Masturbating monkeys

Two words I never thought I’d find contained in one sentence in a set of script notes.

At least, two words I certainly never thought I’d be asked to put into an action line in a script.

When I envisaged my writing career, all those minutes ago, I never dared dream that one day someone would instruct me (whilst paying me) to write those two words in a script.

My life is now complete.

And yes, it is exactly what you think it is.

Questions about agents

I haven’t got an agent and for the most part I’m not really bothered. I have a plan, I have a strategy to follow and I’m vaguely heading in the right direction at frustrating speeds so it’s all well and good. At the moment I get paid for everything I write and I get to write pretty much what I feel like in any genre or style without too much interference.

In short, my writing life is pretty peachy.

Every now and then I get this vague pang of guilt for not having an agent, kind of like I need one in order to be a real writer. When that feeling of self-doubt strikes I make a halfhearted effort to send something to the first agent I think of … and I get rejected.

This happens about once every two years or so and is to be expected. The chances of picking one agent at random and them liking your work is pretty small. The best way is to make a concerted effort, do your research and specifically target agents who match your preferred style/genre/oeuvre (isn’t that French for egg?) or whatever. Merely pointing at another writer, thinking ‘I want his career’ and spamming his agent isn’t really the best way to go about these things.

But never mind. The rejection fires me up, indignant rage burns off the paralysing blanket self-doubt and I just carry on writing. I have this (possibly ill-conceived) idea that sooner or later someone will just ring me up and offer me representation. In fact, I think it might have just happened; but I was inadvertently rude to the guy and he hasn’t been back in touch.

Oh well, fuck it.

The question is, do I actually need an agent? What do they actually do for you? Okay, so if I was hell-bent on getting into TV then they might be useful for putting me forward - but I’m not that bothered. There isn’t really anything on TV I desperately feel like writing for (except Doctor Who and maybe The Sarah Jane Adventures) and at the moment I’m having too much fun with movies to concentrate on learning new skills. I have plenty of ideas for TV shows but rarely have the time to write them down – if I did, I have a handful of contacts I could send ideas to and I know they’d be happy to read them. They might think they’re shit, but they’d be happy to read them.

Movie wise, yeah, I’m doing fine. I have enough work for the rest of the year and probably the beginning of next year – I haven’t had to generate any work for myself for a while because of repeat custom and random emailers; and the only time I’ve recently expressed a vague interest in a spec project I find myself signing a contract for it a few months later.

I suppose the only thing I’d be looking for in an agent (apart from maybe approaching TV people on my behalf when I’m ready) is negotiating contracts – I fucking hate the whole thing. I mean, it’s not difficult (or at least I don’t think it is. I’ve been doing my own for years now and I still have both kidneys and all of my many pounds of flesh) but it’s fucking tedious and I have very limited interest. I’m kind of like Will Ferrell’s character in Austin Powers – talk about the same clause three times and I just give up.

“Oh, so if the Option is exercised, to make such reasonable amendments to Assignment A and the documents set out in Exhibit 2 as the Purchaser’s distributors or financiers may require then I don’t fucking care! I just don’t! Whatever you fucking want, just leave me alone in my box with my imaginary friends!”

Having someone to read the small print and be an obstreperous cunt during negotiations would be rather helpful, but is that a good enough reason for wanting an agent? But still, there’s that small nagging voice – real writers have agents. I don’t have an agent therefore …

And then there’s the Screenwriting Festival Speed Dating thing. Can I be bothered to apply? Do I actually want three face to face meetings with agents? Assuming I won a place, which I probably wouldn’t. Would I just be wasting their time and taking up space which could be allocated to be people who are desperately pursuing representation?

I had a look at the application process and figured I had nothing really to lose until I got to the question about ‘genre of your project’ – what project? I’m not trying to push one project on anyone, I have a raft of things going on all the time and want that to continue forever. Can I just put ‘all’? I know this is so they can match the lucky winners up with suitable agents, but I’m quite happy bouncing around from one genre to the next – conventional wisdom says you can’t carve out a career like this because people won’t think of you as the ’western guy’ or the ‘comedy guy’ … but I don’t care. I’m enjoying myself and don’t want to specialise just yet.

So 

I’ve decided to leave it in your hands. My questions are:

1. Those of you with agents, do you find them useful and have they helped your career?
2. Should I enter this speed dating draw or not?

Someone please make some decisions for me, I’m far too busy and only have a limited interest in my own well being.

The movable goalposts of excitement

One thing I find you have to do as a writer is constantly readjust what you think of as being exciting. It’s like a series of little victories which are horrendously exciting the first time you achieve them, but quickly become tedious when you slog past them for the hundredth time without actually getting any further down the road.

For example, I can still remember the giddy excitement I felt when I first sat down to write a script. This was it, I was on my way! After years of telling people my sci-fi series was far superior to anything currently on telly, I was actually going to prove it!

Surely fame and fortune would be mine by the end of the week?

Nope.

It turns out, writing a script is difficult and writing a good script is nigh on fucking impossible (hence my comfortable rut of consistent mediocrity). Once you’ve started the first script, starting subsequent scripts is easy. It’s finishing the fuckers which is the tricky part; but that’s the next milestone …

I’ve finished a script! I’ve actually finished a whole script! This is so exciting! I’m days away from being rich and–

Nope, apparently it’s shit.

Bugger.

Still, now you’ve finished one script you can finish others and while it’s nice to finish them, it never feels quite as exciting as the first time you type THE END. You soon learn that particular goalpost is not really a major achievement but more a prerequisite for actually being a scriptwriter.

And so on. Every time you achieve the next step it’s initially exciting until you realise that particular project just isn’t going anywhere and is a career dead end. It’s like a giant, life long game of snakes and ladders where it’s increasingly difficult to get excited about any given ladder since you know you’ll be back at the beginning any day now.

Over time you just learn not to be phased by it. The first time you option a script is pant wettingly exciting, the tenth time without a single one of the projects going any further is considerably less so.

And all this is right and good, you can’t continue to be excited by the same thing over and over again indefinitely, certainly not when the reason you’re getting excited is because you believe it’s a step on a journey somewhere. The problems arise when you have to deal with other people. When someone options a script from you, you have to pretend to be excited because it’s their project now and they’re excited because they know for an absolute fact they’re going to make a fucking amazing movie out of your script …

Whereas you know, with reasonable statistical certainty, they’re not going to achieve anything and you’ll probably never hear from them again until they ring to apologise for the project falling apart because they couldn’t get funding/the actor they need/out of bed in the morning.

So you have to pretend and jump up and down and squeal and shout ‘Yay!’ a lot until they let you go home.

Similarly, when someone else options their first script and is breathlessly exuberant – the correct response is to buy them a drink and go ‘CONGRATULATIONS! That’s fucking awesome!’ because it is. Getting a script optioned by someone is awesome …

It just doesn’t actually mean anything useful.

Neither does winning a competition, getting a commission, getting an agent … hell, even going into production can ultimately result in nothing useful at the end of it. I’ve had seven feature films start shooting now and not one of the fuckers is actually finished. Even the one already out on DVD.

Maybe someday they will, maybe they won’t. If one of them ever does (and it’s actually good) then I probably will get a bit of pant moisture building up, but until then, I’ll just calmly wait and see what happens. An attitude I think confuses people:

“Oh my God! So-and-so’s in your film! That’s so cool!”

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

“You don’t sound particularly excited.”

“No? I can wave a flag, if you like?”

And so on.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying people shouldn’t get excited about these things, because they are exciting and it really is great you’re all making progress. I’m happy for you, I really am. I’m just not going to get excited about any of my projects, no matter how many times people talk about theatrical releases, until I’m sitting a cinema watching a film I wrote which I, and everyone else, have bought tickets for.

Basically, I’ll believe it when I see it.

Having said all that, I read an option agreement this morning whose terms did have me browsing the Aston Martin website and picking out colours …

Damn it, I’ve just wet my pants and drooled all over the keyboard …

Wiggins, pay attention at the back

I just got asked if I want to run a sketch writing workshop. My answer was an immediate and resounding … don’t know.

I’ve never really thought about it before. Do I want to teach? Am I even capable of teaching? Why would anyone want to be taught by me?

I don’t even know what goes on in a workshop having never attended a single course, workshop or seminar.

Or at least none about writing; I’ve been to quite a few Kung Fu seminars, but I doubt wannabe sketch-writers would be very pleased if I marched into the room and got them kicking each other in the head.

Or maybe they would? I have no idea. Do writing workshops normally erupt in controlled violence?

I guess I have several problems with the whole teaching thing:

1. I’d have to commit to being somewhere on the same day every week for ten weeks. Ten weeks! I don’t know if I’ve got that kind of commitment in me.
2. I’m not convinced I have anything useful or interesting to say on the subject. They’re looking for ten three-hour sessions. Thirty hours! I can sum it all up in two words: be funny. And short. Four words, I can sum it up in four words.
3. I don’t want to be one of those teachers I regularly take the piss out of. You know, the ones who can’t actually write anything. I think maybe teaching is something you should do at the end of your career, after you’ve finished learning. I’ve read scripts by writing teachers and known instantly I never, ever want them telling me anything. The other day I saw an ad by some university teacher looking for someone to write his ideas for him – basically, I can’t write, can someone do it for me? Do I really want to join their ranks?

On the plus side: it would be some extra cash; I might be helping someone achieve their dreams; and I’m deluded enough to think I might actually have something useful to say.

But still, do I really want to be a teacher? What if it’s successful and leads onto more teaching? Is that really the road I want to go down?

After much deliberation … I still don’t know.

Help.

Take ‘em out back and shoot ‘em in the head

A few years back (2004? 2005? Can’t remember) a producer I knew was going to Cannes (maybe it was 2003?) and he wanted ’ a pile of feature scripts’ to take with him.

It was 2002, definitely.

Or maybe 2001.

Fuck it, it was years ago whenever it was. Anyway, in January he said he was going to Cannes. By May I’d written him six feature scripts. Two of them were re-writes of earlier scripts, four were completely fresh.

As it turns out, he didn’t take any of the scripts with him – he either forgot them or didn’t have space in his suitcase or some other fairly useless excuse.

Over the next few years those six scripts, with the addition of one more became my spec library. I whittled away at them on my own for a while, submitted them to TriggerStreet and used the feedback to re-write them until they were all in the top ten.

Satisfied they were all of a reasonable quality, I sent them out to anyone and everyone who would read them. Currently, of those seven scripts, three are under option; one lies in pieces, after I dismantled it to discover why it was shit and never quite got round to putting the pieces back together again; and three have never had any interest whatsoever.

Well, that’s not strictly true. One of them won me some script coverage which in turn got me a discussion with an American manager which in turn led absolutely nowhere. The general consensus is it’s a fantastic script; but too British for America and too expensive for Britain.

The other two … nothing. No one has ever shown the slightest bit of interest in them. One of them is a very personal story which doesn’t quite work. The other is a rom-com: a great concept which isn’t quite realised properly.

A while back I came to the conclusion these scripts just weren’t good enough; but I continued to send them out on the grounds someone might be stupid enough to make them. I mean, people like all kinds of shit so why not these three? Maybe they’re not as bad as I think they are?

Or maybe they are exactly as bad as I know they are.

Today though, I have decided: no more. I am officially retiring the last of these three spec scripts. No more will I send them out in the vain hope of finding a home for them. These three club-footed children of mine are finished. It’s over. Nobody loves you kids so get in the sack, hold onto these bricks and it’s a dizzying plunge into the icy waters of oblivion for you.

Bye now. See ya. Bye, bye.

I’m not deleting them, of course – just in case; but I’m no longer actively sending them out or letting people read them. If someone happens to ask me specifically for something which is identical to one of the scripts then maybe I’ll fish them out of the river – but barring that unlikely scenario, they’re gone.

With that in mind I’ve also removed all of the sample scripts from my website. All of the sitcoms and TV series and short films – all gone. None of them are representative of my writing now, they all show what I could do three or four years ago.

I’d like to think I’ve improved a little since then.

My watch word from now on is quality, not quantity. I’ve build up a nice CV and it’s now time to focus on newer and better material.

So there.

As an aside, I’ve just had an email this morning telling me one of the three under option, FLEECED, starts shooting in 18 days. That’ll be my third feature produced this year and we’re only half way through. With a baby arriving this month, another blackbelt grading this weekend and The Wrong Door hitting BBC 3 in the Autumn … I’m really liking 2008 so far.

Ivory tower

People seem to have a really odd attitude towards attaining success as a writer, particularly when it comes to competitions. It’s almost as if the industry is an unscalable tower with the professionals forever out of reach at the top. At the bottom of the tower are thousands of aspiring writers who are desperate to get up there, but feel they are being ignored.

They throw their scripts at the people at the top, who are not interested despite every single word being pure genius. It’s a hopeless, frustrating situation. One which dooms you to perpetual failure and obscurity.

Until a competition comes along.

A competition is perceived as a lift which will take you straight to the top and make all your dreams come true. This is your only chance, you have to get on that lift or all is lost!

Except, the lift only holds a few people and there are thousands of you. The odds are against you, even if you were all superb writers of the highest calibre – only a couple of you can get on that lift. Naturally, the majority of writers are disappointed and spend the next few months/years whinging about how unfair the lift is, how it’s prejudiced and how the people chosen to board weren’t worthy.

Until the next competition comes along and the cycle starts again.

Here’s the thing I don’t understand: THERE’S A STAIRCASE!

Instead of trying to cram yourself into the lift or waiting for someone to peer over the edge and pick you from the crowd – take the stairs.

Apply for every job on every website every day. Paid or unpaid, it doesn’t matter – get stuff made, learn the craft by experience, work your way slowly to the top.

I’m not saying people shouldn’t enter competitions, of course you should. They are fantastic opportunities which aren’t to be missed. Winning can leapfrog you straight to the top and you’d be crazy not to apply for every scheme going, but it’s not the only way.

Hell, even people who win things like this don’t always carve out a career for themselves. Yes, it puts you in a much better position – but you still need to put in the hard work when you get there.

The most recent example was the BBC’s College of Comedy – an amazing opportunity and the six winners are incredibly fortunate to have their talent recognised and be selected – but for all those left at the bottom, don’t whine about it or get depressed. The odds are you weren’t going to win anyway. 1400 entries, 6 winners: 233 to 1 against. Not the worst odds, but still not good.

I see competitions as diversions, potential short cuts. I enter them and then I immediately forget about it and carry on plodding up the stairs. I doubt I’ll ever win a competition and I don’t really care because I’m doing alright on my own. Yes, I would love to be given the opportunity and I’d break down in tears of joy if I ever won anything; but I never get upset when I don’t – I just keep plodding onwards and upwards, one step at a time. It’s slow going, but at least I’m moving.

Reading people’s blogs, I often wonder what everyone else is doing – are you just submitting stuff to the BBC Writersroom and hoping? Are you waiting at the bottom of the tower for the next lift or are you actively pushing your career forward? Are you waiting for it to happen to you or are you making it happen?

Basically, are you on the stairs yet?

If not, why not?

2007

So, how did 2007 go for you?

Mine went something like this:

JANUARY

Decided to stop fannying around and use two contacts I have at two production companies to submit ideas for TV series.

As of yet, I still haven’t managed this.

In a similar vein, I vowed to devote myself to writing at least one spec script in the coming year.

Failed there too.

I entered the Gumball 3000 script competition.

Didn’t win.

I thought the competition had disappeared up its own arse, until I found this. Hmm, did Mike Figgis really enter this competition?

I received the following notes about a feature film which was due for imminent production:

“We want the two Cuba Gooding Jnrs to be African tribesmen, one a medicine man and one a chief, who Tom Jones promised jobs as Traffic Wardens.”

“there is a mine of comedy related to having a dragon spunk bomb explode up your ass and the consequences thereof. I would encourage you to pursue that line of thought”

 “I’ve got this animatronic stag’s head…”

and my favourite:

“Tom Jones should be more like Idi Amin.”

The film still hasn’t been made.

All in all, January was a bit of a failure. The only really positive bit was buying a board to cover with brightly coloured index cards.

I quite enjoyed that bit.

FEBRUARY

Feb kicked off with the Gothenburg Film Festival where, against all odds, The Evolved was being screened. It went down really well and even sold out; I fucked up my first Q&A and still got asked for an autograph by a deranged Japanese fan.

Upon my return, I decided to be more proactive and use one of my cinema contacts to arrange a screening of the film in the UK.

Still haven’t done that.

I somehow got bombarded with scripts from people who wanted feedback. Why did they choose me? Who knows. I tried to oblige for a while, but it was getting on my nerves and taking up far too much time – so I said no and it all stopped.

Christ, all this seemed much more exciting at the time.

MARCH

I lost £90,000 of money I hadn’t even received when a potential feature film budget got cut in half.

Bollocks.

On the plus side, the feature still hasn’t been produced so I haven’t actually lost any of the money I haven’t received.

Not much consolation.

I spent four hours watching someone light a bottle of whiskey and wrote an advert for scented hemorrhoid cream.

And got paid for both of them.

I decided to stop telling lies and remove all the bullshit from my CV.

Chameleon, a martial arts feature film, disappeared up its own arse. No one told me, I found out by accident.

I fought a man whilst dressed as a granny. To be fair, he was dressed as a granny too.

He won.

I decided, rather randomly I thought, to send a script into the BBC Writersroom.

They didn’t like it.

And that was pretty much all I did in March.

Depressing, isn’t it?

APRIL

Ah, right. April must be where it started to get better …

No.

Someone described The Evolved as a “new low for the British Empire”.

I’m quite proud of that.

One of my sketches featured in a ‘Best of …’ thing, despite me not having entered the competition.

That was quite special.

I offered a brief rant about bloggers cloaking themselves in anonymity whilst simultaneously trying to promote their writing … and the next day hordes of people (very small hordes, possibly just two people) revealed their real names.

I’d like to take credit for that, but I suspect it was just a coincidence.

I had a meeting with Don Allen about writing a film for him. I was on top form in that meeting … I babbled incoherently about random things until we ran out of time; and … HOLY SHIT! I got that job.

Cool.

A week later I met Jonathan Sothcott about him using one of my short scripts in a horror anthology – five shorts in one feature. He had my script, one other and needed three more. I pitched six ideas, he loved five of them enough to not even bother contacting the other writer and upped the film to six shorts in one feature.

He turned out to be Martin Kemp’s business partner and between them they knew enough people to pack the film full of celebs.

DOUBLE HOLY SHIT WITH CHOCOLATE MONKEYS ON TOP!

I was right, things did get better in April.

MAY

May kicked off with a bout off contract signing.

Cool.

The BBC Writersroom included me on their blogroll. I was one of nine links then, there’s only ten now – so I’m quite chuffed by that.

Thank you Mr … am I allowed to mention your name? Or will that provoke howls of jealousy from other non-linked-to writers?

I’ll just leave it, you know who you are.

I wrote all six segments of the horror anthology which became known as ‘The Summoning’.

I went to Cannes: crashed a car; crashed some parties, got some expensive dinners bought for me; nearly spent 23,000 Euro on a poker table (not gambling, I nearly bought it in a charity auction); got harrangued by a producer who kept asking innane questions; met some nice people; saw one shit film and spent an obscene amount of money.

Was it worth it?

No.

JUNE

Swore a lot.

Met Martin Kemp.

Walked into a lamp post.

None of these things are connected.

Poured Diet Coke into my laptop.

Optioned another feature film.

Got upset about stamps.

Killed a character because his name started with the wrong letter.

Got my phone bill from Cannes.

Cried about my phone bill from Cannes.

Briefly believed a Welsh woman was an Indian man in a kilt …

AND THEN SOME FUCKING CUNT POURED TEA INTO MY LAPTOP.

Okay, so I poured a teensy, tiny bit of Diet Coke into it a few days earlier; but this guy poured a whole cup tea in and then fucking denied it.

Son of a bitch.

Bastard fucking son of a bitch.

Bastard fucking whore-mongering, cock sucking, son of a bitch.

Oh, and I submitted some sketches to the BBC on a friend’s recommendation.

JULY

Karma Magnet was filmed, starring Gary Kemp and Adele Silva; and directed by Martin Kemp.

I wasn’t there.

The whole laptop saga kicked off. Read all about it here, here and here.

The result?

A gay laptop.

Great.

Almost immediately afterwards I met Abi Titmuss.

She was very polite and didn’t laugh at my girlie pink laptop at all.

At least, not to my face.

Oh, and I lied about talking to John August.

A month of highs and lows.

AUGUST 

Fucked about a bit.

Slagged off creative people.

Mentioned to the world about how nice my wife’s breasts were.

Met a load of the fellow bloggers for the first time, most of whom didn’t believe I exist.

And … um … that’s all I did in August.

Pathetic, isn’t it?

SEPTEMBER

A new first for me, I turned down some paid work.

And then obsessed about it for months weeks … a bit.

Had a request for more sketches from the BBC and bought a toasted sandwich maker to celebrate.

Was sick from eating too many toasted sandwiches.

Slagged off writers in general, for no good reason.

Hit myself in the face with a big bastard sword.

And then fell asleep in a meeting at the BBC.

A particularly good month, I thought.

OCTOBER

Got a bit upset about mobile phones in movies.

Found out the BBC meeting didn’t go quite as badly as I thought.

Wrote a feature film in five days.

Swore never, ever to do it again.

Shouted at the BBC producer for not using script writing software – haven’t spoken to him since.

Met Gary Kemp.

One of the potential feature films got cancelled … and became something a lot, lot cooler which I still can’t talk about.

Wet myself with excitement.

And finally reached saturation point with projects and had to start turning down work in earnest. I turned down a lot of work in October – if you’re one of the rejected: sorry.

NOVEMBER

Wrote a factually, morally and in every other way just plain wrong rant about the term ‘Continuing Drama’.

Sorry.

Admitted to having a Batman costume.

Met Lee Otway.

Got asked to write a treatment for a feature which included the words nudity, vampire, caribbean and Nazis.

That was fun.

Had a cup of tea ruined by an explosion in an airport.

That wasn’t so fun.

And found out the BBC sketch show is using some of my stuff and wants to cast someone really, really exciting in my sketches … but not from the producer who still hasn’t been in touch.

DECEMBER

Got asked to write three more treatments for three more feature films.

Wrote them.

Met Terry Stone.

Slagged off producers.

Slagged off writers, again.

Got a free T-shirt.

And finished off the year by discovering a guy offered to completely fund one of the potential feature films.

 

So, where does this leave me? What conclusions can I draw from this year?

Um … I should learn to keep my fool mouth shut?

Probably.

What does 2008 hold?

Well, so far I’ve got one feature shooting in January, one in February and another ten in development which could spring into production at any moment.

But they probably won’t.

I’ve got a TV series being prepped to do the rounds, with three others hovering in the wings of potentiality and a BBC sketch show hurtling through production as we speak.

Or as I speak.

Or type.

And this morning, I managed to negotiate myself a bacon sandwich.

With HP sauce.

All in all, 2008 is going to be a great year.

TV ambivalence

I want to write for TV, but there is nothing on TV I want to write for.

Except Doctor Who, which is exceedingly unlikely at the moment.

As an aside: There are a few people who contact me and ask me for advice. I have no idea why. One of them asked me: “What’s the best way to go about writing for Doctor Who?” Seriously, who does he think I am? I told him I didn’t know, but to let me know if he finds out.

Every time the BBC runs some kind of competition or scheme I enter it in a really half-arsed manner. A few years back they ran a scheme to find new sitcom writers, someone with fresh ideas and a new approach.

The winner was a guy who’d written a script which was a bit like ‘My Family’. After development, it was exactly the same as ‘My Family’, just with the character’s names changed.

How do you compete in that kind of competition? I mean, it’s great for whoever it was who won – can’t remember who it was, sorry – but why bother? Why not just advertise for spec ‘My Family’ scripts?

The BBC competitions for their various radio sketch shows always spark a particular level of ambivalence in me. I listen to the shows and I don’t find them funny. That’s not to say they’re not funny, just I don’t like them.

How do you write sketches for a show you don’t find funny? I always have a go, because you never know when you might inadvertently hit the right tone; but I never hold out any great hopes.

Similarly, the BBC Writer’s Academy. A chance to be mentored by professionals and be paid to write for some of the BBC’s flagship shows. It’s a fantastic opportunity for anyone who wants to write for Doctors, Holby, Casualty or Eastenders.

And there’s the problem, because I don’t. I can’t stand those programs, they bore the shit out of me. Yet, I always have a vague stab at entering on the grounds I’d rather be paid to write crap than not paid to write stuff I like.

This year, in the section on the application form where it asks: “Why do you want to write for these shows?” I put something along the lines of: “Because I need the money.”

Needless to say, I didn’t get short-listed.

And I’m not sure if I care or not. I don’t want to write for those shows, the training might be interesting; but the actual writing would be soul-destroying.

Again, this is for me, not for someone who loves the shows.

But what else is there? What other avenues are available to writers of my status?

Channel 4 runs their ‘Coming Up’ season every year. I entered this year, with a story I really like … and I’m praying they don’t pick me. I think I would have heard by now if I’d been short listed and I really, really hope I haven’t been.

Why?

Because the same story starts shooting in about two and a half hours, directed by Martin Kemp and starring Gary Kemp, Adele Silva and Toby Richards. It’s the first segment of ‘The Summoning’ to be shot and everyone involved loves it. That’s worth more to me than a half-hour slot buried mid-week near midnight on Channel 4.

But still, the question remains: do I bother entering these competitions or not?

I don’t want the prize, but hopefully the prize is a stepping stone to better things. Should I be feigning enthusiasm and entering these comps? Or should I not bother and make room for people who really, really want to win?

Is it better to just stick to writing what I enjoy, or should I grit my teeth and write something I don’t like just for some imagined gain later on?

I don’t even know if it’s realistic for a writer to sustain himself at any reasonable level in this country without writing for the soaps. I’d like to think it is, that I can make money on my own terms for writing things which excite me; but that’s the problem: there isn’t anything on TV which does excite me.

But there might be soon.

A friend is working on a sketch show at the moment. It’s just got commissioned and he put my name forward as a writer. He explained a couple of the sketches from the pilot to me and I think they’re hysterical. The scope of the show is fantastic and it covers areas and themes I really love. The few scripts I’ve seen are hilarious and the way my friend describes it sounds absolutely amazing.

In short: I really, really want to write for it.

I wrote eleven sketches yesterday and sent them in. Now all I have to do is wait and see if the producer likes them. This isn’t a competition but I am actually nervous about it. I think this is the first time I’ve submitted something to anyone at the BBC and actually cared whether or not they like it.

I’ve a feeling I’m setting myself up for a fall.

Hi-lo-hi

I had a bit of a weird day yesterday, apart from the whole stamps issue; which was really a minor wobble caused by a period of emotional instability … your honour.

I started in a good mood: I’m working on a feature project – that’s good. Someone’s paying me to do it – that’s even better. I had a couple of calls about other work - that’s positively excellent.

Working, getting paid for it and hope for the future: a good position to be in, I’m very happy. In a moment of idle browsing, it all came crashing down.

I was thinking about a script I read recently, which was really good; but I felt flapped a little bit on the change of the acts. To me, it felt like you could end the script at either point and gone away happy – which I don’t think is right. I feel these are the points where if you stop, people should get angry.

I sent off my opinions, which were gratefully received (although it’s hard to see gritted teeth through an email) and I went on with my life.

But then I started wondering.

I know the writer of this script is friends with Mark Mahon, and I’d hung out with Mark for a couple of nights in Cannes, I wondered: did he like it?

Apparently he did, a lot. Quite a lot in fact. Bordering on loads, by the sound of it.

This doesn’t worry me unduly, the industry’s all about opinions, after all. You can send a script to two people and one will love it, the other hate it. Neither opinion is necessarily right or wrong; but if I was the writer in question, I’d go with the award-winning writer’s opinion and ignore me.

I remember talking to Mark, he’s a good guy and has done really well for himself; but I don’t really know much about him apart from what he told me.

Hell, I tell people all sorts of shit. I told the entire Romanian pavilion at Cannes I was the best writer in the UK. I also told a Polish producer I’d won a ‘Best Newcomer’ award for screen writing – neither of these claims are true.

Well, the first one might be. I’m still working on it.

And to be fair, the second one started as a joke which got carried on too far and the opportunity to reveal it was a gag/lie never arose. (If you ever read this blog, sorry! There was a punchline attached which never survived the sudden shift in conversation.)

So anyway, I thought I’d check Mark Mahon out, see if I could substantiate any of the things we were chatting about and I found this article here.

And instantly felt really, really depressed.

What the fuck have I been doing with my life? This guy’s made some serious progress, what he’s achieved is incredible and it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.

I’ve never pursued this contest/spec script/make your own movie route. Partly because it seems too unrealistic – kind of walking in at the top. Yeah, you hear about people doing it, but surely the larger percentage of working writers start small and build up? There’s something about aiming for the top without working your way up which really jars with me. Plus, I don’t think I’m good enough yet.

I know I’m not a genius scriptwriter, I just don’t have that spark – but I am good at what I do. I seem to be slightly better than average, people do like my work and that’s good enough for me. I’m quite happy to pay my dues and get better with time.

Then I read about someone like Mark and the reality hits me – there are people who write scripts which blow people away first time. Writers who are infinitely better than me and it starts me wondering: am I pursuing the wrong path? Should I ditch all the low paid projects I’m doing and concentrate on that killer spec which will bag me respect and awards? Is it better to build up a raft of low budget credits or keep pushing for that one break-through idea?

It was about this time I realised I’d run out of stamps. Hence the low self-esteem induced hissy fit. I really must remember not to blog when I’m angry.

My self-loathing lasted most of the night. I went to Kung Fu and the teacher was running late, so I ran the first half of the class and took it out on the students.

When I got home I had a whole bunch of emails from the producer of ‘The Summoning’: Jonathan Sothcott. They contained a bunch of photos of the cast for me to put on my website. With each attachment I opened I felt better and better about myself and my work. All these people like the film enough to want to be in it, I can’t be that bad.

This is the list so far:

Gary Kemp, Martin Kemp, Adele Silva, Anna Brecon, Gillian MacGregor, Terry Stone, Paul Marc Davis and Hugo Myatt (Look! It’s Treguard!).

And these are just the ones who’ve confirmed so far. There are quite a few others on the list who are apparently up for it (and being in the film – ha! Never pass up the opportunity for a Carry On gag).

There are photos of them all, arranged in a neat pyramid, on my website here; but if you want the full effect, go through the front door:

www.phillipbarron.co.uk >Projects>Feature Films>Pre-Production>The Summoning.

All of a sudden, life is looking rosy again. I finished the day as I started: on a high, pleased with the way my career is moving ahead. Yeah it’s slow and I’m not leap-frogging straight to Hollywood fame. I doubt very much I’ll be interviewed by any scriptwriting magazines in the imminent future, but you know what? I don’t care.

I’m doing something I love – no wait, I’m getting paid to do something I love and with so many projects on the go, one of them’s bound to get made soon and who knows where that will lead?

All in all, life is good.

Winning isn’t everything.

I was watching THE X FACTOR today, I’m not proud of it, I just was; and I was trying to relate the career aspirations of the singers to my own as a scriptwriter. I know winning the competition will instantly put the victor at the top of the pile, it’s a huge boost into the music industry; but it’s not the only path. I found myself wondering what I’d do if I were in a similar competition as a scriptwriter.

Like the contestants, I have a belief in my ability, I have a passion for my chosen career and a drive to be successful. Like the contestants, I would love to win such a competition; but I can’t see myself focusing on it as the be all and end all. I keep plugging away at writing, convinced I will eventually achieve every goal I set myself; I try my hardest, if it’s not good enough, I pick myself up and try harder next time. Resilience and perserverence seem to be getting me where I want to go.

I may be wrong, I don’t watch the program regularly, but it seems to me that these people don’t think like that. They all act as if this one competition is the only route to the top. True, it’s a ladder from the bottom of the board to the winning square; but they don’t seem to realise they can also work their way around the board.

Few of them seem to be in bands already, or singing and performing on a regular basis. They seem to want success handed to them without all that tedious effort.

Great, don’t we all?

But the odds of winning the competition are very small, so why put all your eggs in one basket? Why not try as hard as you can anyway? Then, if you win, fantastic, you’re there; if you don’t, oh well, keep on plodding onwards and upwards. Losing a competition like THE X FACTOR isn’t the end of the game, it just means you have to play for a little longer.

The ones who don’t make it; why are they then rude to the judges? Do they genuinely think abusive behaviour and language will change their minds? If you believe in your talents, thank them for their comments, ask for any advice they might have, and move right along. Shouting and screaming just seems like burning your boats.

Say you are successful in the near future, you may need to work with the judges again; having called them names is unlikely to endear you to them. I’ve had offers of work from people who didn’t like the script I initially sent them; presumably on the grounds I showed some promise and didn’t abuse them for not recognising my “genius”.

If people knock you back, find out why they don’t like your work (not everyone thinks you’re as great as you know you are; doesn’t mean they’re right) and see if you can learn something. Be polite, you may find your detractors are willing to work with you the next time you meet. Above all, shrug, dust yourself off and press onwards. There are other ladders on the board, they may not reach all the way to the top; but every step is a step closer, regardless of how long the journey takes.