Blog Post #1981: The legacy of Hill Street Blues

If I could travel back in time to write for any TV drama, Hill Street Blues would be top of my list. Not that I'm anywhere near good enough for the US police procedural, but because I have such an abiding admiration for the series. It's been a major influence on my writing and is a big part of why I enjoy ensemble TV drama so much.

Hill Street Blues hit US TV early in 1981 to critical acclaim and audience apathy. It went against the grain by adopting documentary techniques - lots of hand-held camera work, overlapping dialogue and in your face narrative viewpoints - designed to give the drama immediacy, thrusting those watching into the middle of the action.

This was revolutionary 30 years ago, now it's become a style choice. But the reason Hill Street Blues endures [for me, anyway] is the writing and the characters. The sprawling cast, all with distinct attitudes and voices. The multi-stranded tapesty of plots woven by each episode. The willingness to show human flaws and frailties.

Plus there's a seam of dark, bleak humour that runs through the series [the David Milch factor, perhaps?]. My favourite Hill Street Blues sequence comes on the death of a series regular. The police spread the character's ashes on the streets, fulfilling their last wishes. Soon after a sweeping machine wishes the ashes down a drain.

Last Friday I submitted my application for the BBC Writers' Academy. My sample script was The Specials, an ensemble TV drama about special constables in Edinburgh. I won't make any claims of greatness [never invite yourself to a banquet of humble pie and hubris], but my pilot script tips its hat to the greatness of Hill Street Blues.

Applications for the academy close this Thursday. About 500 people apply most years. An initial sift will take those numbers down to around 150 by the end of May. In early July the top 30 or so will be invited for workshops in London. From these people perhaps 12-15 get interviewed for the eight places on this year's academy.

Get in and you undergo an intensive, 13-week experience learning to write for BBC continuing dramas Casualty, EastEnders, Holby City and Doctors. Survive the academy and you write one episode for all four shows in a twelve month period. You can get on each show without the academy, but it's the fast-track to tackling them all.

The fact I've written three broadcast episodes of Doctors is neither here nor there when it comes to selection for the academy. You need a professional writing credit to apply, but after that it's the quality of your writing sample that determines whether or not you at least make it to the workshop phase of the selection process.

I won't know about the success or failure of my application until the end of May at the earliest. In the meantime I'll be watching all four shows to immerse myself in the way they tell stories [plus the BBC Scotland continuing drama River City, which I watch every week anyway]. Good luck to all who apply for the academy. Onwards!

Dealing with notes: good, bad and the contradictory

Using feedback to improve your next draft is the mark of a good writer, in my humble opinion. Few of us are so talented, so blessed with genius that we can't benefit from an objective reader or three looking over our latest draft. Self-editing is among the hardest skills for a writer to master, along with critical self-reflection.

Most writers worth the name can tell if something isn't quite working in a draft, often while still writing it. But they push forwards and finish that draft - because it's what writers do [indeed, what they must do]. Assuming the problem doesn't completely derail your story, you can come back and fix the problem later. It's why we rewrite.

As writers we have the ability to fool ourselves. Maybe nobody else will notice that this character's voice isn't consistent, or that it doesn't fit their circumstances or their age. Maybe that piece of on-the-nose dialogue will scream LAME when read by other eyes. Maybe that plot contrivance won't seem quite so shit in a broader context.

But, of course, they do. That's why feedback is crucial, why notes forces us to face up to the things that aren't working in our writing. How you deal with notes is crucial to the development of your project, and to your progress as a writer. But not all feedback is good, not all notes are helpful. Some are downright contradictory.

This week I've been gathering feedback on The Specials, a new spec script. I did a lot of the development work on it last summer, but didn't get to write a first draft until the last few weeks. But the project benefited from being left alone seven months, that definitely gave me fresh perspective on it, what the script was for.

Having written the first draft, I enlisted the aid of various readers whose judgement I trust. I've just printed out all the feedback and it makes for interesting reading. the good news is everyone likes the core concept, the central characters and the execution. There are several common notes that definitely need addressing.

There are some notes with which I fundamentally diagree, because adopting them would fundamentally change the nature of this script - the format of the show [it's a returning TV drama series], and the writing style. I might consider that in future, but right now I want to enhance and polish what I've got.

[Among other destinations, I'll be using the script as my sample for the BBC Writers' Academy. Deadline for submissions is May 5th, so there isn't time for a fundamental re-envisaging of the project. It'll also be the new calling card for my agent to fire at various production companies, so I'll see what feedback the industry offers.]

Even the notes I fundamentally disagree with are useful, just as bad notes are useful. For me, a bad note is a suggestion that makes the project worse, or merely different. Different may be required, but a good note challenges the writer to make their project better, pushes them to go the extra distance to better execute their story.

But such notes will usefully point to an underlying weakness. If the reader felt obliged to suggest a solution, you can often ignore the suggestion - but you should take the underlying problem seriously. You have to look beyond the note and find the think that isn't working, the unmotivated plot point or unconvincing character.

Contradictory notes can be a real challenge. One of my readers hated a particular sequence near the end of the script, dismissing it as a gag-inducing cliche. Another reader praised the same scene, thought it was lovely. When notes directly contradict, it's a coin toss decision which to implement - or you can call it a no-score draw.

In fact, the same sequence brought another note that identified a fundamental problem. The sequence features something that breaks the format of the show, undermining my choice of narrative position. [More and more, I'm coming to believe narrative position and tone are the two more important choices a writer makes on any project.]

So I will be revisiting that sequence, with some hard choices to make. But that's what notes and feedback are for: to make you dig that bit deeper into your story, identify the weak points and make them stronger. All the feedback in the world won't make your story any better - it's what you do with the notes that counts. Onwards!

Hanging your metaphorical arse out the window a bit

Finished the rough first draft of my new spec script late on Monday. Been writing it off and on in bursts for several weeks, wrapped round other work. As always, the last day proved the most productive in terms of page count, simply because the last few pages pay-off the many, many plot elements and character revelations set up earlier.

Yesterday I spent reading the whole thing back in one seating, with the dialogue out loud to ensure it could actually be spoken. Making up the script as I went along for corrections, tweaks and improvements. Applying the Roden test [named after David Roden from the BBC], where you put a mark on the script whenever tempted to look elsewhere.

Then it was time for tweaking, polishing and finessing a fine of the minor points and problems, adding clarifications or simply streamlining the narrative. Cut a scene from very late in the script and relocated another to smooth the narrative. Retro-fitted a moment into an early scene that had a nice pay-off later. Stuff like that, really.

And now the script is out being read by a range of people with different opinions, experiences and expertise. By this time next week I should have a broad spectrum of feedback to consider. Are the opening scenes too off-putting? Does the three-stranded plot narrative work, or should I consider ditching one of the three protagonists?

Sending a new script out to be read feels very exposed, like hanging your arse out the window and inviting people to pass judgement. It's an absolutely necessary step in the process, but you can't help feeling a little bit exposed. [Is this the moment the world realises you're a fraud, you can't help but wonder.] Needs must, I guess.

When it comes to feedback, every opinion is valid. Even if you wildly disagree with the note, it will tend to highlight an underlying issue that needs consideration. If the majority of readers come back with the same note, you know it's a significant problem. If only one or two people highlight an issue, it may be less vexing.

Once all the feedback's in and contemplated, the rewriting begins. I've no doubt there are scenes that need expanding or cutting altogether. Character dialogue that wobbles all over the place, and characterisation in need to sharpening. I'd like to think the plot works well, but structural choices are all up grabs. No point being precious.

My goal's to make the next draft the best it can be. Does each scene advance the plot or reveal character? Better yet, does it do both at the same time? Do characters have distinctive voices? Does their dialogue crackle, pop and snap along? Have I made the most of visual storytelling, or could more dialogue be replaced with reaction shots?

Then there's tone, a massive challenge for any writer. I've striven for a mix of comedy and drama, mixing lighter moments with more serious sequences. Hopefully the readers will empathise with the three main characters, want to know more about them, want to see what happens to them next. Hopefully. Time - and feedback - will tell.

In case you're wondering, the script's for a returning drama police procedural series. I opted for a template episode rather than a pilot that sets up the premise. Reading this script should offer a sense of the show's narrative format, the sort of stories the series would tell, the way the characters will interact with each other.

I used a new character joining a pre-existing team to introduce the set-up to the reader while keeping exposition to a bare minimum. It might be a familiar device, but it works if deployed well [fingers crossed]. And there's a tip of the hat to two of my favourite TV dramas, The Cops and Hill Street Blues, because I couldn't resist it.

Once the next draft is done, I plan to submit it as my sample for the BBC Writers' Academy. Hundreds apply every year for only eight places, so any application faces long odds. But the quality of your writing sample is crucial to put you in the running for a place in the workshop stage, where some two dozen people are summoned to London.

Obviously, I hope to make it that far in the process but simple maths tells you not to hold your breath. With fewer opportunities elsewhere for emerging scribes, the Writers' Academy looms ever larger on the landscape. You can build a very successful career without it, but the academy is like adding rocket fuel to your ambitions.

Let's assume I don't make the academy. The good news is I have a new spec pilot to be deployed as my calling card script, once it's been torn apart, rewritten and polished to gleaming. I don't expect the series I've created will ever get made, but the script shows what I'm capable of writing right now - and that's very useful. Onwards!