies deadlines and still gets another chance, because it's genius.
For most of us making a living from writing, there are days when you have to grind it out. Not every word is perfect, nor does it need to be - that's why we have rewriting. But you can't rewrite what doesn't exist. There are times I've felt frozen at the start of a project, not wanting to sully a page with any attempt to transport the perfect story from my imagination to some decidedly imperfect version on the computer screen on page. Get over it.
No first draft is perfect - hell, no final draft is perfect. Everything you ever write is a work in progress, awaiting the next polish, the next rewrite. Everything can be improved. Some canny sod once said, 'art is never finished, only abandoned'. I'm not claiming what I do is any work of art, but every story must finally be abandoned, unleashed upon the world, sent forth for feedback. Give it a chance to be seen and seen if it can be improved.
I've a new project to write this month. Can't type about it here, due to contractual obligations and non-disclosure clauses. I'm also trying to develop my second stab at this year's Red Planet Prize competition, and there's a feature I'm itching to write. Of these, the last is just for myself, an idea that's been nagging away at the back of my imagination since I walked past a particular painting in New Zealand four months ago and it triggered something.
But my paying job for this month is the new project, and my deadline is September 1st. So today I need to establish a routine for August and inject some discipline into my writing efforts. It may not be glamorous or exciting, involve festivals, plane flights or meeting important people from the industry - but it's a vital part of the job. All the networking in the world don't mean a thing if you don't back it up with words. A writer writes. Onwards.
Friday, August 01, 2008
Learning to trust your instincts
I tend to believe most storytellers have a natural instinct for what they do. Call it a little voice in the back of your head, a nagging sensation that tells you when things are going off-track. The more stories you tell, the more attuned you become to that voice. You learn what works for you and what doesn't, what accepted wisdom to ignore when if doesn't suit your story, when to keep going with a story even if it ain't working yet - and when to fold.
Funny thing is, you go along to a storytelling course or workshop and a lot of the things you'll hear reinforce what you've already discovered by trial and error. When I did Robert McKee's story structure seminar [back near the dawn of time, if memory serves], much of what he said chimed with what I already did. There were some things I didn't agree with, and some concepts I simply couldn't grasp at the time. [I still grapple with Controlling Idea.]
None of this exempts you from learning and hone the craft skills required to tell stories in a particular medium. Writing for radio is hugely different from writing a novel, and both are much removed from screenplays or scripting comic strips or writing for computer games. It's pure arrogance to assume success in one medium gives you any advantage in another medium in terms of craft skills. Talent is one thing, craft is something else entirely.
For example, I've had 18 novels published [with number 19 due out in December and talks underway for number 20]. Does that make me a natural TV writer? Nope. It shows I can be professional, I'm able to write for different genres, I've got more than one story to tell, and that I have stamina as a writer. After close to 20 novels, I've learned how streamline my writing processes. And I've learned to listen to that nagging voice inside my head.
For the past month, I've been trying and failing to make any headway on developing a new TV drama pilot for the Red Planet Prize. I wanted to write a action adventure comedy thriller called The Revengers. I came up with my cast, gave them loads of quirks and tweaks - but couldn't come up with a plot for the first ten minutes. Let alone the whole first episode. Let alone a whole series.
Going to the Doctors mini-academy last week forced me to listen to my instincts again, remember why I write. I want to tell stories - and I didn't have any stories for The Revengers. So I'm pulling the plug on it. Maybe I'll come back to the concept one day, maybe not. Bad news? I've wasted the first month of three before the deadline for entries. Good news? I wised up and know what I need to do with the other two months. I listened to my instincts.
Ask yourself this question: are you writing the right story? Do you care about the characters, or are they merely contrivances cut off a big block of cliches? Can you imagine what the fifth episode of your original TV drama will be about? What about the Christmas episode, what happens then? What about the end of the second series? Is your core concept exciting, fresh and original? Or does it feel like a carbon copy of a hit show with a few, minor tweaks?
What are your instincts trying to tell you?
Funny thing is, you go along to a storytelling course or workshop and a lot of the things you'll hear reinforce what you've already discovered by trial and error. When I did Robert McKee's story structure seminar [back near the dawn of time, if memory serves], much of what he said chimed with what I already did. There were some things I didn't agree with, and some concepts I simply couldn't grasp at the time. [I still grapple with Controlling Idea.]
None of this exempts you from learning and hone the craft skills required to tell stories in a particular medium. Writing for radio is hugely different from writing a novel, and both are much removed from screenplays or scripting comic strips or writing for computer games. It's pure arrogance to assume success in one medium gives you any advantage in another medium in terms of craft skills. Talent is one thing, craft is something else entirely.
For example, I've had 18 novels published [with number 19 due out in December and talks underway for number 20]. Does that make me a natural TV writer? Nope. It shows I can be professional, I'm able to write for different genres, I've got more than one story to tell, and that I have stamina as a writer. After close to 20 novels, I've learned how streamline my writing processes. And I've learned to listen to that nagging voice inside my head.
For the past month, I've been trying and failing to make any headway on developing a new TV drama pilot for the Red Planet Prize. I wanted to write a action adventure comedy thriller called The Revengers. I came up with my cast, gave them loads of quirks and tweaks - but couldn't come up with a plot for the first ten minutes. Let alone the whole first episode. Let alone a whole series.
Going to the Doctors mini-academy last week forced me to listen to my instincts again, remember why I write. I want to tell stories - and I didn't have any stories for The Revengers. So I'm pulling the plug on it. Maybe I'll come back to the concept one day, maybe not. Bad news? I've wasted the first month of three before the deadline for entries. Good news? I wised up and know what I need to do with the other two months. I listened to my instincts.
Ask yourself this question: are you writing the right story? Do you care about the characters, or are they merely contrivances cut off a big block of cliches? Can you imagine what the fifth episode of your original TV drama will be about? What about the Christmas episode, what happens then? What about the end of the second series? Is your core concept exciting, fresh and original? Or does it feel like a carbon copy of a hit show with a few, minor tweaks?
What are your instincts trying to tell you?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)