Sunshine

Mostly work this week, getting things done before term ends, relatives arrive and Merriment Begins. Adding a scene to an episode running short, having an edit (‘We want more fun’), finishing a draft of a new ep. Saw the Christmas ep on the DVD they send us – it’s looking very good, thriller-ish, setting up a good whodunnit to run for a while.

Besides work, bought Christmas Tree and decorated it, wrote cards, wrapped unfeasible number of presents, conducted onerous task of tasting various shop-bought mince pies. (Local bakery won by a mile, but they’re 75p each – so Spouse baked some.) Battled over Christmas Tree – ‘What about a stylish red and gold theme this year?’ I suggested, as I usually do. Chaos won, as Chaos always does, as Chaos probably should. But why don’t Christmas trees smell like they used to? It was the smell of Christmas, and it no longer exists. What is the smell of Christmas now? Melting plastic perhaps, as credit cards implode. Also, Why are there no more brazil nuts in shells?

Walked the long way back from town yesterday, because of rare sighting of sun after near 40 days near constant monsoon. Cool and bright, the way you want winter weather to be. (If you don’t like snow.) We're lucky to live here. The best walk is to the Monument, where there’s a huge view across the valley, and up and down the valley. Hillsides seething with trees. Lifts you, if feeling low on inspiration and energy. Renews you, ready for the next day. And the next.

Barry Norman

Astoundingly (well, I’m astounded) saw three adult, mature-type, for grown-ups films last week. (Assuming we can agree Casino Royale fits that description.) Makes a change from steady diet of uninspired kids’ CGI crap over recent months. The Departed. Should have cut first twenty minutes and ending was ludicrous. All of a sudden there’s a second mole in the police force? Where did he come from? Felt like the writer holding up hands and saying I’ve got no idea how to end this. Enjoyed the whole middle section though, and would like to see Hong Kong original. Red Road. Slow and solemn, taking itself very seriously, but oozing atmosphere and, when the secret was finally disclosed, quite moving. Ill-judged thing with the little puppy at the end. And C.R. Too long, like Departed, like every film out of Hollywood now, too many endings, but a lot of fun. Some rubbish lines, not just the wonderful Rolex/Omega exchange, but also the thing in the shower ‘It’s like there’s blood on my hands and I can’t wash it off.’ Could it be any more on the nose? Also a bit distracting to have Alan Hansen as main villain, and the girl looking a bit like Richard E Grant. Or was that just me?

Gondolas

Spoke to the fifty or so students. They were open mouthed, in rapt attention. Forest of hands went up when I asked for questions, storm of applause when I finished. Not really. But they seemed fairly interested as I took them through the process. Conference, Script Document, Scene Breakdown, First Draft, Second, Third, Edit, Edit, Edit. How your favourite scenes – the ones with lots of character and texture but not much in the way of story points – are the first to get cut, how to use communal sets, how to build to a tag, how to deal with an actor suddenly becoming unavailable. Two questions about how to get work experience on The Show. So that’s the next generation sorted. Also went off at a tangent about How I Became A Writer. Basically through writing a story called Journey to the Wreck aged 7. Finished up 12 or 13 pages long, which felt like War & Peace at the time. An experience shamelessly fictionalised in my second novel.

This was all in Bradford, where they are apparently knocking down the police station to build a lake. Presumably somewhere they’re bricking over a reservoir to build a police station. Bradford soon to become the Venice of the North, then. It’s a small step.

Michael Grade = Blofeld

Conference last week was in a hotel on an island, reached by a narrow bridge. Half expected Producer to be waiting for us in a white swivel chair, stroking a white cat. We sit round in black leather seats, she presses a button and a 3D model of the Location rises out of the table. On the way back across the bridge a trap-door swings and someone who’d dared propose an unpopular storyline drops into the water. Splash. Scream. Water seethes and boils while the piranha feast. Disappointingly, it was not actually much like that at all. Unless all that happened while I was busy doing some tweaks to one episode (following Scheduling Problems) and a major edit on another (following Storyline Change.)

Met Editor/Publisher (same person) of my book for a drink. Passionate, engaging, complimentary, which is all good, clearly. We discussed some changes here and there, one or two fairly important ones. Plenty to consider – or there would be if I could remember anything he’d said in any detail. Hoping for an e-mail to clarify.

And tomorrow going to talk about writing in general and The Show in particular to a bunch of University students. How an episode happens, from conference to final draft of Script. They’re all writing short films apparently. Will they be interested in what I do? Will I remember what I do? We shall see.

Inside Information

Finally got the date for a Procedure I’ve been waiting for. Had one last year, after various health issues I won’t trouble you with, and they removed a Benign Polyp. I thought it would be nice to have the BP in a jar on my desk like a … like a what? What would do justice to a BP floating in preserving liquid? I’m thinking mushrooms, baby’s fingers, penises. Anyway, got another Procedure lined up to check all is still well in there. It’s basically not too unpleasant except for the foul Preparation you have to drink twice, 12 and 24 hours beforehand. You mix it in half a glass of water then try to get it down you, like Dumbledore drinking that poison in the Half Blood Prince. And we know what happened to him. Will be keeping you minutely informed re my insides in coming weeks.

In that spirit … woke up in night with stomach ache. Line of pain across upper stomach. Probably appendicitis, I thought. I can’t have my appendix out, I’ve got too many deadlines. Will I have time to get two scripts off before it bursts? Will I be able to explain to Spouse which scripts to e-mail, where to e-mail them, how to attach them and properly encode them? All from my hospital bed, while suffering from complications brought on by a Superbug? Then I went to the loo, and pain disappeared.

TODAY’S LIST

Three Top Gigs

The Clash at Lewisham Odeon

The Specials & Dexies at Aldwych

Bowie at Parc des Princes

Chocolate

A while ago, six months maybe, my friend S came up with this promising TV idea, and together we made it into a good 3 page Outline. Much harder than it sounds. A 3 page Outline can suck all the promise and life out of an idea and leave it like a dry, hopeless, inspiration-free husk. But our Outline bounced and amused and engaged. Well, we liked it anyway, and so did someone from an Independent Production Company, (who used to work on The Show, which helps.) So we write a first ep. Then rewrite it. Then rewrite it again. But the big thing is – and this does not always happen – each draft is getting better. It really doesn’t always happen. There was one writer who put her script through change after change after change over a period of several months. Eventually she thought Sod it, and sent in her original script again. Yes! Said the Script Editor. This is exactly what I wanted! Our experience has not been like this. The only difficult part has been handling mood swings from S. S has never worked on TV before, so goes from inappropriate optimism to utter despair very quickly. I remain on boring even keel. (It’s not just scripts I underwrite, (see below), it’s my own emotions too.)

And then the Independent Prod Co said ... No. After all that. Not surprising, but disappointing all the same. So it’s gone out via my agent to make its way in the world, knocking at the door of several other IPC’s. And we’re Waiting To Hear again.

Went to big party for The Show, laid on by sponsors. Fairground rides, loads of drink and food, rubbing shoulders with stars and execs. All very nice, but the highlight of the evening was definitely the chocolate fountain. What a remarkable invention.

TODAY’S LIST

3 Films I’ve seen recently and highly recommend

Good night and good luck
Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
The Consequences of Love

Edit

Had the edit on those two episodes mentioned below. Nearly four hour phone call followed by a few days work. Quite a lot to do. The storyline was always a bit thin, and I failed I think on first draft to bulk it up. The underlying message of the edit was Make It Bigger. I get that sometimes. I have a tendency to underwrite. Comes from writing Literary Fiction, probably. Took me years before I could bring myself to put an exclamation mark in a script. They’re considered the work of the devil in Lit Fiction, but they’re common currency in The Show. And why not? They’re pretty common currency in life too.

Son has been saying Bye Bye very sweetly for some time now. Has lately started saying Hello too, in an almost uncanny impression of Elmer Fudd. Part of me wishes malapropisms and Elmer Fudd impressions would go on longer. Daughter told me on way to school that she’s going to draw everybody’s shoes, and put their names next to the pictures. Why? I wondered, sounding casual but wondering about incidence of autism in six year old girls. It’s so she can go in the toilet and see who’s in the cubicles by looking through the gap under the door. Because she’s a Detective. Should we be worried?

And in other news, had the piss taken out of me for ordering Cheese Souffle in a restaurant. Cheese Souffle, it was implied, is effeminate. Can this be right? Had Wild Boar with Mustard Mash for main course which I think must make me unusually conflicted.

TODAY’S LIST

3 Favourite Short Stories

The Swimmer John Cheever

For Esme Salinger

Revenge Ellen Gilchrist

20 Years Ago

Old Friend came, with family, for end of half-term. Met her at University of East Anglia, 20 years ago. MA in Creative Writing. That was a good year. Ten of us, aged between 23 and 50 something, different backgrounds, nationalities, experiences. Same hopes. And by some surprising alchemy instead of all hating and distrusting each other, trying to step on each other on our way to stardom, we all got on.

It was taught back then by Malcolm Bradbury and Angela Carter. Malcolm Bradbury took the workshops. Legs twined together, sardonic mouth, what my mother would call kind eyes. Somehow getting us all to open up to each other. Outside the classroom he might mistake you for someone else (possibly not seeing you properly through the haze of pipe smoke), but inside he was warm, engaging and sharp. You’d introduce your 20 pages, then he’d make sure everyone had their say, then he’d summarise the criticism and extend it and ask penetrating questions, and you’d finish up looking at your writing in a slightly different way.

And then Angela Carter. We met her for one to one’s, and since I lived in London I went to her house in Clapham. First time, looking down this long street of terraced Victorian housing, I knew which would be her house. It was the only pink one. And inside all this intriguing clutter, including a horse from a fairground ride. And her perched on the edge of a chair, all in black, with her cloud of white hair. There was a thunderstorm that first time, and a crack of lightning when I entered. ‘Sorry,’ she said. You sensed it was a bit of a chore for her to read your stuff, a slight air of weariness to her, but her observations and questions were acute, and often disarming, and she once began a comment to me ‘Well, obviously it can be published but …’ I didn’t catch the rest of what she had to say. Angela Carter thought it could obviously be published! She gave us presents when we finished, books she felt were apposite.

I was one of the stars that year. Wrote my first novel there, got it published the following year, had two more published and a bunch of short stories before I was thirty. Shame there was no fetish for younger writers back then. Good looking younger writers. Good looking younger writers writing thoughtful, moving, serious literary fiction. Old Friend was a slower starter, but now she’s a Leading Light of the London Literary Scene and I’m only now, all these years later, getting my 4th book published. But I’m not jealous and bitter. I have been in the past, but I’m not now. Your 20’s are for ambition, your 30’s for disappointment and your 40’s are for stepping back a bit and saying ‘Yes, this is OK, this is pretty good.’ Someone wrote that, or something like it. In fact several people probably have, including me. Does it sound plausible?

3 Books I’ve read recently and highly recommend

The Damned United David Peace

The Accidental Ali Smith

Runaway Alice Munro

Welcome to Blackpool

Half-term. Time for a Day Out. Access to the town centre from the station is via a dark, wet, litter-strewn subway. Daughter spontaneously says Blackpool is the dirtiest place in the world. Down to the Prom. Poundstretchers, Woolies, bars offering topless waitresses, lapdancing and exotic this and that. (It’s Sunday lunch-time.) We consider the Sea Life centre, but I’m worried about what they might get up to with the eels in there. And so to the Dr Who exhibition, our reason for being there.

Daughter tries to act as if it lives up to her excited anticipation, tries not to admit to the mild disappointment that seeps in as you wander round the place. Mild disappointment – it’s what life has in store for most of us, isn’t it? There’s loads of authentic props and costumes, but it’s shabby and underfunded and more importantly under-imagined. What does it need? I don’t know – a Dr Who companion to show you round, actors in costumes wandering about, some decent lighting effects, maybe a soundtrack. It’s one of those places that seems to exist mostly for its gift shop. Where we buy a Dr Who bath set. No home should be without one.

Daughter mostly enjoys Air Hockey in a café we stop at, and the journeys to and from. I’ve packed food and water, a magazine, Snakes & Ladders. She spends the journeys with her friend on the floor in the luggage space between the seats. Home to Spouse and poorly Son. Reassure them they haven’t missed much.

TODAY’S LIST

3 of Daughter’s Favourite songs

Sk8ter Boi Avril Lavigne
Who Will Buy Oliver
Downtown Petula Clark

On and on and on and on ...

So, had Story Conference for The Show this week. Involves Writers, Script Editors, Storyliners, Researcher, Producer and Assistant Producers, all sat round a table at the studios talking stories for two days. And going out for a nice meal in the evening. It’s a tough job. Some shows I’ve worked on, you are a tiny cog in a big machine. A small elite group deal with stories, you just work on your little episode and change it and change it again because of someone else’s whims. Much better where I am now. Very democratic approach. That does sometimes lead to problems mentioned below (‘We’ve had some thoughts in the Story Office …’) but no system is perfect. What’s good is a brand new Writer or a brand new Storyliner can say ‘Why don’t we do such and such?’ The worst you risk is a tumbleweed moment as you realise your idea is not exactly enthusing anyone. That long silence, those sidelong glances, the tactful let-down from the Producer.Is that a coyote howling in the distance?

And of course there’s all the fun of the group dynamics. The most articulate not always having the best ideas. Someone who goes on and on and on and on in a repetitive, unproductive and - oh God I’m going to chew my own arm off - boring way. The difficulty of getting a word in. Getting a word in but not expressing yourself very well. Getting a word in, expressing yourself reasonably well, and yet somehow your comment simply not being registered. But that’s OK – that’s all a bit like life, isn’t it?

So Story Conference is a Good Thing. Nice break in routine of life, and breaks in routine of life are usually Good. Especially when Son and Daughter are simultaneously on antibiotics, and miserable.

TODAY’S LIST

Son’s first three words (in order):

Star, Ball, Car

Rain

So, a quiet day. Nothing much happened. Except the day unfolding as usual. Taking Daughter home from school. It's a steep road. Small voices like chattering birds. The sky is heavy and there's a wet smell in the air. Up the steep road, a car growling. We wait for it to pass. 'Hello there.' Mick emerging from a door, looking at the heavy sky. 'Do you think it's going to rain? I want to paint this door.' Then the slippery path up the snicket, placing crutches carefully. A squirrel freezes, looks at us, jumps away. A dog barks angrily. Her small hand grips my fingers. Rain spatters, but we're home. She lets go and runs away from me, towards the green door, pulling at the handle, and waiting.

TODAY’S LIST;

3 Things I can see from my window

A spider, about the size of a 50p piece, on its web, snacking on a small fly.
The church on the hill across the valley.
A tall dark brick chimney, nicely integrated into the landscape.

Open, Friendly, Relaxed

So, sometimes Waiting To Hear is better than actually Hearing. They say No Thanks to Radio Idea. No particular explanation – just doesn’t grab them. So I’m going to try to rework it as a TV idea. It will be fantastically successful and they will be Very Sorry. Sometimes Hearing is much better than WTH. An e-mail arrived. We’d like to publish your Book next spring, if that’s OK. Let me see – Yes, I think that would be fine. Haven’t had a book published for many, many years, and am hugely chuffed. (Wrote ‘very pleased’ first, but that doesn’t really cover it.) Next spring may well turn out to be next autumn, but hey, I’m not fussy.

Immediately got invited to a launch. Intended to go but couldn’t due to Son being awake for much of previous night and me being shattered. Why was he awake? Did he know? Is he trying to sabotage me? Arguably, it’s just as well. I’m basically, not exactly socially inept, just too complicated and interesting and, you know, special, for those social events where I don’t know anyone and it would be helpful to make a good impression. Tend to avoid them. But I have been trying to get better at them. I’m a great believer in pretending to be confident. Almost as good as the real thing. Open, friendly, relaxed – that’s my motto.

In other news … sister-in-law has just left after stay of ten days. Easiest, pleasantest guest you could imagine. No, really. Kept taking Daughter off and entertaining her for long periods. Took her to school and picked her up. Bottles of red and bars of Green & Black’s kept appearing around evening time. Smoking was all done outdoors. Discreetly absent during hectic breakfast times – probably because her breakfast is a fag and two strong coffees. She lives in Munich but is buying a house four miles away to move into when she retires in a few years. Daughter is already planning sleepovers. Excellent news.

Still WTH about TV idea, co-written with my friend S. Should know more soon.

TODAY’S LIST:

3 DVD’s I bought, new, for under a tenner.

Edward Scissorhands
Stand By Me
Groundhog Day

Lava

So, just finished a double episode of The Show. Will be on end of January. Quite pleased with it, tho it may be changed radically in the edit, then get insensitively cut, then have new storyline imposed at last minute. (‘We’ve been having some thoughts in the Story Office …’ No! Don’t have thoughts in the Story Office. Bad idea.) The Show’s in Good Shape at the moment, holding its end up, building to a big Christmas story. Altho, as I understand it, TV generally is in a very Bad Shape, due to us all playing on our PlayStations and imminently giving up TV in favour of watching on-demand DVD’s on our iPods or mobiles or something. So there goes my livelihood.

There’s always Radio. I love Radio. Had a play on in which everyone turned into a fish at the end. Don’t see that on TV very often. Another in which a man turned into a woman. Got an idea with a Producer at the moment, waiting to hear. Waiting To Hear is a near-permanent state when you’re a writer. Also WTH about a TV idea for a six-parter me and a friend are working on. Also WTH about my book, with a small publisher who’s been sitting on it for a year. Hopefully not literally.

Also going on in my life … Spouse, looking after two children and doing a Psychology degree and writing a novel. Son, 21 months. Shouts a lot. Daughter, 6, has taken to saying ‘If you don’t do such and such, I’ll kill you.’ I said to her, Do you think you could find a less unkind way to say that? She thought for a minute, looking at me, then said ‘I’ll punch you and punch you until you faint?’ Lovely. We had a little discussion, and settled on ‘I’ll wrap you up in lava until you vanish.’ I’m very proud.