It’s that time of year again, Summer hands over the rain-soaked baton of boredom to Autumn; Autumn gears itself up for some actual sunshine (just so it can listen to everyone banging on about how weird it is that September is hotter than August, despite the weather being exactly the same as it was last year and the twenty fucking five years before that); I fight my way past the Christmas cards and the odd hopelessly early Easter egg to stare longingly at the new jackets appearing in the shops … and young scriptwriters fancies turn to thoughts of the London Scriptwriters’ Festival.
If you’re an unproduced or fledgling writer, then this is the networking and training event of the year. If you’re a produced or grizzled, battle-scarred writer then it’s an excuse to mock your industry mates for having their flies open during their seminar and grumble about how the industry’s changed around you whilst getting pissed afterwards.
Basically: people talk at you, you go and get drunk, you talk at them. For three days.
Check out the website for all the gory details including who’s speaking and when and what sort of networking hijinks you can get up to.I’m not here to talk about that. I’m here to talk about money.
Specifically, I’m here to offer you the same deal on discounted tickets as I did for the London Comedy Writers’ Festival in March.
Basically, anyone flogging tickets as an affiliate (which I am) can offer you a £30 discount off the £300 ticket price. You get £30 off, we also get paid £30 and everyone’s a winner.
Except, I don’t think it’s right. Personally, I think it’s immoral for me to make money off fellow writers since we’re all pretty much in the same boat and money is tight in these trying times. I don’t want to make money off you, so I won’t … I’ll give you my £30 commission.
By the way, just because I think it’s immoral for me to make money off you, doesn’t mean I think it’s immoral for other bloggers to keep the cash. Some bloggers provide an invaluable, free service for years and years on end – tirelessly feeding you information, hints, tips and competition dates. If, once a year, they want to make a little extra cash; then that’s up to them and who am I to call them names?
We all have a different concept of right and wrong. Personally, I find alcohol and casual sex immoral*; but counterfeit, forgery and stealing from large corporations† to be merely naughty. We all have a naughty line and we draw it where we damn well please.
But the fact remains – I want to give you £30 off your ticket and a further £30 after the festival when I get my commission. In effect, you’ll be getting your ticket for £240 … I think. 300 – 30 – 30 = … yeah, that’s right, isn’t it?
£240 for a ticket – that’s a good deal, right?
A word of warning: five people took me up on the deal last time and it took ages to get the money back. The festival was at the beginning of April – I didn’t get paid my commission until the 1st of July. The cheques were sent out three days later. Those five (who may or may not choose to identify themselves) did get their money; but three months later than expected.
Having said that, there’s been a sea change at the festival and they assure me all monies will be paid out within 30 days of receiving an invoice.
So it’s up to you. If you want to go to the festival (and you should) and you haven’t yet bought a ticket and you want to pay £60 less than the asking price of £300, then here’s what you do:
- Buy your ticket from this link. Use discount code JOBBINGSCRIPTWRITER and pay your £270.
- Send me an email (firstname.lastname@example.org) telling me you’ve done it and include your home address.
- Attend the festival, laugh, learn from and mingle with your writing heroes.
- After the festival, I get sent a list of who bought a ticket using my code and £30 per person. Upon receipt, I immediately send you a cheque for £30.
- Cash the cheque.
- Blow the cash on fags ‘n’ booze.
And that’s pretty much it.
Like I say, they are other people offering tickets at a discount price and if you like their blog then you should support them. If, however, you’d rather save yourself an extra £30, then I’m your boy.
Hopefully, I’ll see you all there.
* I don’t, not really. Not immoral. Boring, maybe? But not really immoral. I think I had a moral once; but I may have lost it. Possibly down the back of the sofa.
† Whistles nonchalantly – nothing to see here.