Gutted

So I’m working on this treatment at the moment and it’s all going well, I know what I want to write and am making good progress … but there’s little nagging thought: I’m missing a couple of scenes.

Basically, there are scenes I want to include between a guy and a girl which I haven’t found space for yet; and every time I look for space I can’t find it because each scene moves logically and seamlessly onto the next one. I could randomly stick them in, but that’s not screen writing – that’s just a fucking mess and my number seven complaint about bad scripts: if the scenes don’t flow into each other, it’s not a movie – it’s just a random collection of scenes.

So there’s no space for these scenes, which I assume means they’re not important because it’s not a romance and the girl is neither protagonist, antagonist nor love interest. As eminent brain care specialist, Gag Halfrunt might say: she’s just this girl, you know?

I leave out the scenes and I carry on, ploughing steadily through the treatment towards the end of act two when … oh shit.

I’ve reached the point in the treatment where I need to end act two (somewhere on page 8, if you’re interested – this is based on 1 page of treatment = 10 pages of script or screentime) and there is no way to hit the planned end of act two.

Did I say ‘Oh shit?’

I did?

Marvellous.

But hang on, maybe this isn’t a bad thing? Maybe there’s a whole new way to end the second act which either still leads into the planned third act or, even better, leads to a completely new third act which trumps the old one and immeasurably improves the story?

No.

Bugger.

As far as I can tell, the best that can happen from here until the end is it will ramble on for a bit and then stop. Not exactly thrilling.

So what’s gone wrong? Why have I come out of the dense thicket of act two in the wrong place? Why can’t I see the finish line, the prize, the treasure … the end?

Obviously, it must have something to do with those scenes between the girl and the guy – something about the things I wanted them to say to each other must steer the guy towards the correct end of act two. But if that’s true, which I suspect it is since it’s beginning to dawn on me the girl embodies the reasons the guy is making the wrong decisions, then why don’t they fit anywhere in the story? Why is the sequence of scenes seamless without the vital scenes needed to keep it on course?

And there’s the answer.

The girl keeps the guy on course, and therefore the story too. Without her input, he’s making the wrong decisions and will continue to make the wrong decisions until the film runs out of time and just stops. Now I know this, I can trace the story back to the point where it goes wrong. Now I can see half of the seamless scenes are actually seamless in the wrong direction.

Bugger.

Oh, I said that did I?

Fuck-toggle?

I’m pretty sure I’ve never said that before.

So where does that leave me? It leaves me leaning on the delete key and rushing perilously back towards page 4 and the point the story began to meander. It does still cross the mid-point at the bottom of page 5 and for a moment I think I maybe able to stop the word-slaughter there, but then I realise it crosses it in the wrong direction so all that has to go too.

Back to page 4.

Arse-phlegm.

I, like the treatment, am gutted.

2008

Another year over (nearly). How was your 2008?

Mine was suspiciously like this:

JANUARY

George MacDonald Fraser died. I was a bit upset about that.

I set out to write a feature in six days (due to some ridiculously bad time-management skills). I actually managed to write it in three … and it was shit.

I found out I had no idea what blue pages actually are. Or rather, I knew what they were, but not exactly what they looked like and how to do them. I’m still not 100% sure but I’ve come up with my own version and no one’s complained so far.

Whilst on location for ‘K‘ I managed to work out a cheap way of throwing an actor off the roof.

I got fired from a film and inexplicably became obsessed with tin foil as a direct result. Looking back on that, it might have been a teeny tiny nervous breakdown.

I learnt how to write a sex scene which won’t upset actresses, then got called a sexist by Piers for using the word ‘actresses’.

Weirdly, someone asked me to put more swearing into a script. I’ve never been asked for that before or since.

‘K‘ started shooting.

I began the script for ‘Mixed Up‘ and immediately tried to hide under the tin foil again.

I bought my first ever calendar.

And to wrap January up, BBC Three announced the airdate for ‘The Wrong Door‘.

 

FEBRUARY

I learnt how to keep actors happy. Or happier, anyway.

I finished the first draft of ‘Mixed Up‘ and for some reason felt the need to post a video of my friends and I massacring ‘I Believe In A Thing Called Love’.

IMDB made me happy.

After a couple of years of faithful service, I abandoned this room:

And moved into this one:

Which has a sofa for me to lie on whilst wrapped in tin foil:

And a light switch shaped like a nipple:

All to make space for my soon-to-be-arriving daughter. My old office looks more like this now:

And then I got memed. I didn’t like it.

 

MARCH

I decided ‘Mixed Up‘ was going to be my last low budget film and from now on I was going to concentrate purely on some TV specs.

I started work on two more low budget films. Since I can’t remember what they were, they obviously went the way of most low budget films and imploded on contact with reality.

I wrote a lot of shit about strategy.

Adele Silva completely failed to mention me in Hello!

I learnt taking meetings when your brain is in a different time zone is a bad idea.

I got invited to a mysterious gathering.

I learnt I used to live in Croydon – or at least that’s what the Croydon Guardian believes.

I worked out how to introduce a character without having her in the scene.

And then I got dressed up as Captain Kirk.

 

APRIL

Wow, are you still reading? Really?

I went to the thing I got invited to – a BBC shindig and chance to meet the producers of the BBC’s New Comedy Unit. Where I stood in the corner for a few hours, got very hot, very angry and completely failed to meet any of the producers of the BBC’s New Comedy Unit.

I realised there are very few female sidekicks.

I picked up even more low budget film work.

Abi Titmuss completely failed to mention me in The Sun and then promised to continue to never mention me in public. I decided not to believe she existed.

Karma Magnet turned up online. People seemed to like it.

Abi Titmuss made good her promise and failed to mention me in Closer.

I confirmed, once and for all, actors don’t really have sex in sex scenes. Unless it’s porn.

I got to write for Doctor Who. Not the show, or even the current Doctor, but for Sylvester McCoy and that’s good enough for me.

I decided some actors needed punching in the throat.

And then ‘Mixed Up‘ started shooting, so I went and hid in the Caribbean.

 

MAY

 I finally gave in and went on set. It was fun. I made tea.

Shouted at people for getting upset about not winning competitions. If you’ve entered the Red Planet Prize this year, you should read this post again.

I had a day off. That was nice too.

Someone said something nice about me on IMDB. I immediately became suspicious.

I had another shout at people for being idiots and starving themselves to death whilst failing as a writer. Get a proper job, for fuck’s sake.

Had my first, and so far only, guest post.

Wrote a short guide to dealing with notes which basically involved a lot of swearing and some minor violence.

Hmm … May was a bit rubbish, wasn’t it?

 

JUNE

I decided to murder my old spec scripts and just deleted them.

I rescued  my old spec scripts from the recycle bin and hid them where I couldn’t find them.

‘Fleeced‘ started filming – that’s three features so far this year.

Got another black belt – also my third.

Went on a bit about loving the treatment I was writing. I wish I hadn’t now.

Shouted a bit about questions and then took two weeks off because:

Seriously, who gives a fuck about the rest of the year?

 

JULY

Oh, you’re still reading, are you?

Fine, come on then.

Shall we just have one more photo of Alice?

 Aw.

Anyway.

In July I organised a museum heist.

Got invited to a screening of The Wrong Door.

Went to the screening of The Wrong Door, met loads of people including Doctor Fox, Sarah Morgan and her boyfriend, didn’t make a tit of myself (except with Doctor Fox) and managed to steal a T-shirt:

Two days later, I had to give the T-shirt back. A handy tip – if you steal something, don’t mention it on your blog.

Learnt how to be constructive with my criticism rather than just scrawling SHIT on the script in red ink, wiping my arse on it and sending it back.

Met Gordon Robertson after knowing him via email (not in the biblical sense, that’s impossible) for a few years. He’s a nice bloke.

And then waffled on a bit about random shit to avoid having to do any real work.

 

AUGUST

Crap. Still working on that fucking treatment.

Got asked an annoying question.

Got offered a shit load of imaginary money.

Got asked if I wanted to run a sketch writing workshop. I didn’t. Then I thought I might. Then the guy stopped talking to me. So I didn’t.

Didn’t have dinner with Gordy Hoffman.

Bought a new computer:

It has touchscreen. I like touching it.

Discovered cats and touchscreen computers don’t mix.

The Wrong Door got a lot of publicity in the run up to the show – 12 of the 14 reviews I read were very positive. 2 were very negative.

The Wrong Door kicked off. So did a guy called Ben Randall who was so upset he didn’t find a programme funny he came all the way over to this blog to call me names.

 

SEPTEMBER

The Wrong Door had the highest opening of any show on BBC Three (about four people) which seemed to greatly upset a handful of Internet loonies who went on and on and on about it for fucking ages.

I made the mistake of suggesting the people coming to my blog to call me names because they didn’t find a TV programme funny were a bit mental. Several people took great exception to this and went far out of their way to call me names in an effort to prove how mistaken I was about their lack of sanity and a real life.

Got my first death threat. Actually I got two death threats and one offer to rape my three month old daughter to ‘teach me a lesson’. That was nice. Perfectly sane behaviour that, I thought.

Still working on that fucking treatment.

Had a superb meeting where people offered me lots of money. I didn’t, and still don’t, really believe them.

Got offered another low budget feature film. That’s more like it.

Yet more abuse about The Wrong Door. One guy has taken to posting insults then changing names and agreeing with himself. He doesn’t seem to be able to grasp concepts like IP addresses, I can see it’s all one guy. I assumed this was a guy because I like to think women have better things to do.

There was a new trailer for LVJ. Again.

An old project threatened to spring back to life … and then didn’t.

Finally finished that fucking treatment.

Oh and a bit more abuse about The Wrong Door.

On a serious note, all that abuse was a bit wearing. You write in the privacy of your own room for years until someone decides they want to make your work. You’re pleased, they’re pleased, the show comes out and generally people either like it or turn it off. Then a small contingent of morons think it’s perfectly acceptable to come and call you names, threaten your family and generally behave like cunts because – horror of horrors – THEY don’t like it. It’s depressing and it’s demotivating. I expected to be slagged off in papers if the critics didn’t like something I’d written. I expected to be slagged off on forums or other people’s blogs – all that’s fair enough; but the sheer persistence of a few individuals who felt the need to come here and spout off about it did actually get me down.

Until Oli sent me a cartoon. Which explained everything and really cheered me up. I decided I would find some way to repay him, somehow.

I completely failed to do some writing and in a gargantuan procrastination session, I redesigned my website.

 

OCTOBER

I revealed the one true secret of screenwriting THEY don’t want you to know.

The Wrong Door finished.

The abuse didn’t.

Took on far too much work and struggled to cope.

Found out I didn’t have a second act. Bit of a bugger that one.

Had a dream about Jason Arnopp, James Moran and an over-ground submarine.

Fixed the second act thing and discovered it no longer matched the ending.

Wrote a whiny post about writing treatments in the hope a certain producer was reading and would let me off for not turning in a treatment he was expecting. It didn’t work. Turns out he can’t read.

Wrote a writer’s vision for a sales pack – I don’t have any vision.

That guy’s still answering himself on The Wrong Door posts.

Found out I’m a celebrity.

 

NOVEMBER

Is anybody still reading?

Why?

Are you fucking mental? Go outside and play.

November:

The second-act-less treatment went to script stage. Bugger. Now I have to write the fucking thing.

Saw some footage from Fleeced. Was pleasantly surprised.

Found out I’m an anal bastard.

That loon is still at it, still posting bile and answering himself. It’s been three months!

Didn’t get an email from Kristen Kreuk.

Made Alice do some writing for me:

She’s better than me, so I banned her from using the computer.

Got horribly busy.

Actually did some work.

Ate some soup.

Got upset about writing the first ten pages of a script.

Painted the lounge, got high on paint fumes, wrote a load of shit about writing sketches. I have no idea what my point was.

Got a request about re-writing. Wrote a loooooooooooooooooooooooong post about it.

Got sacked from a project I didn’t know I was involved in.

Learnt that A and B are the same thing.

Talked about bookcases and wallpaper. No idea why. Probably trying to avoid working.

Got all arsey about the word ‘what’.

That lone loon’s finally stopped commenting. I miss him, the crazy bastard.

 

DECEMBER

Hooray! December! This post is finally over and we can all go home!

Assuming any of you are still here.

Met some more writers in the pub: Paul Campbell, Danny Stack, Lara Greenway, Michelle Lipton and Oli … as well as the normal crowd. They were all nice. I told Danny and Michelle the secret which isn’t really a secret – just something I don’t bother telling people. Danny immediately left the pub, Michelle wanted to hug me.

Got angry with ten imaginary people because there were ten of them.

Panicked. Finished the script.

Cut out every other word in the vague feeling it might make it exciting and mysterious. It didn’t.

Told people how to wait. Not sure why, probably avoiding some other work.

Declared my love affair with Apparitions. Which I still haven’t seen the last episode of. I’m a fickle fucker sometimes.

Had some fun. It was fun.

Met James Moran. Told him the secret which isn’t really a secret – he seemed to find it funny.

And there you go. That was 2008 for me. How was it for you? 

Big bloody hole

So I sat down today to write this treatment. It’s a horror film, it’s got a good premise, I know who the characters are and I’m ready to go.

Step one: white index cards to mark out the opening image, inciting incident, first act break, midpoint, second act break and closing image.

Easy.

Step two: put the murders down on red cards. There are six murders throughout the film, so I mark them all down, in order and roughly how and why they happen.

Brilliant.

Step three: blue index cards for scenes I want to include. These are scenes which illustrate the theme, are essential clues to solving the mystery, reveal character or are generally just cool and I want them in there. Basically, these are the scenes I know have to happen.

It’s all shaping up nicely. Step away from the board and what have I got … ?

A big bloody hole where the second half of act two should be.

Fuck socks.

This isn’t meant to be a definitive guide to the film. I don’t plot out every scene on cards before writing the treatment, just the main points to get the spine and shape of the thing. I like to nail down the structure and fill in a few bits of interest to remind me why I wanted to write this thing and the rest I work out organically as I’m writing the treatment. I find this mixture of preparation and on the job creation works best for me. Afterwards I go back to the board and fill in a card for every scene.

The preliminary carding helps me see, with visual aides, where the gaps are. There’s always a bit I haven’t really thought out properly, usually a bit covered by a ‘hi jinks’ ensue type phrase. In this case the gap is a whole quarter of the film. There is nothing going on except one murder and surely that can’t be right? Surely the murders should be getting more frequent towards the end, not less?

The midpoint is when the characters realise there’s a crazed murderer stalking them and all hell breaks loose. The end of the second act is when the characters decide to fight back. Damn it, they’re just not taking this shit anymore.

So what the hell are they doing in the meantime? According to the one pager they’re involved in a deadly cat and mouse game throughout the house and grounds. But now I come to look at it, what the fuck does that mean? If they’re in the grounds, why don’t they just fuck off home? ‘Too far to walk’ is not much of a reason when there’s a knife happy lunatic on your trail.

“Quick, run away!”

“Fuck off! I’m wearing heels and it’s two miles to the nearest village.”

“Is it! Lordy, we’d best go back inside with the homicidal maniac and make a cup of tea.”

Doesn’t ring true, does it?

That’s actual dialogue from the script, by the way.

So I’ve been staring at this story abyss all day and several things have become clear:

1. If you stare at things for too long, your eyes stop working. This has something to do with the blind spot in your eye where the optic nerve is. The reason you don’t normally notice a big fucking hole in your vision is because your eyes move about a lot and your brain cleverly fills in the gaps.
2. I should stop googling stuff about blind spots and get on with the treatment.
3. A character has completely disappeared. She turns up for the finale but seems to have done nothing in-between whilst everyone else is running around screaming about a murderer. Perhaps she was cleaning the oven?
4. The characters should just get together in one room and wait for the baddie to come to them. Then they should fuck him up.
5. Maybe the baddie should have a gun to prevent all the characters waiting in one place and ganging up on him?
6. I need all of the characters to spontaneously lose their mobiles and their ability to open external doors or smash windows.
7. I need to rethink this. A lot.

I’m back

… and I’m kicking bottom.

So, d’ya miss me? Huh? Did ya? D’ya miss me?

I bet you did.

Come on, ‘fess up; who’s been waiting eagerly for my return?

None of you? Really?

Oh.

Okay, fine. Sod you then.

I’ve been having a great time. Thank you all for your congratulations on the last post, they’re all much appreciated. So far Alice is a very laid back baby …

She tends to sleep more than she whinges and we’re all feeling very rested and happy.

I haven’t done a scrap of writing in the last two weeks and I’m itching to get back into it. The next week’s already mapped out and a few other projects are lurking in the wings waiting for a spare day or two to shine.

Although I’ve been bone idle for fourteen whole days, things have been ticking over in my absence and stuff has been happening without any extra effort from me. In the last two weeks:

1) Fleeced started shooting. This is my third feature to go into production this year and I can’t help thinking one every two months isn’t a bad average. The cast includes George Calil, Alan Convy and Natasha White; and it’s directed by Humaira Shah … beyond that I don’t really know anything. I’ll post more info as and when I get it.

 

 

2) An old project, one I thought long since dead, has resurfaced and threatens to spring into life once more. I was so convinced this one was dead it hasn’t even crossed my mind for months; but apparently there is a way forward. Wheels have been set in motion, steam is building up and I’m currently wandering the globe (or at least the UK … and by email, which probably doesn’t count as wandering) trying to get the band back together.

3) An extremely well established project, one which had got so far down the line it didn’t seem feasible it could go wrong, has gone wrong. Sort of. In the best traditions of the industry it threatened to implode in a frenzy of incompetence, political bullshit and bitchy back-stabbing. Although, that may have all been sorted now.

4) I got an invite to a screening of The Wrong Door, which takes place next week. I’m looking forward to this as I have absolutely no idea of what to expect. The weird thing about working on a sketch show is you don’t know what any of the other material will be like or how much of it will be yours. To be fair, I have read a handful of other sketches from other writers; but I’ve no idea if any of them made the final cut.

And 5) I got a few quotes in an article on TwelvePoint.com, written by our very own Lucy. Since this article was featured on the very first day of the launch of this fantastic new site; I’m chuffed to have at least got a vague mention. Probably not quite as chuffed as Lucy to have actually written the article; but chuffed none-the-less.

And that’s about it. Isn’t that enough considering I’ve done nothing for two weeks?

Oh, and to back up Stuart Perry’s post about Cyril Connolly’s quote “The pram in the hallway is the enemy of art” …

Bollocks.

Where there’s a deadline, there’s a way.

Tin foil

Well, that was a bad week.

I think I can honestly say the last week has been the worst of my fledgling career so far. Horrible just about sums it up; but doesn’t really convey the gut-wrenching fear, disappointment and rage which left me on the verge of tears.

And by ‘verge of tears’ I mean ‘bawling my eyes out, lying curled up on the bathroom floor, wrapped in tin foil and screaming for my mummy’.

Why tin foil?

I don’t know, that’s how upset I was.

Still, it seems to be almost over now and life is becoming sunny again. I may blog about it at some point, but probably not. It’s all a bit embarrassing and totally my fault.

So instead I’m going to talk about some random shit I was too numb to notice during the last seven or eight days.

Like on Monday, when I visited one of the locations for K and watched the fight choreographer put some of the actors through their paces. There were swords and tonfa and … well that’s all I saw; but they were being flung around all over the shop.

Or night club, I suppose.

Then we visited a rooftop location to discuss how we’re going to throw an actor off without it costing too much.

I think hiring twins is the answer.

One who can act and the other who’s suicidal.

I’ve finally discovered what the issue was with the difference in page count – it turns out Final Draft fixed a bug which added the odd blank line into the script. I was running 7.1.1 on my desktop (104 pages) and 7.1.3 on my laptop (102 pages) – which is not a problem until you lock the script for production and suddenly it all goes haywire.

I’m away from home a lot and need to be able to work on the script from both machines.

The solution?

Well, the best solution would have been to update my desktop; but the production team have all been working from the 104 page version. So solution number 2 is to uninstall Final Draft from my laptop and reinstall the older version.

Great, then I can work on the script while I’m out and about.

Except … no, wait. There was a reason why I updated the laptop – it’s running Windows Vista and Final Draft 7.1.1 won’t save as PDF in Vista.

So now I have a script I can work on, but no way of sending it.

Ah, no! I can print the revised pages using a PDF printer (CutePDF – because I like the name).

Okay, now we’re cooking.

Except no, the director can’t open pages printed to PDF, only ones saved as PDF.

Why?

Who fucking knows?

So now I have to send the CutePDF printed pages out to the First AD for distribution, with a one page per scene version for the continuity person.

I’m sure she has a technical name, but I don’t know what it is.

Then I have to email the Final Draft version back home so Mandy can save it as PDF and send it back. Then I can send it to the director.

Yay!

No.

Bugger.

For some reason the text is mostly green. Green is the current revision colour, but it shouldn’t save green text into PDF.

Now I’m really confused; and, as some of you may have noticed, wittering on about PDF formats to stop myself thinking about …

Fuck it, it’s no good.

I need more tin foil.

R.I.P.

George MacDonald Fraser is dead.

I’m a bit upset about that.

If you haven’t read any of the Flashman books, then you should. Go and buy them.

Go on.

Don’t just buy one and see if you like it, buy them all.

I promise you won’t be disappointed.

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.

The best thing I ever wrote

A couple of times recently people have pointed to a specific script or treatment as being the ‘best thing I’ve ever written’; which is either a compliment or an insult, depending on your point of view.

I don’t know about best, but I have a favourite – a short script I wrote a few years back in a bored couple of hours. I love it, and so do a lot of people who’ve read it.*

It’s had the odd flurry of interest and has even earned me an option fee – an option I’ve just discovered ran out in March.†

I really should pay more attention to these things.

I love the script and I love the idea; unfortunately no one in their right mind would sink the kind of money needed into a short like this. It’s a script I don’t think will ever see the light of day.

Oh well, it was fun to write and (rightly or wrongly) I’m still quite proud of it.

Since it’s no longer under option, I thought I’d post it here on the off chance anyone with more money than sense reads my blog.

This is the synopsis:

 1939 – 1945 pm.

 

The entire history of the second World War in fifteen minutes from a cul-de-sac.

 

A funny and inventive view of WWII from beginning to end, set in a cul-de-sac where all the nations are represented by neighbouring families. It contains all (or at least all I could fit in fifteen minutes) of the major historical events and characters of this period.

And this is the script: 1939-1945pm

Now I’ve just got to get round to taking it off my CV.

——————————————————————–

*Or at least they say they love it. People lie a lot.

†That explains the apologetic phone call from the director, I had wondered what that was about.

The verdict’s in …

Balls.

It wasn’t good enough.

Time for a rethink.

A feature in five days – Day Four

Oh dear.

I started off well today … no, actually, I didn’t. I woke up late did that writer thing of finishing breakfast and rolling straight into lunch and didn’t sit down to write until about 13.30.

Still, it’s 02.30 now, so I’ve done a good 13 hours writing.

Apart from tea breaks, dinner, supper, afternoon snack and the odd snuggle with Mandy.

Which probably means a good 10 hours work.

Unless I deduct time for browsing the web, faffing about and other general procrastination.

Which I’m not going to.

The first half of my writing day seemed to go quite well: 14 pages, taking me up to page 58; but … that only took me up to the green and blue card in the centre of the second row.

One card further on than yesterday.

One card!

Jesus!

That can’t be right.

That means it’ll be about 70-odd pages up to the mid-point.

That’s really not right.

So I went back to the beginning and hacked like a motherfucker.

If you don’t know how a motherfucker hacks, ask one.

8 pages I hacked out.

8.

Which left my new daily total at 6 pages.

Uh-oh.

Furiously onward did I scribble, bashing out another 7 pages.

And then immediately deleted one of them.

Scribble, scribble, manic scribble.

Until I closed on page 63.

I’m at the mid-point now – the centre (ish) of the film.

The third act, as mentioned yesterday, will be short. Which puts the probable length at 110 pages – my worst case scenario.

I can’t bear to do the math.

28 pages written, 9 hacked out – 19 pages further on than yesterday.

That’s bad.

That means I probably have to write 47 pages on Sunday.

47!

I’m not working tomorrow, no matter what happens. Sunday, Sunday is going to be the testing ground.

Place your bets ladies and gentlemen, place your bets.