My Writer's Journey - part two

In the summer of 2000 I quit editing comics to be a freelance writer. I'd lined up a few jobs to tide me over, including a temporary gig as acting editor of the Judge Dredd Megazine. That turned into 18 months of work - brilliant money, but exactly what I'd gone freelance to avoid. That ended in the autumn of 2001, but my hard work elsewhere was getting me new opportunities. I'd ventured into non-fiction with a Sopranos programme guide.

From there I wrote a book about fictional detective Inspector Morse, analysing his appearances in print and screen. It's proven to be a tome that keeps on giving [thanks to the Lewis spin-off TV series], with a fourth edition due out later this year. I began a series of articles about iconic British comic 2000 AD that turned into six years of work and an acclaimed book, THRILL-POWER OVERLOAD [now available in paperback, fact fans].

I also moved from editing comics to writing comics. My efforts for 2000 AD and the Megazine have not been hugely successful, with the honorable exception of WWII vampire thriller Fiends of the Eastern Front: Stalingrad. But I've found a niche writing pulpy adventure hero The Phantom for Egmont Sweden, with 40 issues under my belt over the past eight years. I found The Phantom thoroughly enjoyable to write and that shows on the printed page.

I had four novels published in the 1990s, but abandoned long-form prose while editing 2000 AD. Once I escaped comics editing, I returned to novels with a vengeance. First up were three Doctor Who tales for BBC Books [alas, before the TV series returned, bringing massive royalties for a few lucky authors]. Then Games Workshop launched an imprint called Black Flame, devoted to novels based on New Line films and characters from 2000 AD.

I didn't want to be writing Dredd novels again, but it was obvious Black Flame wanted one as a way of paying my dues. [Freelancer writers have to prove themselves over and over again. Once you get used to that, life gets a little bit easier - but just a little.] So I sucked it up and produced a halfway decent Dredd novel. Alas, they wanted another and I foolishly agreed, forget that simple lesson - never write a novel for the money.

After that I got to experiment and had a lot more fun, writing a trio of Nikolai Dante novels [still among some of my favourite work], a trilogy of novels based on Fiends of the Eastern Front, A Nightmare on Elm Street tome and the first in a planned trilogy of Japanese WWII vampire novels. Black Flame got shut down before I could continue that particular series, so I switched to writing Warhammer novels for GW's Black Library imprint.

I haven't written a novel for more than a year, and have to admit I'm missing it. They can be cruel masters, tormenting you when things aren't going well and taunting you with how much work there still remains to do. But there's few pleasures that match the elation of having finished writing a novel, that palpable sense of achievement. I've had 19 published [20 if you include Doctor Who: The Pirate Planet] and I'm itching to write another.

What am I forgetting? I've written off and on for computer games, but can't say it's a medium in which I've ever done enough work to feel comfortable. Had greater success with audio dramas, thanks to the lovely people at Big Finish Productions. Yet again, Dredd was my point of entry. Big Finish got a licence to create audio dramas based on 2000 AD characters, following the success of their Doctor Who audios featuring Baker, McCoy and Davison.

So I wrote five Dredd audio dramas, and snaffled a few opportunities on other ranges too. Talked Gary Russell into letting me have a crack at the Sarah Jane Smith audios. The resulting story, Test of Nerve, is probably the best regarded of that first series [despite some less than brilliant moments in my script]. I also wrote a controversial story called Full Fathom Five for the Doctor Who Unbound range to celebrate the show's 40th anniversary.

A very traditional Sapphire & Steel audio followed, but I never got invited back on that range [unlike every other writer from the first series]. Maybe All Fall Down was too trad for producer Nigel Fairs. I never seemed to make a connection with him. These things happen. In 2005 I got asked if I wanted to write a whole series of Sarah Jane Smith audios and jumped at the chance. [I didn't even ask how much it was paying until a month later!]

Writing four hours of interlinking stories was brilliant experience. In a way it gave me a taste for continuing drama, the chance to set up ideas in one story and pay them off several stories later. I'd done the same in novel trilogies and multi-part comic strips, but never in a script before. Maybe that was one of the things that nudged me towards pursuing screenwriting. I'd flirted with TV drama writing before, but with no great success.

I knew I could tell a decent story in other media [you don't get more than a dozen novels published without some instinctive storytelling talents]. But I recognised my lack of craft skills. Each storytelling medium has its own rules and methods. Jumping from one to another can be like jumping from one car to another while both are doing 90 miles an hour - painful if you get it wrong. But I suspect the return of Doctor Who also galvanised me.

I loved watching Doctor Who while growing up in New Zealand, and devoured Doctor Who novelisations. When I emigrated to the UK, I haboured a secret fantasy that one day I'd get to write for the TV series. Unfortunately, it was off-air for sixteen years [barring a one-off TV movie in 1996], so I directed my energies elsewhere - hence the Doctor Who novels and audio dramas. But the show came back in 2005 and it was a big, fat hit on the BBC.

I knew if I ever wanted to fulfill the boyhood dream, I needed to learn more about screenwriting. Plus I was beginning to feel like a terrible hack. In the summer of 2005 I realised I was amid a 27-month period in which I would write nine different novels. Throw in journalism, audio dramas, Phantom scripts and other jobs - more than half a million words published a year. Never mind the quality, feel the width was becoming my motto.

I decided it was time to step back from churning out material, time to retrain. I knew radio drama was a great place to learn about writing, to improve your dialogue and characterisation [sadly, areas that still let me down]. So I applied for a radio drama writers' lab and got on. Those two days in Dundee didn't turn me into a great writer, but they gave me a taste for it and a little confidence. Sometime that summer I saw an advertisement...

Something called Screen Academy Scotland was launching a screenwriting MA course where you could learn about writing for film and TV. There were no other such courses in Scotland at the time, I could do it part-time around my existing workload and maybe, just maybe, at the end of it I'd be a step closer to my goal of writing TV drama. I applied in the summer of 2005 and - to my surprise - got accepted. I was on my way, it seemed...

TO BE CONCLUDED.

Breaking into the film and TV industry

I was lucky enough to have writer-director Adrian Mead as a mentor for nine months, thanks to the Scottish Book Trust's mentoring scheme. I've also been along to several of his one-day seminars on making it as a screenwriter, and can't endorse them highly enough. So you'll forgive me for running the following shameless plug for Adrian's next seminar. [I'm thinking of going along myself, could do with a fresh burst of Adrian's enthusiasm.]

Adrian Mead: How are you going to get your break and advance your career as a screenwriter or filmmaker in the midst of an economic downturn?

The idea for a day about career building came from a spate of calls I've had recently from new writers and filmmakers who were ready to give up trying to build a career. Despite gaining qualifications, reading numerous websites and sending out scripts nothing had changed for them. My answer was simple and brutal, "If you haven't achieved what you want yet, then you aren't really putting all that knowledge into action. Knowing isn't doing."

Think back to January. You were all fired up about breaking into the film and TV industry, "This has to be the year when I make it happen!" So, how has it gone? What have you achieved so far? Be honest, didn't you make that same speech last January, maybe even the year before that? So why are you trapped in your own version of Groundhog Day? In order to find the answer you first need to recognize a huge and fundamental truth.

Knowing isn't doing. Knowledge doesn't change things. Action does. Already some of you will have been lining up your excuses, "The film and TV industry has changed massively in the last six months. I don't know where to start now. I mean, what's the point in trying to break into an industry besieged by cancellations and budget cuts?" In fact you couldn't be more wrong. This is a great time to be a new writer or filmmaker trying to get your break.

Seriously. If you know where to look there are numerous new opportunities available to you because of the economic downturn. Yet most of you will miss them as you continue employing a half-hearted, outdated and now redundant approach to advancing your career. Take action and join me at THE SCREENWRITER'S CAREER GUIDE to discover what you need to do in order to break into the film and TV industry today.

This will be a day jam packed with the very latest career building opportunities for screenwriters and filmmakers. No screenwriting theory, just a clear guide to the shape of the Film and TV industry as it is now and how it is likely to develop. The once standard approach you used even three months ago is now redundant. Everything has changed. You need to do the same or get left behind.

These are exciting times filled with opportunities for new writers and filmmakers who know where to look and are ready to adapt and collaborate. THE SCREENWRITER'S CAREER GUIDE will teach you how to take action that will build contacts, find money and build a career.

When and Where: The next course will be held on 4 July 2009 at a central London location. The course fee is £ 70 + VAT (Early Bid price until 15 May). The fee includes all materials and light refreshments. To book go here and check out THE SCREENWRITER'S CAREER GUIDE.

My Writer's Journey - part one

Bang2Write and Miss Read have been blogging about their journey as writers. Being a shameless borrower of good ideas, I'm doing much the same, starting here. If that doesn't appeal, move along, there's nothing to see here. But if you're a weirdo like me who always reads the author's bio first [my favourite part of Reader's Digest Condensed Books was the author bios page], then stick around for some wittering about how I got where I am today.

I read a lot as a child. Wasn't sporty, tended to the precocious [and atrocious] and - when it came to books - the voracious. I seemed to read every piece of crap that came my way, so long as it hailed from the 20th Century. Enid Blyton inspired me to make up my own stories. Thanks to the Famous Five adventures I wrote lots of tales about caves, getting kidnapped and being tied up. [Start drawing your own conclusions and get out of the gutter - sheesh!]

My brothers are five and three years older than me, something that seemed a yawning chasm when I was five or eight or 11. But it meant I got to read all their books second hand. I was savouring Ian Fleming's snobbery with violence long before puberty, and - inevitably - wrote tales of James Bond 003 and a half. My love of pulp fiction, ripping yarns and page-turning prose was hardwired into my creative cortex by this point, I suspect.

If not, dozens upon dozens of Doctor Who novelisations by Terrance Dicks sealed my fate as a writer. Growing up in New Zealand, I often read the Target Book version of a Doctor Who tale long before I saw the original TV production. [When I did see the broadcast version, it rarely matched what Dicks' terse prose and my fetid imagination could conjure up. BBC budgets in the 70s and 80s were not match for the madness inside my cranium, oh no.]

By the time I finished high school [with the equivalent of six A levels], both my brothers have found the university experience not to their liking. Wary of repeating what they had done, I looked elsewhere for my future. My mother had been a teacher and I didn't want to spend the rest of my life doing homework, so that was out. [Oh, the irony of it - I'm now a part-time university lecturer and spend the rest of my time working from home.]

Having the gift of the gab and a way with words, I opted for journalism. Got into a high-pressure course at what's now called the Auckland University of Technology [then it was ATI, a glorified polytech]. About 300 students applied for the 24 places on the course I attended. Of the 24 who did get on, the head tutor proudly announced he wouldn't be satisfied unless at least two of us quit. Two did, and several more were deemed to fail.

By the end of that five-month course I'd had the personal pronoun thrashed out of me, learned to write in terse, pithy and objective prose, and felt no qualms at phoning up families to found out how they felt about a tragic death. Daily newspaper journalism requires a thick skin, bags of confidence and balls of steel. You have to write bloody fast, can't wait round for the muse to descend and learn to network like mad. Perfect training in some ways.

After five years I was ready to move into features, but couldn't get the gigs I wanted. I recognised the need to stretch myself, to find new challenges. I'd fallen in with New Zealand Doctor Who fandom at the time when the show was dying a slow, painful death in Britain. Having always wanted to write a book, I volunteered to write a fan novelisation of a TV story that had never been adapted. It was a chance to channel my inner Terrance.

I finished the novelisation not long before emigrating to the UK. It was the first piece of creative writing I'd done in years, and I enjoyed the experience. I wanted to do more, but was focused on making a success of my new life in London. Within six months of arriving I was assistant editor of a new launch called the Judge Dredd Megazine. Editor and mentor Steve MacManus foolishly encouraged my writing aspiration, bless his heart.

I wrote an allegedly satirical series for the Megazine called The Straitjacket Fits, a strip made bearable only by the brilliant contribution of artist Roger Langridge. I also co-wrote a series called The Soul Sisters, of which the less said the better. By April 1992 I was on staff as editor of the Megazine and felt it would be invidious to commission myself when so many talented freelancers were available. So my writing ceased for a while.

But later that year Virgin Books secured a licence to publish new, original novels based on the British comics icon Judge Dredd. They needed authors who knew Dredd, I was editing Dredd and eager to have a novel of my own published. So I wrote The Savage Amusement for Virgin, a mess of book with a few good moments amid the dross. I got up at five each morning to write 1500 words before going to work, plus Sundays and holidays too.

Took me ten weeks to produce 70,000 words on an electric typewriter [I couldn't afford an Amstrad PCW9512, the freelance scribe's weapon of choice in those days]. No revisions, no rewriting, hell, not even any backspacing. Despite all the flaws of that first novel [and my arrogant refusal to rewrite any of it], Virgin were both gullible and desperate enough to commission another from me in short. More early rising, and lots of late nights.

But something happened during my second Dredd novel: I discovered I could write. For a few sequences weird stuff appeared on the page about which I had no idea from whence it had come. Some of this was so creepy, it kind of worried me that I could even imagine these horrors, let alone show them to others. The characters did things I didn't expect, the narrative took on its own momentum. I wasn't writing anymore, I was channeling.

Alas, my third novel was a pile of crap written for money, rather than from any great creative spark or inspiration. [Never do this, it's torture - trust me, I know.] One sequence in that book did make me cry as I wrote it, but the rest was pish. By now work was getting intense as the 1995 Dredd movie loomed, and I didn't have much time for writing outside work. But I did develop my first proper Doctor Who novel, Who Killed Kennedy.

I must have written that in the summer of 1995, but grud knows how or when. I overcome all those years having the personal pronoun thrashed out of me to write the novel in the first person - and it remains one of the best things I've done. Personal, heartfelt and dripping with enough Who references to drown a TARDIS. The ending doesn't work, but WKK is still well regarded in Who circles [unlike my subsequent Who novel efforts].

Come Christmas 1995 I was made editor of weekly anthology 2000 AD and my days of writing novels outside work were over. I poured every ounce of creative energy and inspiraton I had into the comic, there was nothing left once I got home - I gave at the office. But as the year 2000 approached, I was itching to get writing again. I knew it couldn't happen while I was at 2000 AD. If I wanted to write, I'd had to quit my dream job...

NEXT TIME: what David did next, how to write nine novels in 27 months, and why on earth did he decide to try screenwriting?

Make Mine Metaphorical: Dollhouse thoughts

I know a TV producer who prefers shows that operate at both a metaphorical level as well as a direct, visceral storytelling level. Good example of a metaphor show? Buffy the Vampire Slayer, created by Joss Whedon. It's about a high school girl called Buffy who slays vampires [does what it says on the tin, and then some]. Her calling as a slayer makes her special - and, therefore, an outcast. Other outcasts flock to her side, inevitably.

In early seasons of Buffy there's a Hellmouth under her high school that attracts supernatural entities, and through which different foes and threats can escape into the world of mortals. So, what's the metaphor? High school is hell, just like being a teenager can be hell if you don't fit the mould. No wonder Buffy attracts such a loyal audience, it's the ultimate wish fulfillment show for outsiders. [Plus it's witty and well made, natch.]

Of course, having a metaphorical layer doesn't guarantee a great show. Grey's Anatomy was a guilty pleasure of mine for its first two seasons [Izzy and Denny the first time round did for me, grud knows what it must be like the second time of asking]. There the metaphor is also about high school, although on the surface Grey's Anatomy is a medical drama. It opens with new interns arriving for their first day - like students at a new high school.

They compete for attention and the approval of those teaching them. They strive to excel in learning. They fall in love, have crushes, form cliques, fall out of love, suffer unrequited love, gossip, bitch and have sex - just like high school. The only difference is these students are in their 20s, not their teens, and they're trying to save lives through medicines, not get good grades and graduate. But the metaphor is pretty apparent.

[Anybody who never spotted this just needs to watch the season two finale, where a teenage girl is dying. [Or something. Honestly, I'd lost the will to live myself by this point.] Anyways, to fulfill her last wish the entire hospital is transformed into a high school prom. And the cast dress up as teenagers going to a prom. Subtle stuff, I'm sure you'll agree.]

So, what's all this got to do with Joss Whedon's new show, Dollhouse? I've been trying to figure out the show's metaphor. Whedon is no mug [although making a deal for his new creative offspring to be broadcast by Fox after past experiences does suggest a tiny blind spot], so I figured Dollhouse had to have a metaphor layered beneath the surface. Don't worry if you haven't seen any episodes of it yet, I'm not going to go spoiler-crazy on you.

There's a lot of thematic dialogue with characters talking about issues raised by the show's basic premise. Slavery, sex workers, pimping, wish fulfillment, interventions, mind control, sinister corporations - they're all in the mix. But I'm starting to think Dollhouse is a metaphor for creating a new TV show. The central character Echo is the expression of that metaphor, a woman who gets wiped after every mission, becoming a blank slate.

In the typical US TV drama writers' room, the walls are covered by white boards. These get filled with plots points and story beats as the writers flesh out storylines for a new episode. When the script is written, the boards get wiped clean, ready for the new episode. Echo is an 'active' in Dollhouse, one in a group of characters with no control over the missions they get. They get assigned, plugged with all they need to know and despatched.

In US TV drama the writers are much at the mercy of the network corporation that buys their show. They can't control where or when their efforts get screened [if at all]. They struggle to fulfill the network's wishes, battle with executives who intervene with notes, sometimes even feel like they're pimping their writing talents for a wage and a job. Any of this sounding familiar yet? But the real clincher for me was a recent run of episodes.

Dollhouse has had an unhappy development history [as did Firefly, Whedon's last show at Fox]. The initial pilot was rejected, the first five episodes were turned into standalone stories to satisfy the executives and there was much internet grumbling. Whedon lobbied audiences to consider episode six a new beginning, where the show proper would emerge from its troubled gestation to flower afresh and hopefully find its audience.

But the dialogue in subsequent episodes says different things at a metaphorical level. In the show there's a plan to give Echo and the other actives a wish fulfillment fantasy to overcome a glitch in their personalities [metaphor says: series reboot]. Sinister corporation reps [metaphor: Fox] worry that Echo [metaphor: Dollhouse] is broken, and she will have to be sent to the place for failed active, the Attic [metaphor: cancelled].

But there are those within the Dollhuose [metaphor: Whedon and his writing team] who insist that Echo isn't broken, she's still evolving [metaphor: give us a chance]. The jury remains out on Echo's fate, but rumblings from across the Atlantic suggest the end is nigh for Dollhouse as a series. Ratings aren't great, the show still hasn't found a winning formula [in my humble opinion] and all its travails don't bode well for the future.

I've no idea if the Echo-as-show metaphor I'm perceiving is intentional, incidental or merely the product of massive over-analysis on my part. [Probably the last of these options.] But you never know, there could be something in it. Onwards!

Enemy of the Daleks trailer now online

You can now hear the official trailer for my forthcoming Doctor Who audio drama ENEMY OF THE DALEKS online. Big Finish is releasing the full story via download or on CD next month, starring Sylvester McCoy as the seventh Doctor, Sophie Aldred as Hex and Philip Olivier as Hex, their fellow traveller in the TARDIS. Expect lots of action, conflict and carnage. Beautifully chilling moment at the end of the trailer, as the tables get turned. Excellent!

Drive-by blogging visitation thing

Another madcap week gone by, and another beckons. Last Wednesday was pure mental, had to divide my day into 20 minute chunks to get everything done. Spent Thursday writing the first ten pages of my Lighthouse project second draft. Friday through Sunday got consumed by the 60th British Science Fiction Convention in Bradford, where I pimped the creative writing MA, my book about 2000 AD and myself as a writer. And rewrote the first ten pages.

Easter Monday I came down with something vile that's still playing hell with my digestive system - not pleasant. Yesterday I schlepped into Edinburgh [a two hour round trip] for a ten-minute phone interview with a radio about books and creative writing - broadcast in Australia. Today? More work on the second draft [now a day late and counting], and this afternoon in at Edinburgh Napier. Tomorrow? Must finish and deliver my second draft.

Anything else? I've been invited to a workshop by Red Planet Pictures, two hours of wisdom from writing supremo Tony Jordan. That's thanks to my efforts in the Red Planet Prize, where my WWII home front soap FAMILIES AT WAR got to the final stages. Only snag? The workshop's happening while I'm on holiday in central France for a week. Think I've concocted a bonkers plan that might make attending possible - will let you know. Onwards!

So yesterday was a bust

I should have written the first ten pages of my Lighthouse project script, but I knew I wasn't ready. Writing is a lot about heart, it's a lot about craft and it's a lot about intellect. You can take all the courses in the world, attend every workshop you can find or afford, read all the blogs and books and interviews you like. Ultimately, it's about listening to that little voice in your head that tells you what happens next.

I believe you can teach the craft of writing. I'm not so certain you can learn the instincts of a storyteller. It's the nagging in my gut, the little voice at the back of your mind that warns when something ain't working. This scene isn't ringing true, this story logic doesn't flow, this moment ain't right to start writing. Recognising the difference between that and lazy ass procrastination tendencies - not so easy.

But sometimes you have to be willing to forget deadlines, forget the need to do something right now, forget the imperative to be a good pupil. Sometimes you have to listen to that voice that tells you today isn't the day to start writing. Instinct. It's elusive and tricksy and you can't always trust you're hearing it right. But your storytelling instinct is what makes you a writer, what makes your stories different.

So yesterday afternoon was one of those long, dark tea-times of the soul. Knew I needed to write, wasn't ready to start. Having it happen on a Sunday was no help either. I've always hated Sunday afternoons, that back to school tomorrow feeling. The weekend's over, you haven't achieved a fraction of the things you planned and now it's back to the harsh realities of your working life. Bang goes another week of your life.

But there's always hope. Had an email discussion with Phil, the screenwriter and author who facilitates the Lighthouse project. Sorted out a bunch of stuff that was stopping me from writing. Still got a mess o' things to resolve, need to re-plot the first half of my script - if not more - but that doesn't matter. The woods and the trees are separating, I can see a glimmer of pathway, I've got some ideas about where I'm headed.

So there's hope. No idea how of even if I'll make next Tuesday's midday deadline. Got to visit Edinburgh today for an appearance on the Book Cafe, a BBC Radio Scotland discussion programme. Need to pop into my office at Napier and read something I forgot to comment on last Friday. That's half the day gone, no matter how I slice it. Got a full day at Napier on Wednesday. Spending Friday, Saturday and Sunday in Bradford talking sci-fi.

Today will be about plotting and planning, I suspect. Working out a new road map for the journey my characters need to make in the second draft. So that leaves Tuesday, Thursday, Monday and half of Tuesday to write 60 pages. Not sure I'm gonna manage that, but I'll do what I can. After the long, dark tea-time of the soul that was Sunday I'm feeling more positive. There's hope, and hope is a wonderful thing. As ever - onwards!

Not drinking the fool-aid

Breathing a sigh of relief after what's felt like a non-stop charge around that's lasted the best part of two weeks. Several significant milestones attained on the new creative writing MA I'm helping develop at Edinburgh Napier University. Delivered my first two lectures - war films last week, horror films yesterday. After three months in the job, things are slowly falling into place. Three months? Cripes. Where did that go? Did I blink?

From tomorrow my main focus is writing the second draft of my Lighthouse project script. There's good material in the first draft, but a lot that needs reworking. Foolishly, I had the guest characters defeating the two threats in my episode, forgetting one of the first screenwriting lessons I learned: never take the resolution out of the hands of the protagonist. [McKee may be out of fashion, but he still speaks common sense.]

Changing the ending has a backwards ripple effect through the whole episode, so that needs to be factored in. Some of the regular characters' serial threads have been tweaked, so those need to be woven into the script. Got some murky motivations among the anatogonists, so those need clarifying. And the entry point for injecting the regulars into the action has been refined, so that's another stone into the plot - big ripples ahoy.

Delivering on deadline by Tuesday April 14 is still achievable, but complicated by the fact I'm going to this year's British National Science Fiction Convention [a.k.a. LX Eastercon]. Three days in Bradford, talking about all things science fiction and fantasy. I'm moderating one panel about classic British comics, and appearing on another panel about writers from other media crossing into comics. Should be a blast. Onwards!