Friday, 22 June 2007

More ether...

Off, off into the ether go more of my writerings. Abusing the Power of Three system a bit because of time constraints, the opening of Found Objects has gone off to the lady-who-is-an-agent-but-not-my-agent-but-is-kind-enough-to-talk-to-me in the hope that I can enter it into 25 Words or Less.

Also sent off a short radio play to the Royal Tapes competition. They're asking for three minute plays that have something to say about the Royal Family. The deadline for entry's next Friday. Not only are the five winning plays performed by one Alistair McGowan, but the winners are notified within a week of the closing date, and the plays are broadcast a couple of weeks after that. That kind of efficiency does wonders for writerly anxiety.

Tuesday, 19 June 2007

Almost about screenwriting...

Joss Whedon is of course a screenwriting deity. In this post from the Whedonesque site, he's also shows that he's right on the money ethically.

Click here to read the post...

Friday, 15 June 2007

An open letter to the CNLA...

Dear CNLA,

I read with interest your plans to blow up Jamie Oliver and Rick Stein. Yes, read. It's a bit like TV, but with words. There we go. Okay, I've got a few suggestions...

FUCK OFF.

Yes, you the CNLA, or Angof, or whatever wanky name you're using this week. All of you, with your cans of spray paint and copies of the Anarchist's cook book. Off. Now. Most of the world already thinks we're a bunch of inbred retards, we don't need you proving them right.

Still here? Right, you asked for it. Lets have a little lesson in practicality.

Say your wildest, adolescent dreams come true, and Cornwall is given Independence from England. Not going to happen, but I'm humouring you in order to destroy you. Right, so we have no subsidies from Europe, England, or the UK. What we will need in order to survive?

Who said "Industry"? Yes, that's right, industry. Well done.

So what's Cornwall's biggest industry? Hands down everyone who's going to say mining. There. Is. No. Money. In. It. People will not pay for tin they can get cheaper elsewhere. Give it up.

No one? Okay, Cornwall's biggest industry is tourism.

And what do Jamie and Rick bring in thousands upon thousands of every year? Yes, that's right class. Tourists.

Oh, I heard someone at the back crying about the price of houses due to second home owners. Cry me a fucking river.

Perhaps instead of spending most of your life setting fire to cans of deodorant to hear that big 'bang' noise they make and spray painting over signs to tourist attractions because they have an English symbol (incidentally, the tourist attractions pay for those signs. So who are you hurting when you do that? That's right, other Cornish people) you could have, I don't know, got an education. Perhaps got a decent job. That's what I did. Then I saved, and saved, and God forbid we should actually have to work for something, I bought a flat. I've now sold that flat and bought a house. You can do it too, but it requires effort, something I admit is foreign to you.

I seem to have lost my original point a bit. What was it again?

Oh yes.

FUCK OFF.

Thursday, 14 June 2007

Grayskull, Part 2

All notes in on Found Objects now, so major thanks to Jason, Lianne and Paul for their very helpful notes. Rewriting will now begin in earnest...

Monday, 11 June 2007

I ♥ NYPC

Apologies for going a bit MySpacey for a moment: went to a gig on Saturday, New Young Pony Club. Much awesomeness. Walked out in a band t-shirt, carrying glow sticks and flashing necklaces, with a big smile on my face and looking, as my brother said, “like a gig had vomited on me”.

That’s not what this post is about, though. This post is about the complete fucking lack of manners that many people seem happy to live with. Well I’m not.

Example #1. On the train, on the way up. Quiet carriage. The one where you’re not allowed to use mobiles, or iPods, etc. Woman’s phone keeps ringing. She keeps answering it. She says, just to make it more annoying “I’ll have to talk quietly, I’m in the quiet carriage.” No. That’s not how it works. That’s like smoking low-tar cigarettes in a non smoking area. No. Phones.

When I and another lady independently and politely asked her to turn her phone off, what with them being banned in this carriage and all, she got super indignant, told me that she would do what she wants, and it’s her life. This is a fairly fundamental misunderstanding of how rules work. If everyone could do what they liked all the time, I would pelt you with Starbursts every time you wake me up with your fricking ring tone. And relax. She was ugly and rude, so I’m sure she’s a big hit with the fellas.

Example #2. If I ask you to be more careful, because at a gig you have pushed your way through the crowd with such force on your way to the toilet that you almost knock my girlfriend over, the correct answer is ‘Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I’ve got a sparrow the size of a bladder bladder the size of a sparrow's (makes more sense now, doesn't it?), and I needed to get there really quickly. Oh. Look. Too late.” It is not, as was apparently lost on this concert-dick, to hit me in the face.

There’s always one aggressive dickhead at a gig. I’m pretty sure we don’t need them anymore. It’s not 1977. You are not at a Sex Pistols gig. You are very definitely not a punk. You, sir, are a dickhead.

That I had a great time nonetheless was proof of two things. First the band were really that good. Secondly, you, sir, hit like a sissy little girl.

And relax.

Got some writing done on the train, rationalising the Found Objects outline from the myriad scraps of paper and scenes in my head. Also bought the first four issues of Buffy Season 8 for the ride, Joss Whedon’s comic only continuation of the Buffy series. Amazingly good. Series 2 to 3 of Buffy the TV Series good. Buy them, buy them now.

Wednesday, 6 June 2007

By the power of Grayskull!

... or the power of three.

Yeah, I thought I'd try this power of three thing.

I have the opening act of a screenplay that I'm intending to submit to the UK Film Council's 25 Words or Less scheme, if I manage to secure an agent by July. I'd like to gather three people's opinions, so that I can make sure it's razor sharp by the time I send it to the agent.

It's a weird but subtle science fiction jaunt set in the present day, in Brighton, LA and Paris, kind of Eternal Sunshine meets Invasion of the Body Snatchers, if I'm lucky.

So, if you want a read, leave a comment (and an e-mail address if there isn't one on your blogger profile...).

Tuesday, 5 June 2007

Googleriffic...

Looking at my Google analytics, I get to see all the search terms that people use to get to my site. the deleted scenes "television writer" works nicely, but to be honest, that was me. There are a few others, mostly making sense.

2 of my hits (oh yes, 2, I am talking in the big leagues here) have come from this post. Apparently, chicken legs problem will get you here, as will (my favourite) who has chicken legs?. Magic.

Plus, by searching that, we also learn that Eva Longoria Has Chicken Legs. Also magic.

Oh, and one person got here by searching for Danny Stack. Riding those coat-tails...

Monday, 4 June 2007

Two parts of happiness...

Okay, so no work was done on Friday, but for good, honest, food poisoning related reasons. The uncooked egg had me down pretty much all day - after blogging the last entry I went back to bed and slept through til about 3.30. A few days later, my current situation is...
  1. In the cold, un-poisoned, light of day, the meeting seems a lot more positive. They are, after all, still talking to me...
  2. I'm going to rewrite Seven Spires as a two part drama. Even if it doesn't work, it'll be nice to get back to those characters was another 30 or so pages (plus outline).
Handily enough, that was two points leading in to me talking about a two part drama. If that's not synchronicity then I don't know what is. Of course, it's entirely possible that I don't know what synchronicity is.

Friday, 1 June 2007

Still plugging away...

I was hoping that this post would be titled something along the lines of "Woo-hoo!", "Oh, Yeah, oh ye-ah!" or perhaps even the celebratory but mean spirited "In your face, losers!".

But no. Cast your eyes up a few millimeters of screen space, and there it is "Still Plugging Away".

So, I went to London yesterday for my first meeting with an agent. Very exciting. Was hoping to come away with representation.

Did I? No.

What did I come away with?

Fucking food poisoning.

Oh yes, that scrambled egg bagel that I had on the train on the way up that seemed like such a good idea at the time resulted in me spending an unpleasant afternoon and night vomiting. Still not gone this morning. In short, it's rubbish.

But how went the meeting with the agent? Okay. Don't have representation currently, but they're still interested in me. Problem is, they don't think that Seven Spires will sell as a six parter as I'd originally envisioned it, what with me being in the screenwriters' limbo called 'unproduced'.

They suggested a two part three hour mini series, with the possibility of spinning a more episodic show off the back of it if the TV people love it. I'm not adverse to the idea at all; like I said at the meeting, I'd rather write something three hours long that gets made than something six hours long that does not, and being that I am again unprodcued, they reckon I'd have to write the whole thing before being commissioned which is an awful lot of work if nothing comes of it - I'd probably be saying good bye to the rest of the year to write six hours of telly.

So, will Seven Spires be reborn in a three hour mini series? Definitely maybe. I might try and rough out a new structure in between the more active parts of being poisoned by undercooked eggs.

Rubbish eggs.