Rocky, Dirty Harry - genius re-release posters

A clutch of classic Hollywood films are getting outdoor screenings across America in the coming weeks. To advertise, some genius has crafted new posters for each movie as Saul Bass homages. Class!

Piaf = Inception, with Cotillard, star of Piaf

Who knew my writing was worth so much?

Second hand book dealers in America are offering copies of my Fiends of the Eastern Front omnibus in brand new condition for the pricely sum of $2125.51 [about £1365]. That's more than 100 times the original cover price. However, if you're willing to settle for a used copy, you can pick that up for 94 cents [about 60p].

If that seems less than sane, I offer digital proof of this crazed case of caveat emptor. Assuming you don't want to pay a ludicrous sum for a mint copy of the book, you could always buy the three novels collected within its covers via Amazon's Kindle store. Total cost? About $20. Still leaves you $2100 and change to spend elsewhere...

Sculptures and Guernica in Madrid museum

Are MA writing courses worth it?

Radio 4's The Front Row devoted all of last Friday's show to debating the worth of Creative Writing courses, particularly at postgrad level. [UK folk can hear the whole thing here for another few days.] To me the answer offered by Mark Lawson's guests was a qualified yes, but with numerous caveats attached. Worth a listen, if you can.

Now, my opinion on this is biased. I teach part-time on a Creative Writing MA at Edinburgh Napier University. Plus I was a part-time student on the university's MA in screenwriting between 2005 and 2007. So you might well think me utterly indoctrinated as to the value and worth of MA courses. Perhaps so, but I can see both sides.

Much the same debate rolls round every year as people contemplate postgrad courses in screenwriting. The argument boils down to a few key questions. Firstly, can talent be taught? Probably not, in my opinion. You can teach people craft skills, but if they've no talent you're just polishing a turd. Shiny exterior, piece of shit interior.

Secondly, do you need to do a Masters to succeed as a writer? Plainly not. There are no shortage of successful novelists and screenwriters who've never darkened the doorstep of a postgrad course. Extensive reading, endless rewriting, a few short courses and a relentless drive to succeed despite many obstacles could see you through.

[I would argue it's a fraction easier to get a commission as a novelist in the UK than as a screenwriter. Thousands of new novels get published every year in Britain, while there are far fewer opportunities for emerging writers to make anything resembling a living from their screenwriting. Of course, your mileage may vary.]

Thirdly, if talent can't be taught and you don't need a Masters to succeed, why do postgrad writing courses exist? Cynics will say it's an easy way for universities to make money. Being a cog in that machine, I prefer to talk about the positives that a postgrad writing course can offer - even if there's no guarantees of success.

Getting on a postgrad course can be a great source of validation for emerging writers, particularly if that course has a stringent selection policy. [On the course I teach we've turned away two people for every writer we allow in.] It proves that others believe your writing has merit, that you have some innate talent worth fostering.

Devoting a year [or two years if studying part-time] to such a course gives writing status in your life. It underlines the fact you're serious about writing. Anyone can say they're thinking about writing a novel or have a great idea for a screenplay. You're making a commitment, putting your money where your mouth is as a writer.

Postgrad courses thrust you into the company of other scribes with similar ambitions. Writing is a solitary, sometimes soul-destroying slog. Being able to spend a year or longer as part of a writing cohort can be immensely enriching. You gain readers for your work and, sometimes, friends for life. You're not alone as a writer anymore.

A good course will challenge you, push you to do more, to write more, stretch you as a creator of stories. It offers a safe environment to fall flat on your face, to try new things as a writer, to experiment - and to fail. A good course can help you nail down the thing that's unique about your writing, if you don't already know what that is.

You should emerge from the course a better writer than you went in, otherwise it hasn't been worth your money. There are no guarantees any postgrad course will lead to success, but it should transport you much further along your journey as a writer. When you finish the course, the way you write and read should be transformed.

Make no mistake, a writing MA is not about the piece of paper you get at graduation. It's what you learn, who you meet, how you respond to challenges. The concentrated duration is like injecting a shot glass of rocket fuel* into your writing ambitions. I'd argue you won't get that from reading how to books and taking short courses. Onwards!
(*phrase purloined from the redoubtable Andy Diggle)

We were no longer good society.

Front line bulletins from nowhere in particular

Spent an enjoyable afternoon in the libraries of Midlothian yesterday, talking to young people about writing and graphic novels. One of the workshop exercises I use is getting people to tell a story in comic strip form: The queen died. Soon after, the king died of a broken heart. The soon after bit forces folk to use two panels.

Instantly, the storyteller is making multiple choices. How do they depict the queen's demise? How do they indicate the passage of time between panels? How do you show someone dying of a broken heart? Yesterday's sessions featured several existentialists who questioned if it was possible to die of a broken heart, and how that would happen.

Judging the mood of my audience, I tweaked the story ever slightly to this version: The queen exploded. Soon after, the king died of a broken heart. The exploding queen proved very popular. But how did she explode? Too many baked beans was one answer. A dodgy taco was another. Swallowing a hand grenade speculated one participant.

All fun and games. Then there were the brothers who argued about suicide bombers taking out the queen. Could the bombers be corgis? Or would the dogs die in the blast - corgi killing as collateral damage. All of which made me realise what a sheltered upbringing I had in New Zealand. I didn't know about suicide bombers when I was 11.

Spent the weekend in St Albans for a celebration of the in-laws. This coincided with worldwide filming for Ridley Scott and Kevin MacDonald's Life In A Day project. so I took my Flip HD camera along and much strangeness resulted. If I get my arse in gear I'll upload the results to YouTube today or tomorrow. Expect winklepickers.

Had my follow-up meeting from the CBeebies Lab last week. Development money is not something that gushes from every portal of the BBC, no matter what some propagandists may say. But I'm working up a one-page pitch to see if there's any interest further up the corporation in the children's drama I created while on the Lab.

What else? Been busy supervising a quartet of creative writing MA students as they near the end of their time on the course. The part-timers will be with us for another year, and a new cohort of full-timers and first-year part-timers arrives in September. We're still interviewing applicants but recruitment is all but over for this year.

Also been working up Story of the Day pitches for my script editor at Doctors. I've already got one banked, awaiting a suitable slot to be commissioned, plus three more lurking on the Producer's Pile of Doom waiting a read. But I need to keep developing fresh material. Can't let my momentum drop off, not when I'm making genuine progress.

Filming has already started on the block that includes my next broadcast ep. I'm flying down to Birmingham this Sunday to observe filming the following day. Figure the more I know about how the show is made and the more I understand about that process, the better writer I can be for it. I want to keep learning, keep discovering more.

One of my long, long, long-term goals as a TV drama writer is to create and executive produce my own series. I'm just at the start of my journey as a writer, but I know even less about the production side of TV drama. Going along to see my second ep of Doctors filmed is another baby step on that particular path of knowledge. Onwards!

Leonardo DiCaprio is Ken. Malibu Ken.

Pavement revenges shafted school buildings

Mad Men season 4 starts Sunday - in US

Alas, we'll be waiting for it a bit longer here in the UK. In the meantime, savour this groovy piece of typographical lushness...

Treatments are an opportunity, not a chore

I've noticed a correlation between the way some would-be novelists feel about synopsis writing and the way some screenwriting bloggers talk about doing treatments: it's a pain. It stifles creativity. Having to write an active, present tense prose distillation of your narrative is akin to flossing or taking out the garbage. In short: it's a chore.

To which I say: bollocks.

Writing a plot synopsis or treatment is a development opportunity. It's a way to road test your story, to see if it makes sense and has enough juice to sustain the intended length. Your synopsis or treatment is a road map for your plot, but planning the journey doesn't stop you taking diversions or short cuts once you're writing.

A great treatment or synopsis should leave the reader itching to get their hands on the finished script, screenplay or novel. But too many writers devote too little time, effort and craft skills to this crucial document. Why? Maybe they think it's not real writing. Maybe they're so brilliant they don't need to bother with intermediate steps.

If you're writing a feature film or the pilot for a TV series, you're hoping it will get made. For that to happen, somebody has to commit hundreds of thousands, even millions to your project. Why should they invest all that cash if you're too lazy or stubborn to produce a synopsis or treatment? Swallow a little pride.

What about would-be novelists who fear writing a synopsis up front will kill their enthusiasm for the putative book? That's an attitude I only tend to find in people who haven't written anything to length. Those who've done the hard slog and completed the first draft of a novel are less likely to be sniffy about the value of pre-planning.

I know, I know, in Stephen King's tome On Writing he talks about the fact he doesn't pre-plan his novels. He prefers a total journey of discovery approach. I meet the occasional scribe who's read that book and assumed King's example gives them carte blanche to avoid ever writing a synopsis. It works for him, why not them?

But that ignores all the chapters in On Writing where King talks about the years and years of learning his craft by writing short stories and novellas. King has spent decades acquiring enough skill that he can set off on a novel without a synopsis as his guide. Good for him. But unless you're Stephen King, a little foresight goes a long way.

I should stress that all of the above is merely my opinion. Your mileage may vary. Onwards!

New Spice: librarians spoof Old Spice ads

Frozen: What happens when IVF goes wrong?

I don't plug a lot of products, but this book might appeal to anyone grappling with decisions about having a family, parenting and infertility issue. Plus I used to work with the author, Mike Butcher, and he's a stand-up guy.

'Techniques in treating infertility have moved on a long way, even in the last four years,' he explains...'I can arrange a meeting for you with our most senior consultant. He can talk you through the new treatment protocols that significantly reduce the need for drugs and the risks of OHSS...'

Without even looking in Lesley's direction this time, I can tell her whole body is beginning to shake. I turn to her and my wife's face is a pale mask of horror. Then there are tears. Tears born of anger, frustration, but most of all, fear.

When Mike and Lesley Butcher embark on IVF treatment they are full of hope for a successful outcome – a child that they can call their own. But Lesley has a bad reaction to the treatment, developoing an extreme form of ovarian hyper stimulation syndrome (OHSS). Frightened and helpless, Mike can only watch as doctors battle to save his wife.

Frozen explores the lengths one couple endures to create their dream of a perfect family, and provides a shocking exposure of what can go horribly wrong. Mike and Lesley almost abandon hope of ever becoming – until they pick up a local adoption agency flyer and discover there's more than one way to achieve their dream.

All proceeds go to the British Association for Adoption and Fostering (BAAF), a charity that supports Adoption in the UK. Find out more about the book here. It's also available from Amazon.co.uk.

Kill your babies, kill your babies...*

[*sung to the refrain from 'Panic' by The Smiths]

I came up with a great opening for the spec script I'm working on at the moment. Chock full of interlinking imagery, eye-catching moments and pulse-pounding punchiness. Would've worked a treat too, but for one tiny problem: it was bolted to the wrong script. It'll work fine later on should my pilot spawn a returning drama series.

But my wham-bang-thank-you-ma'am opening was wrong for the first ep. Why? It was all about the personal livestyles of my core cast, when the pilot needs to focus on what they do professionally in the series. If I'd kept it could've created expectations the ep wouldn't have met. Openings should hook you in, but mustn't lie to you.

How did I know it was wrong? That's a fair question, especially as I haven't written word one of the pilot script yet. But the wrongness became apparent as the format for my drama emerged during development [a process that to the uninitiated resembles staring a window, mostly because I tend to think while staring out a window].

The show I've devising focuses on three characters doing a particular job. My pilot needs to establish them within that arena as soon as possible - within the first three pages if possible. I simply don't have time to indulge in elaborate prologues set the night before in a variety of locations featuring characters who don't recur again.

If nothing else, the combination of numerous locations and a plethora of guest characters makes for a very expensive show. Now, the chances of my pilot ever getting made are somewhere between slim and anorexic. But it doesn't hurt to be realistic about how many locations and speaking characters you can have in a pilot ep.

You might well say I'm thinking too small, constricting my creativity. Maybe. But I like restrictions, they challenge you to be more creative IMHO. Why overwhelm readers of my script with a blizzard of non-recurring characters? If I can keep the focus tight on my core cast, it challenges to know them better - to write them better.

Took me a couple of days to reconcile my decision with the loss of my hyper-kinetic opening, but I've killed my babies and moved on now. Even if I never get to write the sequence, it lives on in my head and it informs how I write the core cast. I know what they did the night before my pilot, even if the events never get seen. Onwards!

Feel like I've seen whole Scott Pilgrim film

Quentin Tarantino's Super Mario Brothers

What if Wes Anderson make God of War?

Working free as a necessary evil for writers

Writers often find themselves doing unpaid work in the hope it'll lead to a paying gig. This endeavour tends to divide into two categories, specs and samples. Speculative writing is uncommissioned work a writer does in the hope they might get paid for it later [or or that it will lead to an offer of work]. Samples are work done free for a potential employer, in the hope of securing a commission.

Let's talk about specs first. Novels are often a speculative effort, written by an author or wannabe without a commission or contract in hand. There's no guarantee the book will ever get published, let alone make anybody any money. That doesn't make the effort any less rewarding, so long as publication isn't your sole source of validation. [If it is, you could be in for a bumpy ride with no happy ending.]

Spec scripts are often written by scribes between commissions, or those changing career direction [e.g. from comedy to drama, from kids' TV to adult shows, or from film to TV]. In Hollywood a spec screenplay is written to be sold. Elsewhere the spec is known as a calling card script, which has a different purpose. These showcase what a writer can do, demonstrate their skills, talent and unique authorial voice.

These days most people expect a TV calling card script to be original, like a pilot for a new show. Creating a great calling card script takes a lot of time and effort, but it's a necessary evil to get yourself noticed as a writer. I'm working on a new calling card script at the moment. I've already got several in my portfolio, but it's time to add something fresh and contemporary. I work on that between paid gigs.

In short a piece of speculative writing is a gamble, undertaken willingly, in the hope it will lead to a commission of some sorts. The spec is a multi-purpose investment in your future as a writer. Even if one particular editor or producer or script editor doesn't like your spec, you can always send it to another. You own your spec and you control it. The spec remains yours until contracts say otherwise.

A sample is more like an audition piece. It is written for a specific purpose, often to a supplied brief. It's a try-out designed to win you a particular commission - some games writing, a tie-in novel, an open slot in somebody's schedule. My Doctor Who audio drama Enemy of the Daleks was commissioned on the basis of a sample. If I hadn't got the gig, I'd have struggled to reconfigure it for use elsewhere.

When I devise, develop and write story of the day pitches for the BBC1 drama series Doctors, the results are samples. The show requires a specific style of storytelling and narrative that can't easily be reworked for submission elsewhere. [That proves the show has its own distinctive voice and format.] Creating new pitches is a speculative process, but the show's specificity means those pitches are samples.

[Ironically, I've been using a rejected Doctors pitch as the basis for one plot strand in the new calling card script I'm developing at the moment. But as my spec project develops its own style and voice, so I find myself being able to use less and less of my rejected Doctors pitch. One simply doesn't translate into the other. That's a good sign, but it had me stumbling for days before reaching this realisation.]

Much as we would love to be paid for every piece of work we do, writers know that you will hear no far more often than you'll get the much desired yes. Specs and samples are a necessary evil in that process, something you have to do to get a commission. But there should be limits on how much free work you're willing to undertake in the hope of securing paid future work. Where do you draw the line?

It's tricky. My batting average on Doctors is roughly five or six rejections for every story pitch banked. A full two-page pitch can take a week of effort [albeit spread out around other work]. So that's seven weeks of work to get one idea banked. In return for that I'm getting TV drama credits and gaining invaluable experience. It's a long process with no guarantees, but one that's worth it for me.

I've spent far longer on other free samples that came to naught. There was a Warhammer 40K novel that haunted me off and on for six months before I pulled the plug. I spent just as much time developing storylines for a TV tie-in novel that worked well for the show's producers, but couldn't find a publisher. And there are plenty more examples that led to nothing except frustration and overdraft.

That's the danger of doing free samples as a writer: you end up with nothing. You can't easily rework the material you created for submission elsewhere. No only did you get no money for the samples, you could have been doing other work - paying work, potentially - while devoting yourself to the free samples. But a successful sample can open all sorts of doors, as my Doctors experiences show.

By comparison, spec writing is portable. It is less likely to lead directly to a new commission, but it's yours to keep. A spec will tend to be more creatively satisfying, as it's all your own work. [It can also be more frustrating, as the infinite canvas of creativity has no boundaries, making it hard to know when you've finished.] When a spec pays off, all the effort's worth it - even if the spec goes unmade.

I've got a clutch of scripts in my writing portfolio - two short film scripts that have won awards and placed in competions, a pilot script for a returning drama series and another for a serial, plus my new kids' TV pilot. By September I hope to have the first draft of another returning TV drama series pilot in hand. In the meantime I've got some story of the day sample pitches to write for Doctors. Onwards!

You'll have to talk to my agent

Few weeks back two games companies asked if I was interested in writing for them. the projects sounded interesting, so I agreed to do some unpaid samples. [It's a sad fact of the writer's life that you do a lot of work for free in the hope it'll turn into a paying gig at some unspecified point in the future - but that's a different blog post.]

Whenever you start a new working relationship, at some point the ugly subject of money comes up. Now, I've got nothing against money. Money is my friend and has bought me lots of things over the years. It can be a capricious so-and-so, never around when you need it, but that's a byproduct of being self-employed. One month feast, the next three you face total cash famine.

No, it's the delicate dance of negotiating a fee that most freelancers find vexing. Nobody wants to show their hand first, in case they end up getting less or paying more than they'd hoped. Times are tough all over, so saving money is a bonus for companies and earning more a real boon for writers in search of fulfilling work.

There's a scary moment where you have to say a number, and the even scarier moments as you await a response. Do they suck in their breath and say it's too rich for their blood? Or is the worst case scenario, where they say fine in a trice and you know you could have asked for more - maybe much more. Nobody wants to get underpaid.

Now I have the lovely Katie Williams as my representative, I can bat away the question of money with a phrase I've always longed to say: "You'll have to talk to my agent." With one bound I'm free from the burden of negotiation. My agent gets to play bad cop while I remain friendly with the people looking to employ me. Aces!

The Specials on Saturday Night LIve, 1980

The first rule of Ferris Club is-- Shh!

Yes, EdBookFest, comics aren't just for kids

In recent years the Edinburgh International Book Festival has had many events on graphic novels. [I ran a workshop on writing graphic novels at EdBookFest last year.] Didn't hurt having festival favourites Ian Rankin and Denise Mina writing comics and graphic novels, or publisher Jonathan Cape launching a literary graphic novel imprint.

But when the 2010 EdBookFest programme was published, it had a gaping void where the graphic novels strand for grown-ups had been. It reminded me of the late 80s and early 90s when comics publicist Igor Goldkind spent his time convincing British news media that comics weren't just for kids anymore. Surely that wasn't the case anymore? Haven't we moved on?

Now, I don't envy the job of programming the Edinburgh International Book Festival. Imagine trying to pull together two weeks of events that represent the range of narratives published in Britain and around the world. There's politics, poetry, prose, creativity, workshops, fiction, non-fiction, and much more. You need a programme for adults and one for children.

There are festival favourites that have to be included, but you want to give new writing and new writers a chance for the voices of tomorrow to be heard. You want to challenge, but no so much that nobody turns up. And you have to do all of this while competing with the dozens [and dozens] of other book festivals that have sprung up in the past twenty years. Nightmarish.

The EdBookFest had an extra obstacle to overcome for 2010, as a new director took over at the start of the year, further compacting the timeline. So the collective effort to pull together the festival has been impressive. But a strand of writing near and dear to my heart was conspicuous by its absence from the programme for adults: graphic novels were M.I.A.

The good news is someone has noticed this gap in the 2010 EdBookFest programme. Legendary comics writer Alan Moore will be appearing at two events, near the end of August. I've already booked my ticket for one and would be at the other, but for a prior engagement. Both will sell out quickly. You can book tickets at the EdBookFest site now. Onwards!

5-Second Films: Gentleman Caller

Breaking a story with Post-It Notes

A lot of American TV dramas use a writers' room to brainstorm plot and structure [a process knowing as breaking the story]. There's one writer in charge - the showrunner - who is responsible for maintaining and protecting the creative vision of the series being built in the room. Often the showrunner originated the series, but not always.

The showrunner hires other writers to help them break individual stories in the room. Once these are sufficiently developed, the episodes are assigned to one of the writers [or writing partnerships] in the room to work up into a treatment [or scene by scene breakdown]. Once that's nailed, the writer or partnership script the episode - but the final draft of that script is almost always by or given a polish by the showrunner.

[You can read a lot more about writers' rooms, how they work and what can go wrong in a fascinating roundtable discussion here. You can see the writers' room in action for The Sarah Connor Chronicles here and here. Warning: these YouTube clips contain spoilers for both seasons of the show.]

Alas, when you're developing the script for a new putative TV drama of your own devising, you don't have the luxury of a writers' room to help break the story - you have to do your own heavy lifting. You have to find the voice of the show, the tone, the storytelling approach, the narrative format, the characters, the sequence of events, the shape of the structure - the everything, in other words.

I'm working on a new pilot script for a returning drama series at the moment. Having already spent a lot of time thinking about my core characters and my basic concept, I've devoted much of the last week to breaking the story for my first ep. Now, if it was a show that followed one main protagonist with a supporting cast of characters, that might have been a little easier. But why make things easy, right?

I decided to write a show about three main characters, each with their own story strands. Each character has a thematic plotline that develops across the first ep, along with a bunch of smaller subplots that pop at various points. Right now, I don't know which character will emerge with the big A story. I've got my suspicions, but I'm leaving wiggle room in case one of them demands the spotlight.

So I've been juggling my three core characters and all the incidents they encounter during the one day covered by the first ep. To make things a little easier for myself, I've colour-coded the characters. [I know, I know, this displays an Adrian Mole level of anal retention on my part - such is life.] Anyway, Lorna's story beats are orange, Grace got pink and Tahira got orange. Makes it easier to keep track.

Next I wrote each character's story beats on to coloured Post-It notes. As a rule, I try to keep each note down to six words. If you can't describe the vital elements in six words, you've got more than one beat on a Post-It. [I fail spectacularly at this, by the way.] Next, the really fun part - sticking all the Post-Its to a whiteboard and arranging them into order. Then rearranging them, again and again.

In the picture above, you can see an in-progress version of my whiteboard for the ep I'm developing at the moment. It's moved on a lot since this photo was taken, but you get the idea. I'm not claiming this system is original, foolproof or a work of genius [I wish!], but it seems to work for me. Some people use colour coded index cards and a pin board, others prefer to use an iPad and an app called Corkulous.

After much rearranging of notes, I'm about ready to transfer my plot points into a Word document - effectively a beat sheet for the first ep. From there I'll be working the elements up into a scene by scene, once I've figured out where and when each scene happens [not to mention emotional beats that happen around plot points]. All before I get to write a word of script. Oh well, respect the process. Onwards!

Plotting your antagonist's through-line

You know the cliche about there being two sides to every story? Cliches are a truth made banal by repetition - but still a truth. In a world where writers are encouraged to investigate their protagonist's character arc and emotional journey, it's easy to forget the antagonist. They may be the bad guy, but they're on a journey too.

Everyone's the hero of their own life story. You make your antagonist deeper, richer and more compelling as a character if you put some thought into their goals, their wants, their needs. The antagonist shouldn't simply be an obstacle for the hero to overcome. The more dimensionality you give your antagonist, the stronger they become.

Can't recall from whom I stole the following tip, but it's a good 'un: plot your second act from the antagonist's point of view. Good genre writers are wary of having a passive protagonist in their narrative. But too often in such stories the bad guy(s) are just as guilty of being passive, reacting to events rather than setting the agenda.

If the antagonist is always two steps ahead, it makes the hero's task that much harder - and that much more compelling. Need a good example? Try the film Se7en, where the detectives are always scrambling to catch up with an antagonist who's been planning events for more than a year. That gave the film an uncomfortable edge, but it was also bloody compelling.

Yesterday I was thinking about a new pilot script I'm developing. Didn't write a word, but I was happier at the end of the day than at the start. Why? Because I dug into the antagonist's POV. Suddenly a through-line emerged, pulling together disparate plot threads and weaving them into a story. Love it when that happens. Onwards!

What do you want for dinner? Justice!

Hear me burble about spy thriller fiction

Just back from Edinburgh as a guest on BBC Radio Scotland's Book Cafe. I was burbling about espionage thriller fiction, a timely topic arranged before last Friday's big spy swap in Vienna. If you want to hear what I had to say [including obligatory plug for the MA Creative Writing course at Edinburgh Napier University, natch], click here. I chime in about the 26 minute mark.

Importance of format in TV drama spec scripts

I'm developing a new spec script at the moment for a returning TV drama series. Writing for Doctors is brilliant experience and I learn something from every draft, but few people read sample scripts from continuing drama series. Why? Because you're writing to an existing format, working with pre-created characters and storylines.

So you need to create an original series and writer the pilot script as your calling card. Chances are, it will never get made, but you need to prove you can do it. Just look at the roster of writers who've worked on Doctor Who since it returned in 2005. How many of them hadn't already created a TV drama series of their own? Very few. That's the benchmark.

And you'd better make it contemporary. Very few writers get to create a drama set in the past. The period shows you do see on British TV tend to be based on books. Period drama costs more to make, so commissioners want the insurance of a story that's already worked in print. Put it this way: how many original period TV dramas can you name from the last year?

So I'm developing a new, contemporary returning drama series. I've devised a cast of characters, been doing research into the working world where my concept is set, and got a clutch of different storylines for my pilot episode. Yesterday I spent nailing down the format for my series. Unless I get my format right, all the other effort might well be for naught.

Format is an ugly word to be throwing about while you're developing a new TV drama pilot script, but it's something you do have to think about. What exactly does the word mean in this context? It's long been applied to game shows or reality TV series when production companies, broadcasters or whoever holds the rights looks to sell their properties into other territories.

Witness the worldwide success of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire or the many international iterations of Strictly Come Dancing. Even a cookery competition show like Masterchef can explode in other countries [it's a massive hit in Australia]. But when it comes to TV drama, a lot of companies simply sell the original for transmission in other countries, dubbed into the local language.

US shows such as CSI, CSI: Miami and House are hugely successful internationally. The UK also exports plenty of drama, with series like Doctor Who and the Morse spin-off Lewis broadcast around the globe. [Lewis sells into 120 territories, more than Inspector Morse ever managed. If it keeps going until 2014, it will have made more episodes than Morse as well, unlikely as that seems.]

But there are examples of TV dramas [and sitcoms, come to that] getting remade in different countries. Doc Martin is Doktor Martin in Germany, Doctor Mateo in Spain and there's a French remake in production too. US series Ugly Betty was based on the Colombian telenovela Yo soy Betty, la fea. HBO drama In Treatment was based on an Israeli series, Be Tipul.

New Zealand drama series Outrageous Fortune has been renamed to the UK [where it was renamed Honest and ran on ITV] and the US [renamed Scoundrels]. The show's been a huge hit in NZ, with the final series launching on Tuesday with the 100th episode imminent. But the US and UK versions haven't recaptured that lightning in a bottle as Ugly Betty or In Treatment did in the US.

So, what is a format in TV drama terms? I'd say it's a lot of things - the characters, the set-up, the arena, sometimes whole storylines. But essentially format is what sort of stories your series tells, and how it tells them. An awful lot of that is about tone and attitude and viewpoint. Through whose eyes is the narrative seen? Who does the show makes us care about?

I was going to try a mix of scenes featuring my regular cast and scenes that introduced or developed the guest characters. That works well for an ongoing series like Doctors but poses problems for a calling card script. By including scenes with none of your core characters, you run the risk of losing focus. I need to keep this first ep tight on my regulars.

That means adopting a narrative rule used by shows like The Bill: every scene must feature one of the core cast. It makes plotting tougher and forces you as writer to work a lot harder to ensue key story events are shown, not told. On the other hand, it automatically create empathy with the core cast, as they become our point of view on events as storylines unfold.

That narrative choice - how I'm going to tell stories - will have a major effect on format for my calling card script. It means completely rethinking the stories I had planned. Hopefully it's a choice for the better, even if it means more development work now. Better to sort out format issues up front, than spend forever rewriting later to resolve them. Onwards!

Scott PIlgrim trailer with Inception trailer music

Opportunistic media spiv strikes again!

Some years ago I was the unfortunate creator of Space Girls, a less than brilliant strip that in 2000AD. Jason Brashill drew some wonderful work for the series, and writer John Tomlinson did his best to breathe life into the hollow artifice I'd created - but it was a stillborn idea. Nevertheless Space Girls got covered in the French edition of Elle, and the Guardian's Pass Notes column.

It was the latter which described Space Girls as the handiwork of an opportunistic marketing spiv. Guilty as charged. So it's time for this opportunistic marketing spiv to pimp a few forthcoming appearances, publications and outputs. On Monday July 12th I'll be on Radio Scotland's Book Cafe from around 1.15pm, talking espionage thrillers [very timely - cue Ultravox's Vienna].


From noon next Saturday, July 17th, I'll be part of the Oxfam Comics Event at McDonald Road Library in Edinburgh. Myself, Frank Quitely, Gordon Rennie and others will be discussing how a comic goes from idea to publication. Should be a fascinating session, only £3 to get in. Below is a photo from last year's event, taken by James Mcconnell. No, I can't explain what I'm doing.


The script for my second episode of DOCTORS has now officially been locked. 'Wasted Trip' is due for broadcast by BBC1 on Thursday, November 18th this year. [Don't worry, there's no doubt I'll remind you about that nearer the time.] Two more episodes for Doctors and the BBC considers me an experienced writer, with my rates effectively going up 25%. Which is nice.

I've got another story of the day already banked, awaiting commission, and three more lurking in a pile waiting to be read. I learn so much more from every draft of every script, I can't wait to do more. But writing TV drama requires lashings of patience and persistence, you have to play the long game. I'm already developing a fistful of new ideas for the show.

The radio play and online game I co-wrote are out at the end of next month. Legacy is a two-part radio drama for BBC7, with the first part scripted by the lovely Louise Ironside. I scripted part two, due for broadcast on Sunday August 29th. An online game exploring elements of the narrative goes live at the same, complementing and enriching the Legacy experience.

I've got other writing projects on the go, but nothing I can discuss here - sorry. Then there's my part-time teaching at Edinburgh Napier University. It may be the summer trimester, but work doesn't stop. Graduating students are writing their major projects, and I'm supervising four of them. Part-time students still get mentoring over the summer, if wanted.

We've been busy interviewing applicants for the new cohort that starts September 9th, both full-timers and part-timers. Some exciting prospects there. Plus we are hard at work refining and enhancing the modules for our second year of teaching. The first year of teaching went incredibly well, but we want to make the next round of modules even better. Onwards!

TV Writers' Fest: Alchemy of the First Episode

Ben Richards [BR]: You have to introduce your world without appearing to resort to blatant chunks of exposition. Deliver just enough info so people know what’s going on. You’ve got a very short time to grip the audience hard. You’ve got to establish your characters, and make them interesting.

Matthew Graham [MG]: It’s about balancing an archetypal ep and a set-up ep. You have to take the curse off exposition. Don’t get weighed down by explaining the world you’re setting up. You have to love the world and the characters, convey your passion for them.

Lizzie Mickery [LM]: A first draft is a whole load of scaffolding that can be stripped away later. But you can’t worry about that while still writing the first draft. Sometimes you discover the script starts on page 20. You can ease people in – don’t be afraid of your first draft.

William Ivory [WI]: My first draft is like a treatment. They can be incredibly long, exploratory documents – 224 pages is my record. All good writing is about ownership. You can knacker yourself before you write a first draft. It’s about being brave enough to set off on the journey, to throw the template away.

BR: Genre can be a huge liberation, allowing you more flexibility and freedom.

MG: Scriptwriting is rewriting, you can’t be afraid of that. For Life on Mars, we recalibrated as we went along. One cut of the pilot took out the gags. It was like Nietzsche on a bad day.

LM: People need to have a sense of what your show is in the first minute. Series will have a story of the week, serials will have one long story. Don’t set off with an idea you don’t have enough faith in. You will fall in and out of love with what you pitch. Try to remember what excited you about the show in the first place. If you lose that, you’re sunk.

WI: Have an idea at a higher level, above the scripts and the drafts.

BR: the inspiration for my new series Outcasts is that I hate Lord of the Flies.

LM: Most people hwo offer feedback do so because they care about your script, so listen to what they say. If people are asking a question, if suggests there’s something to solve.

MG: The best notes come as questions. Then it becomes a discussion.

Ben Stephnson [BS]: It’s crucial that everybody thinks they are making the same thing. Otherwise it can be a disaster.

WI: It’s dangerous to walk away from a project, no matter how tired you are by the time the first script is finally ready. Casting and the choice of director are crucial. All too often it’s the blindingly obvious that you haven’t talked about.

Favourite first episodes: Ben Richards – The Sopranos; Matthew Graham – Clocking Off; William Ivory – Lost; Lizzie Mickery – State of Play, The Good Wife.

TV Writers' Fest: Low Budgets, Being Human

Jack Thorne [JT]: The relationship between writing and budget is getting a lot closer. Shows like Cast-Offs cost £100,000 an hour. The first series of six eps cost £600,000 in total – which is what it costs to make an hour of Skins. Low budget is the future for a lot of people.

Toby Whithouse [TW]: Being Human costs £500,000 an hour. It’s a high concept show, so there are added expenditures. But it’s inspired by science fiction shows from the 70s and 80s, made for tuppence. That forced writers to devise a new kind of storytelling, where everything’s implied. Sapphire & Steel is a classic example.

On Being Human we had to find a way to portray death. All the ideas were too expensive. We had a spare door, so I came up with the idea that death is a door with a light behind it. Chilling, a brilliant effect – but cheap! Often editorial and tone decisions are made by having no money.

Low budget is a pain because it restricts the number of characters. That’s why you have to shave edges and characters to save money. But low budget can be an opportunity. You have to be create to overcome it.

Tony Roche [TR]: Armando Iannucci [AI] was offered £300,000 to make a pilot for The Thick of It. Instead he decided to make three episodes for £100,000 each. You learn a lot more by doing three episodes than just one.

There was lots of creative cheating. They couldn’t afford a big crowd of extras, so minister emerges to find only a cleaner outside – everyone’s gone home. Low budget limits your choices, which does focus the mind.

TW: The success of low budget shows like Cast Offs and Being Human means commissioners expect more low budget shows. Being Human is deficit-funded by money from BBC America, RDF, even borrowing against future DVD sales.

[JT has been working on This Is England 1986, made for £600,000 an hour.]

TR: We do at least 11, 12 pages a day on The Thick of It. We shot 35 pages in a day on one occasion. The rough and ready nature of it allows for stumbles and mistakes. When the actors can’t forget their lines, they often swear instead. It’s a unique show. We have a writer on set every day, punching up sides for the next day

[TW encourages writers to put everything they want into a first draft on BH.]

TW: First draft are all in. Subsequent drafts are written to budget. The first draft has a responsibility to be big, expensive and silly. For the new series we’ve spent money on new werewolves. That means less actors, fewer locations.

Low budget forces your stories to have more scenes on the set. Writers always want scenes to go elsewhere. When you spend so much time in the precinct [the house in Being Human] of your show, it all comes back to character. Low budget has made Being Human a character-led show, I’m proud of that.

A controlled environment like a purpose-built precinct is easier for production purposes, but can be creatively stifling. Invisible monsters on the most recent series of Doctor Who are a budget choice.

JT: For Cast Offs, the disabled actor pool is small so I cast the show before writing it. Nothing gets cut for compliance reasons. Channel 4 wanted it more controversial.

TR: Cast Offs was funded by the disability section of Channel 4. As a result it was greenlit fast and done a lot quicker than other drama series.

TW: Compliance has got a hell of a lot more restrictive since Sachsgate. We’re allowed the word fuck up to three times in each episode of Being Human, but only in the second half of the show [i.e. the section broadcast after 9.30pm].

Blasphemy is a bigger problem than violence. I’ve been asked, when this character gets his throat torn out, does he have to say, Oh God?

TR: Once on The Thick of It a line of Malcolm’s got changed. Shut your gash got overdubbed to shut your cave – implying Nicola had an enormous vagina!

TW: Everyone’s wages go up, but the budget gets smaller with each new series. At the beginning you have to aim for the moon. Budgetary compromises will come. Worry about that later, don’t let it kill your creativity.

TV Writers' Fest: Face to Face - Kay Mellor

Kay Mellor [KM]: I can’t write unless I’m angry or passionate about something. The first thing I wrote was about a special needs boy and how he got treated, I felt like I could be his voice. I don’t think of myself as being a Northern writer or someone who only writes Northern characters – I write who I know. It’s writing, not Northern writing; people first and foremost. Yorkshire runs through me, like a name through a stick of rock.

I structure things simply – set-up, development, conclusion – otherwise I’m driving aimlessly. I need to know where I’m going. I use three-act structure because I can go where I want. It’s the old dog up a tree analogy. I put a character up a tree and throw stones at them until they come down. A big development period can make things over-complicated.

[KM cited an example from earlier that week, when she’d taken two ideas to a meeting. One she had spent many hours honing, getting to know the characters, everything about them, to create a ten-page pitch document. The other was a new idea she’d just jotted down, only a page and a half. It was the fresh idea that won the day.]

I like to work the characters. I’ll choose my pilot, concentrate on that story. What am I saying? What’s it really about? I’ll have a loose idea of the ending. [Her intended endings often get junked or superceded during the writing process.]

It’s the idea now they are looking for, delivered with absolute clarity. You can over complicate. Be too anxious to please and you don’t get your idea across. Don’t worry about ticking their boxes because you won’t be passionate.

I had the idea for Band of Gold, sold it to TV and then did the research. Even when I did Brookie, I spent a lot of time in Liverpool to get the voice. When I pitched Band of Gold, they weren’t interested in stories about women, prostitutes, Northern working class characters, let alone written by a woman.

But Hilary Salmon at the BBC believed in it. A script editor at the time, she totally believed in it. Michael Wearing was another champion for that project. [KM talked described how Salmon supported her in meetings.] When Hilary said we in meetings, we was Hilary and me back then. Now when someone says we in meetings, they meet the script editor and the executive. [Band of Gold ended up at ITV. KM said it was a great sadness Salmon could not move with the project.]

[On avoiding writer’s block:] If stuck, don’t sit down, don’t stay there staring at the screen. Get up, go for a walk. Another way to avoid starting cold is the stop in the middle of a flow the previous day.

I love to bring new writers into TV, to give people a break. It’s the one thing that makes me want to do a long-running series. [KM’s returning drama series Fat Friends gave writers like Lisa Holdsworth and Ruth Jones a doorway into the industry.] It’s very difficult to get somebody’s voice on that’s new.

Writing is bum to seat and doing it. [How does KM balance running a series and writing a series?] I have protected writing time, a personal assistant to bat things away. [One recent TV project for KM was based on her mother’s experiences.] I do burgle stories, and apologise. Most people love it, or don’t recognise themselves.

I started as a writer trying to save Albion Market, a failing series. I learned so much from that. If I read reviews I would never writer again. I’m sick of cops and docs. Married, Single, Other was a non-genre drama series, but didn’t get deemed to do well, so it didn’t get recommissioned.

Sometimes you can be talked into something to fit a slot but it has a natural home. As a writer you have to protect your work. It’s always about character.

TV Writers' Festival: Gene Hunt film mooted?

Here's more notes from the TV Writers' Festival in Leeds last week. Most people went to a John Yorke masterclass first thing on Day 2, but I went to Matthew Graham on Pulling the Plug - The Pressure of the Last Episode. He was candid, entertaining and discussed a couple of potential projects I don't think have been widely discussed.

WARNING! Contains spoilers for Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars

Matthew Graham: Ashes To Ashes [A2A] came about because of the way Life on Mars [LoM] finished. A third series of LoM was planned, a Gene Hunt focused series to explore the purgatory element. John Simm said he didn’t want to do anymore, missing his family. Plus he was in almost every scene, incredibly draining. But he agreed to do a Christmas special, to tie things off.

Jane Tranter suggested a spin-off. We [MG and Ashley Pharoah [AP]] weren’t sure, we thought it might be milking it. But we used the recording Sam makes when he returns to 2006 to keep the mystery open. Give ourselves that option. It’s so hard finding a show that works, nobody wants to give that up.

We deliberately had a three year for A2A, to stop flannelling. We knew it was a purgatory, a place where dead police go. We had some quite nasty hate mail for not getting the characters of Gene and Alex Drake together.

The first series of A2A was quite frivolous, with Alex commenting on events. The second series was darker, and in the third all hell let loose. The first didn’t work so well, it undermined the premise – making Alex so arch, so knowing.

We had story conferences with the writers we employed on the show. Lots of things came out of those conferences, like the idea of Gene Hunt dying as a young cop.

Having Sam commit suicide at the end of LoM went to the top of the BBC. The question was can a hit TV series lead character commit suicide as a happy ending? The BBC decided to be brave.

Jim Keats was only created for one or two episodes for A2A series three. Keats became Gene’s nemesis, the devil himself while Gene is Heaven’s gatekeeper.

Bringing Sam back at the end of A2A would have been a cheat, undermining Alex and A2A. Plus John Simm’s cantankerous. I love him to bits, but he would have been humming and harring until the last minute. He might have said no and left us in it. We never made an offer to John, asking him to come back.

Keeley [Hawes] got very bad reviews after series 1 of A2A, she didn’t want to do series 2. We made her character too arch, too comedic – it was our fault. We persuaded her back, but she played it too almost too quiet and dramatic in series two, she had to find a middle ground.

Becoming execs - we wanted to help out, it’s not that we wanted a lot of control. Obviously, it’s a money, you get a bigger slice of the pie from world rights.

Most shows get cancelled between series in Britain, most don’t have an ending.

If you want the incredible high of a greenlight and the incredible low of cancellation, do Bonekickers! It was trying too hard to do knockabout TV for grown-ups. The lesson? Be grateful that once in your life you created Gene Hunt.

We’ve got no plans to do another Gene Hunt TV series, though Ash threatens to do one set now called The Laughing Gnome. We’ve unmasked Gene, we’d just be repeating ourselves.

[MG & AP are adapting the Jackson Brodie novels – three Kate Atkinson novels about a private detective – for BBC Scotland]

MG: It’s all about character, not whiz-bang writing. It’s the first adaptation I’ve done. Kate’s done the heavy lifting, so it’s about the tradecraft, structuring for TV. You have to transform it, otherwise you make it not as good as the books.

Kate’s really happy with our scripts. We’ve created a lot of new stuff. Each book will be a two-parter. There’s three books out, so that’s six eps. A little self-contained story within each ep. There’s not dense books, but they’ve depth.

You draw from the well. We’ve pretty much used up the books. We have permission to create new stories for the second series, if it happens.

MG & AP don’t write together, they storyline together and then divvy it up.

MG: We are thinking about a Gene Hunt film to introduce the character to a new audience, much as the Star Trek film reinvented the TV series. Effectively it’s an English version of The French Connection, Gene Hunt as the English Popeye Doyle.

TV Writers' Festival: Marchant, Milne & Bowker

Peter Bowker [PB]: Power, relationships and family are the mainstays of storytelling. I don’t believe in the Golden Age of TV drama.

Paula Milne [PM]: Things evolve. It’s hard to get one-offs made or commissioned, hard to find an audience.

Tony Marchant [TM]: I’m broadly optimistic. There’s a genuine sense of wanting to enable writers. But BBC4 biopics of the famous eschew examination of the lives of ordinary people. Good drama tells you something about yourself. Biopics don’t do that. BBC2 lost its drama identity for the past 10 years. It’s started regaining that now.

PM: BBC2 could be a really experimental channel for drama and it’s not doing that. Writing can be wayward and maverick, it doesn’t have to be poe-faced.

TM: Crime as a genre isn’t working. We’re all interested in transgression, but it can leave narratives misshapen, such as Five Days II. The crime narrative didn’t work, the faith and family narrative did. We have lost sight of novelistic drama.

PM: It’s been said TV is the theatre of the people. They’re looking for characters for more confident and assured than themselves..

TM: Lower budgets for TV drama should enable a plurality of voices.

PM: I look at a project and ask will I be a better writer at the end of this?

PB: I’m always trying to find new people to work with, to avoid complacency. Themes recur in a writer’s work, inevitably.

TV Writers' Festival: EastEnders to Life on Mars

Tony Jordan [TJ]: The first thing you see at the end of EastEnders is the writer’s name – I love that. Gets you a lot of attention. CDS [Continuing Drama Series] doesn’t stifle creativity. It exposes you to other worlds, helps you build relationships.

John Yorke [JY]: You can have your voice on CDS shgows, but you need to have talent. CDS will teach you craft skills. All you have to do is make the audience wonder what happens next. CDS distils your narrative techniques.

Matthew Graham [MG]: There’s no shame in writing great TV for 15 million people. EE gave MG a taste for writing mass audience TV drama.

TJ: There’s no route map out of CDS to original drama. It’s about holding on to your integrity. You see your stuff on screen quicker in CDS. It’s the fastest way to learn your craft, almost real time. Be a proper writer, don’t be a hack. Talent will out.

MG: I decided when given an incident-lite serial, such as Ricky continues looking for a job, that I would engineer it so I could write almost a standalone play as my ep.

JY: The best, most creative writers on CDS will carve out a space for themselves.

MG: Writers oppress themselves. You should see CDS as a fantastic opportunity to fly. There’s no plan to oppress you.

TJ: The most valuable thing I ever did was finding my own space to learn. I could experiment. There’s no necessary step. But you have to learn somewhere.

MG: Character shouldn’t just walk into a scene, they should land – they should arrive. You have to write fast. You become a writer/producer in effect when things go wrong. Actors go AWOL, it’s up to to create a solution. You have to scramble.

JY: CDS can be like the Beatles playing Hamburg. You build up your flying hours. You earn freedom by pushing the boundaries. There’s a lot of failure on the way.

MG: After EastEnders I had a lot of failures for various reasons. But you get a taste for being punched in the nose. The first script of Life On Mars took 35 drafts, seven years to get on screen. You can tie yourself in knots trying to avoid repeating failures. I like to tell loads of people a story, I’m a campfire storyteller. For me it’s about telling the story, not so much the message. CDS can be a war of attrition.

JY: You can tell when a writer is phoning it in. They stop making notes into something better, they just write the notes directly into the dialogue. CDS can be a launch pad for writers’ careers - it can also be a coffin.

TV Writers' Festival: Writer for Hire

Producer Nicola Shindler [NS]: I need to get a sense of the big story writers want to tell, why they want to write it. I don’t need the whole plot, the fine detail. A brilliant idea grabs you, it’s about having passion for an idea, someone’s commitment to it.

Writer Sally Wainwright [SW]: A cracking idea gets you a long way.

NS: I’m less likely to trust a big shiny verbal pitch. Writing it down is key. A couple of pages is enough, the characters will reveal themselves. It’s hard to judge a writer by a CDS [continuing drama series] script.

SW: Rejections makes you angry but you have to get over it, toughen up. I started on Children’s Ward and various other CDS. Then got asked on to Coronation Street, became part of the Granada family in Manchester. At Home With the Braithwaites originally pitched as a 30 minute sitcom. Took five years to get on.

In the meantime Kay Mellow asked SW to write Playing the Field, gave her experience of 9pm drama. SW kept developing Braithwaites while working on CDS, it evolved and got better over those five years.

NS: Going with an indie helps eliminate the problem of your in-house champion at a broadcaster leaving for another job, killing your project. But indies do get greenlit projects cancelled too.

SW: I don’t believe in giving up on an idea, you’ve got to keep going with it.

NS: The focus has gone back to London. Aside from CDS, Manchester and Leeds don’t have any long running drama series anymore. Crews have left the area. It’s become a lot harder to sell a new 1-hour drama by an new writer. It’s a lot less likely that inexperienced writers will get a big series away. There are exceptions, of course.

NS reads everything sent to her production company, Red. She believes BBC and ITV are listening more, creatively things are getting better. Financially it’s terrible. But if something’s good enough you can break the rules.

TV Writers' Festival: Casualty 2010 - The Vision

Mark Catley [MC] was one of the eight chosen for the first Writers’ Academy [WA]. Got into it through theatre. The writersroom held his hand for five years leading up to the Academy. At his first WA interview MC slagged off Casualty. Despite this he got a second interview two weeks later, and got in.

At the time he felt Casualty was a bland version of Holby City. Characters had no flaws, there were no dynamics, no differences in status between characters. MC got the show to introduce a class system to the hospital e.g. a new porter, new receptionist.

Belinda Campbell joined as executive producer about the same time. She wanted the show to be braver, bolder. The past five years have been building on that essence, making the show braver and bolder. MC felt the previous regime wanted things dumbed down, all on the nose, nothing left to the imagination.

The goal now is showing, not telling – write subtextually. There is a vision for the future. Casualty wants to stop holding the writer’s hands. Introducing a new commissioning process, get ideas signed off early. Editorial team has been guilty of not trusting writers to get it right – and writers have let editorial down too often.

If you make writers change everything after the first draft, their second draft is really just another first draft. It can take multiple drafts to find the right stories. But there can be a culture of fear. If a writer gets sacked, everyone carries the can. The fear of writers screwing up help push the writers into screwing up.

The process at Casualty: writer gets a serial doc, containing the A, B & C stories featuring regular cast. Writer has to create two guest stories to help tell the serial stories. Writers shouldn’t turn up at commissioning meeting with their guest stories before knowing the serial. Afterwards writer writes up agreed stories.

That pitch doc gets signed off. The writer does a scene by scene breakdown for the episode with their script editor – five stories in all, 50 minutes. MC believes Casualty is one of the hardest shows to write. An acclaimed writer of sitcoms and rom-com features did an episode a few years back and nearly got bumped off his own script.

Once the scene by scene is signed off, writer goes on to the first draft. MC believes that is probably read by too many people, leading to a lot of notes. MC reads the second draft, and the fourth. The writers has drafts 3 and 4 to implement MC’s notes [and other notes, such as medical research].

MC likes writers to bookend the serial. The guest story can become the antagonist for a serial story. [For example, a regular has an important letter to read but interventions by guest story keep getting in the way.] There’s flexibility for the balance of guest story to serial. Some writers get it, some don’t – but episode will be shot.

MC believes CDS [continuing drama series] is more brutal than other TV dramas because there’s’ immense pressure. Casualty will be cutting its budget by 30% over the next three years. It’s already working on a budget comparable with what it had back in 1985, when the first episode was broadcast.

MC thinks the show has six great episodes a year, matching any other drama on TV. Of the other 42 eps, 25 are good or very good – a few are turkeys. Eps have gone to 12, 13 drafts. So many people have a different vision, that complicates matters.

With Casualty moving from Bristol to Cardiff, MC expects his role to change. He still lives in Leeds – a four hour journey to Bristol, it’ll be another hour to Cardiff. MC plans to keep writing, but may do less producing. Budget cuts mean having to find ways of keeping the show’s unique flavour, but delivering it for less.

Two years ago the word resonance got banned. Writers are still expected to create resonance, but to do it with subtlety, subtextual connections between stories.

MC believes giving the writer more control over the show improves quality. There’s a story conference every three months. Ten to 12 writers there on the first day, 6-7 core writers remain for the second day. Core writers do four eps a year. MC went dry at the last story conference, so is concentrating on producing for a while

MC believes how the script editor gathers all the notes and communicates them to the writer can help the writer retain their voice. MC argued about notes from his 1st ep, described his attitude as chippy. He says writers have to be prepared to argue. Writers who surrender to all notes lose control of their episodes – and can get dumped.

Casualty writing process is three months from start to finish. Trying to reduce that to two and a half months – or two months, ideally. Goal is to get writing process down to four drafts. Casualty offers a shadow scheme for less experienced writers. The WA also provides writers. Cancellation of The Bill made experienced writers available.

MC stressed that Casualty is desperate for new writers. Nicola Larder is the show’s development producer, but you need an agent to approach her directly. MC says a good Casualty writer fights for what they know will work.

If only French lessons were like this...

Pure Genius: action movie tropes distilled

As seen on Robin Kelly's excellent Writing For Performance blog.

Pure from Jacob Bricca on Vimeo.

TV Writers' Festival: Whose Voice Is It Anyway?

Nicola Shindler [NS]: It’s always about the next thing a writer’s going to do. Getting a writer’s idea to a broadcaster can have stutters along the way. Channels want what they want. It’s our job to push the boundaries and challenge. The more brilliant, the more likely it is to get on.

NS: A lot less drama made in the last two years. What does get made has to be made at a lower price. On the positive side, it feels like there’s less top-down commissioning, more flexibility. Serials are back. There’s more ambition to get brilliant stuff on air.

Mark Catley [MC]: Lead writer on Casualty for two years, still a writer first. Now a consultant producer, poacher turned gamekeeper. Part of the editorial, now feels in the middle of it. As lead writer MC had a lot of story and character input. Now feels more like a showrunner. Had to put the time in to become a showrunner.

Jed Mercurio [JM]: Writer, producer and director. It’s a different environment, hard to get your own projects greenlit. It’s not being asked for, so a harder sell. JM very wary of top-down commissioning. Responding to a brief is problematic. By the time you have developed something, it’s too late. You have to go back to basics, write what interests you, then you’ll be true to yourself – won’t be that much harder to get off.

[JM works for HBO in US, Canal Plus in France] If you restrict yourself to established drama markets it makes life harder. Some shows are Channel [C4] or BBC2 – you think, why bother? Sky is a new player in the market, expanding its drama slate. There are different ways to work overseas that suit JM. [How to survive in hard times] You fall back on relationships when things get tough. Bodies was JM’s last BBC series.

MC: Continuing Drama Series [CDS] can be a brilliant place to cut your teeth, but there’s still a snobbishness toward it from some in the industry. Paul Abbot and Matthew Graham helped raise the profile and respect for CDS. But despite our best efforts, CDS is still seen as a lower rung.

NS: Spent a long time developing a project about Lockerbie. Brilliant script, commissioned by BBC Scotland, development was straight forward. Three years ago it was deemed not a fit for BBC1, despite there being no notes to offer. NS never giving up on it. To her a sexy show is a good show.

JM: As the commissioning chain extends, it puts projects in jeopardy. You get into strategising. It’s always about individuals, a single person’s taste. There’s no conspiracy to stop the Lockerbie project getting made. It can’t do any harm to work with a producer, or a director that has an established track record. It shortens the odds, but there are no guarantees. You make the project as good as it can be on paper, but people can still say no, even with a great champion behind it.

NS: Queer as Folk wasn’t about breaking taboos. It was a good story about compelling characters in an unseen world.

MC: You can say shit or bastard on some CDS shows, but never blaspheme.

JM: Sometimes you have to negotiate with one person’s views. [JM started as a medical advisor on a TV series.] That got him an access all areas pass, a relationship. Thereafter he kept pushing for more and more access.

NS: Good producers want to put the writer at the centre of things.

JM: There’s a difference between showrunner-lite, who gives their wisdom and leaves, and a real showrunner who has total involvement and responsibility.

MC: On Casualty writers have engaged with having another writer giving notes.

NS: Almost every time when she’s developed a show to meet a brief it’s struggled [bar Mark of Cain]. Better going for the writer’s initial passion.

JM: If you write to a brief you end up chasing rabbits. There’s nothing you can do about speeding up development.

NS: Very rarely do you get something through fast.

JM: We don’t have showrunners as a norm.

NS: Cardiac Arrest [by JM] allowed TV to show flawed medics. Holding On [by Tony Marchant – TM] brought back the serial.

TM: There’s a tendency to imitate success with diminishing returns.

MC: Commissioning tends to be obsessed with the latest success. ON Casualty guest stories are where the writer’s voice comes through. You have to find your own way into the story.

TM: I only think I’m as good as the next thing. Everyone thinks they themselves are crap, waiting to be found out. I had four things turned down by C4 after Mark of Cain. You can win gongs on one thing and not get arrested the next.

Scott PIlgrim: Blad Im Kino