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” …
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.
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 monthsweeks … 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’.
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.
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.
I need a certain amount of money before a certain date or something unpleasant is going to happen.
I’m not talking ‘pliers and toenails’ kind of unpleasant, just something I’d rather not have to do.
I don’t normally worry about money. Generally, money is just something which drops through the letterbox whenever I need it - it’s a convenient arrangement which suits me nicely; but with baby on the way I have to be a bit more realistic. Mandy and I had a long chat, weighed up the options and realised there weren’t any - I had to be a man about it.
So I hid in the toilet and cried myself to sleep.
The decision was made, I girded my loins (which was fun) and reached for the phone … and it bleeped.
An email.
From the producer of one of the five new feature projects I’ve acquired over the last month or so. A chance encounter has brought him face to face with a man who fancies investing in a feature film. The producer mentioned the film we were planning and the guy’s interested - he’d like to invest.
How much?
All of it.
The whole budget, one investor, there’s the money - go and make a movie.*
Holy shit.
My fee?
Somewhere around the exact amount of money I need to avoid any unpleasantness.
Did I say holy shit?
What about holy fuck?
Fuck me ragged?
Now, I don’t know about you; but if I saw my life in a movie I wouldn’t believe it. You couldn’t write a scene where two people are discussing the need for x amount of money and then have someone else ring up and offer it to them.
Life isn’t supposed to work like that, it really isn’t.
Luckily, life (or at least my life) doesn’t seem to know that.
Which set off a bit of random paranoia. How come the universe seems to be operating in my favour? How come when I need something it just turns up? It’s almost as if, somehow, the universe is looking out for me. As if the whole of creation is bending to my will, for my benefit.
Or at least the section of it which deals with money and writers.
Maybe I am the centre of the universe and all of you are here purely for my amusement?
Nah.
It’s an easy thought process to get swept up in though. The human mind is not designed to deal with coincidences. We build things, therefore anything which seems constructed must have been built by someone else.
Which is the central theme of ‘Karma Magnet‘, a man who gets carried away with this idea of the universe working for him.
It’s a behaviour I see all the time in other people, particularly the devoutly religious† and spiritually inclined‡- an inability to recognise a coincidence as a coincidence and an ego big enough to assume the vastness of infinity actually cares whether or not you bump into someone from school in Marbella.
It doesn’t, but it’s a hard thought to shift.
Regardless, one of the five has gone from a possible project to a very probable project and I’ve gone from excited to very excited to being a little scared.
I’ve also found out when they need the script by and how much time I’ve got between now and then.
HOLY FUCKING MONKEY SHIT!
Enjoy your Christmas, I don’t know if I will.
——————————————————
* It’s not quite this simple, there’s a load of paperwork to be sorted through first - but assuming nothing goes wrong, it’s going to happen very fast.
There’s precious little* advice on the net about how to handle rejection.
I’m not talking about being rejected. That’s easy to deal with, I have a simple three step formula:
Forget you’ve sent stuff to people; that way, if they don’t get back to you, it’s not a problem since you weren’t expecting them to anyway.
Understand that this is just one person’s opinion about one product - it’s not a fact and it doesn’t apply to you as a person/your entire catalogue of works.
Find out where they live and set fire to their pets.
Easy. I never feel bad about rejection.
Mass puppy murder, yes; but rejection … not bothered at all.
What no one tells you¤ is as you start to get a little bit more well known/successful/lucky, you get flooded† with job offers and you have to turn some of them down.
I’ve been living in denial of this fact for a while now.
“Pile it on!”
“More work!”
“I can cope!”
“Oh fuck, no I can’t!”
In this last week, I’ve had three offers from people I’ve worked with before … and I’ve had to say no to all of them.
I hated doing it, and I’m still not sure if it’s the right decision; but I did it all the same.
Last year (or maybe the year before), working on a low paid project, with slim chances of getting made, was fine. I’d rather be working for a little money for someone who actually wanted to read what I’ve written, than writing a spec script for no money and then have to persuade someone to read it afterwards. It’s a simple formula:
Little money + a first timer pushing your script forwards > No money + no interest
At least in my world.
I still believe that, I really do; but now there are extra factors:
More money + someone famous pushing your script forward > a little money + a first timer pushing your script forward.
My life situation has changed (for the better, but in a worrying way). There’s a lot more‡ work on offer and only so much Phill to go around.∞ In essence, I need more money than I did before and I’ve got more work to choose from.
This doesn’t mean a higher paid project is automatically more worthwhile than a lower/no money project, because it doesn’t quite work like that.
The formula for this calculation looks something like this:
[n(n-1)/2 - 2D]/[n(n-1)/2] = 1 - 4D/n(n-1)
Where ‘D’ means … um … a doggie, maybe? And ‘n’ means I just picked a random formula off a random webpage.
Okay, so I don’t have a formula - which only makes it harder.
There are some well paid gigs on the table right now which might happen, or they might not. There are some high profile projects in production/in development which may lead to even better things, or they may not.
Then there are the projects with people I know, like and want to work with but who have no money.
It’s all very difficult.
The end result is I’m having to turn people down. I’ve gone from rejectee to rejecter and I don’t like it. In a way, it’s nice a nice position to be in, I have a choice of projects. In another way, it’s horrible and I hate it. I have to say no to people.
Hopefully, these people understand and won’t take it personally. I hate to think I’ve upset anyone … but I’m hiding my cat just in case.
———————————————————–
* I don’t actually know, I haven’t looked.
¤ Or maybe they do? See the above note.
† A very small flood, more of a damp basement; but you get the idea.
‡ One is a lot more than none. Two is a lot more than one. Three, four? We’re getting into loads now.
∞ Although a steady stream of biscuits and an ever decreasing exercise regime seems to be increasing the amount of raw material.
It’s the first half of her post which intrigues me, the part about rape rather than the part about ‘Wolf Creek’ which I haven’t seen, and the heated slanging match in the comments section. A few years back I read a book called ‘The Gift of Fear’ by Gavin de Becker which, amongst other things, talks about stalkers and rapists.
Gavin’s argument (as far as I can remember from reading the book once about five years ago) is rape, and stalking in particular, are instituionalised in our culture because no never means no.
For example, you may have this conversation with someone in a pub:
“Do you want a drink?”
“No thanks.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh go on then.”
Which instantly sets a precedent: no doesn’t mean no, it means persuade me.
Similarly, a lot of rom-coms work on the same premise: one party (normally the man) is in love with the second party (normally the woman). He declares his love for her, but she isn’t interested. He then pursues her until she realises the mistake she made and loves him back.
Which certainly sounds like stalking to me, and again illustrates: no doesn’t mean no.
The basic premise of having to win someone’s heart, having to prove yourself worthy by persistence, is a dubious one at best. With so many tales of love, both in print and in moving image, repeating this message, is it any wonder people go off the rails and become stalkers?
A couple of days ago, a producer asked me to come up with some short films ideas for a friend of his. I thought about this premise and suggested a short film where the first five minutes is a standard rom-com from the guy’s perspective where he pursues the object of his affection. The second half is from her perspective where we see the fear she lives in as this weirdo stalks her.
I think it’s a great idea, unfortunately the person concerned once suffered from a stalker and is unlikely to want to relive the experience for a film. It’s one to keep on the back burner though.
Unless someone nicks it from here and makes it first. Perhaps, in retrospect, I shouldn’t post my half formed concepts on the Internet? Oh well, chances are someone else has already made it anyway. Not that that’s a problem: you don’t have to do something first, you just have to do it better.
Back to the subject of responsibility: I’ve tried my hardest to stay away from this ‘Do you?’ ‘No.’ ‘Go on.’ ‘Okay.’ formula in films. It’s difficult, mainly because it’s such an institutionalised formula and most people don’t see anything wrong with it until you point it out; but I feel it’s my responsibility not to propogate it any further.
I was at a friend’s house recently and she offered me a posh chocolate, which I accepted - something which put her and her boyfriend out.
“You’re supposed to decline once and wait for to be offered again.”
Eh? It turns out, they didn’t really want me to have a chocolate - they wanted them all for themselves. They offered out of politeness, and (apparently) etiqutte demands you say no. If they offer again, then it’s a genuine offer and you can happily take one. They had no intention of offering a second time.
My first thought here was “Fuck off and get a life” but I’m a genial soul and didn’t say it. My second thought was “If you don’t want me to have it, why offer?” but I didn’t want to get into a debate about etiquette, politeness and being honest with your friends.
Instead, I opted for explaining the concept of ‘no means no’ and accusing them of being rapists.
Which, I feel, was the responsible course of action.
I’m resting on my laurels and I haven’t even got any. Time was, I’d finish one project and bang straight on with something else.
Not working for someone else? Write a spec script.
Finished what I’m doing but don’t want to go to bed yet? Write a handful of sketches.
Got a spec project I’m happy with? Look for someone to send it to.
At the moment, I’m not doing any of that. I’m busy, true - but not so busy I can’t squeeze extra work in. Today, for example, I finished this music video script (another first for me - I didn’t even know they had scripts) and then I … just gave up. I downed tools at about five this afternoon and just fucked around for the rest of the day.
It’s not like I haven’t got stuff to do, but I can’t be bothered. I know exactly how long it’s going to take me to work through my list of jobs and I’m not pushing myself. I could have cracked on today with the feature rewrite I’m in the middle of, but I’ve already planned to do a little bit each day and I just can’t muster the will to push myself harder.
The way I’m acting, you’d think I’d actually achieved something of note which meant I don’t need to try as hard. Yeah, I’m working; but once the current list of jobs is done, there’s nothing to replace it.
I’ve got a feature in production, one in pre-production and five in development - but so what? There’s a better than average chance none of them will ever come to fruition - and even if they do, miracle of miracles, actually result in a film; there’s a very good chance none of them will be good enough to garner any attention whatsoever.
That’s not a slur on the people/companies who intend to make them, it’s just a statistical fact - most projects never see the light of day and most of the ones which do are a pile of shit.
And even if they all sprang into production tomorrow and even if they were all good enough to draw attention to my career - it’ll still be over a year before I’d see any discernable effect.
So what the hell am I waiting for?
Why aren’t I cracking on with one of the mountain of spec ideas I have lying around? Why don’t I make an effort to send out my three remaining spec scripts? At the very least, why aren’t I making some pocket money by writing sketches?
In short, why am I being so fucking complacent?
I think part of it is not having seen my wife, Mandy, for over a week (she’s an air hostess, you know?). If I’m lucky and her flight lands on time, I’ll see her for an hour tomorrow before I have to head off. If I’m unlucky and her flight is delayed, I won’t see her until Thursday. That’s shit, at best. I miss her.
Even that’s not really an excuse. Time was, as soon as she left the house, I’d throw myself at the keyboard and write continuously until I passed out from hunger.
Maybe it’s the heat, I don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s annoying the piss out of me. I’d like to say I’m going to turn over a new leaf tomorrow (or perhaps, go back to my old leaf); but it sounds like an awful lot of work and there’s bound to be something good on the telly.
Oh well, hopefuly it’s just a passing phase and I’ll be back on track soon.
I got my phonebill this morning. The one which covers my brief stint in Cannes. The one which covers the period I spent in France when a friend’s phone malfunctioned and wouldn’t stop ringing me.
I’ve only just stopped crying.
I’d arranged a French sim card to use while I was over there. It’s a great idea: local calls are free, it’s free to receive calls and texts are cheap. There was only one snag, the company were waiting for me at the airport on the wrong day - the day before I arrived. On the day I did arrive, they were nowhere to be seen.
Never mind, I thought, I’ll just do without. It’s not like I use my phone that much anyway.
Except, apparently, in France. In France, Cannes in particular, I’m a mobile demon; and not just me, suddenly everyone wanted to phone me. At home, my phone rings so infrequently I forget what it sounds like (which, to be fair, is more to do with the inability of a mobile signal to penetrate my house walls than lack of calls); but not when I’m abroad, no. When it costs me just to receive a call, people ring me every half hour. In the case of Mark Shields, whose phone was making it’s own calls, I got a phone call every ten seconds.
For an hour.
Even when I switched it to voice mail, the voice mail kept ringing me to tell me I had 107 messages from the same number.
I thought something had gone desperately wrong and he was trying to get in touch with me. When I realised it was a mistake, I compounded the situation by firing off a large number of abusive (and expensive) texts:
“Knock it off, fuck nuts.”
“Leave me the fuck alone”
“Seriously, man; you’re going to get such a fucking kicking when I see you.”
And to be fair to Mark, he did buy me a fairly expensive dinner that night as an apology. At least, I think he did. If he didn’t, I ran away without paying.
That’ll teach ‘em to seat me so near a handy exit.
All these mistakes, and more, add up to a phone bill which is greater than the Gross National Product of many small countries. Put together.
On top of that I had to post another script today. Post. That means printing stuff. That means realising I’ve got no paper or ink, driving to Staples, driving back, finding out I’ve got no card stock, deciding to send it anyway because I can’t be arsed to go back to Staples, then driving to the Post Office and hoping they’re open.
They were. Miracle of miracles.
If I had any sense, I’d have a little stockpile of paper, ink cartridges, card stock, envelopes and other such useful items.
But I haven’t, because I can’t afford to splash out on a bulk buy.
And do you know why?
Because I’ve just had a fucking massive phone bill, that’s why.
All in all, Cannes has cost me somewhere in the region of fucking loads. Which has got me wondering: was it worth it?
I had fun, true; but then I would have had a similar amount of fun locking myself in my house with my wife.
I met some producers and directors who I’ve worked with before and want to work with again. Some of them I even think of as friends, despite only seeing them once a year.
I met some new producers and directors, all of whom have singularly failed to bring in any new work - so far. One did contact me with a view to working together in the future, but we’ll have to wait and see how that pans out.
The two main leads I came back with: one asked for a proposal, then a re-write, then seems to be ignoring me. The other was optioning a book which I’ve tried to read so I can offer my services as a writer - only for me to find out I can’t bring myself to even finish the book, I just can’t stand it.
So the question remains: was it worth it?
And the answer is a resounding NO!
I could have bought a new TV, a big one, with the cash I dropped in Cannes. Using ‘The Evolved’ as a budgetary model, I could almost have funded a feature film.
Will I be going next year?
Probably.
Why? Because it was fun, there’s nothing on TV worth watching and you never, ever put your own money into a feature film. And you just never know. I did get a couple of potential leads, some of which may yet convert into a paying job; and a lot of the people I was chatting to may be in a position to help me next year, or the year after or the year after that.
So where the question for me at the moment is: Cannes I afford to go next year?
The real question I have to ask is: Cannes I afford not to?
Sometimes I find it really hard to switch gears, that is, to move from writing to the real world. It depends on what I’m writing of course, but generally I find the process so all consuming I struggle to clear my mind when the day’s done.
Comedy’s easier. Sketch writing is particularly easy, they’re so short it’s hard to leave one unfinished. When a project’s over, it’s over. There’s no more to think about until it’s time to start re-writes.
If it’s a longer comedy piece, at least if I have to leave it and go and talk to some real people there’s a slim chance I might be able to say something funny. Occasionally I catch myself repeating a bit of what I’ve just written, as if it was something I saw on TV recently. Sometimes I even genuinely believe I have seen it somewhere and can’t remember what the program was called. When I do remember it’s a bit embarrassing.
“Oh wait, that was something I wrote. Sorry.”
Writing drama is the hardest. The last feature I wrote (or rather re-wrote) was quite depressing towards the end. I find I have to adopt that frame of mind in order to accurately depict how the character will react. A kind of method writing. To leave something like that hanging, knowing I’m going to go back to it in the morning, and then go and socialise or spend time with my wife is quite difficult.
I find I can’t concentrate on the real world, on what’s going on around me. I find I’m constantly trying to keep all the story threads alive in my mind, trying to make sure I can just pick it all up again the next day without wondering where the hell I was going, or what the solution to a problem was.
I think this can be particularly trying for my wife, Mandy, and for my friends. I think during these times I’m sullen and uncommunicative. Certainly no fun to be around, probably barely less than tolerable.
I find Kung Fu helps. When someone tries to hit me with a big stick I suddenly find my mind snaps back into focus. I’ve got this rope dart which I occasionally muck about with, basically a iron spike on the end of a piece of rope. When it’s whirling around your body, it’s impossible to have any thought in your mind other than:
“Fuck, I hope that massive, sharp lump of metal doesn’t hit me in the face.”
“Again.”
Maybe that’s the answer? Maybe if I’m writing and someone pops round, I should excuse myself and go and throw the rope dart around for a bit? Mind you, that’s probably even weirder than just grunting at people whilst vainly struggling to remember how the theme fits in with the third act.
I honestly don’t know what the solution is. I don’t even know if there is a solution, other than only write sketches or don’t write at all.
Or get rid of all my friends.
Does anyone else have the same problem? Do any of you find it difficult to reorient yourself to reality? Or is it just me?
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.
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BBC, Fleeced, Progress, The Wrong Door, Two steps back, Writing and life | 
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Posted by phillbarron
