Yesterday, I so had the Red Planet down. I was, perhaps, the most prepared I have ever been. I had two scripts to choose from - my half hour comedy drama, and my half hour dark kids drama, which was recently and charmingly described as a sci-fi Grange Hill.
So, just a brief check of the rules, and...
60 minutes? The script had to be 60 minutes? When did that happen? Wasn’t it just any old tosh last year? Fuck.
Since last year’s red planet, I’ve not written anything that long. In a spurt of rare productivity for me, I’ve got a 45 minute drama, a short film, and two half hourers.
What to do, what to do? The short script’s totally out. Can I stretch any of the others? Nightshift’s stretching at 45 minutes as is. Another thirty pages on either of the half hour pieces would feel very much like two episodes stuck together, because, duh, it would be. No go there.
Hmmmm. Perhaps I could stitch the two of them together? Surely Tony wouldn’t notice if the comic misadventures of two disabled friends trying to save their home from closure suddenly morphed into four kids having their memories wiped in a mysterious post apocalyptic world, would he?
Sidebar - that’s totally how Dusk Till Dawn happened. Trust me.
Okay, let’s see what I’m working on now - a movie outline, my first in a while. It’s going very nicely, thank you, ideas flying this way and that. It could spin off into a series. Shit, I’ll just cut the movie in half and call it the first part of a two part pilot, and...
Shit. Movies and telly aren’t the same thing, apparently. The minute I start trying to structure the movie idea like a TV show, it falls apart. Balls.
To the ideas file... oh, mythical Greek creatures in
Of course, it’s not written.
Okay. Ten pages by the end of September. I can totally write the rest whilst I’m waiting to get judged, and...
I have no idea what I’m doing.