2011: My year with writing

This time last year, I reviewed where I was in my writing career.

I thought I had written the penultimate draft of Steampunk Assassins. I was writing the first draft of The Greenwich Problem. I was planning to write a romantic comedy termed Baking Lawyer (which I abandoned due to fatal flaws). I determined that Military Monster needed a complete overall (which is still awaited.) And I put everything else on hold.

And then 2011 happened.

In January, I finished the first draft of The Greenwich Problem for the BBC’s Laughing Stock competition.

In February, Realm Pictures won the Raindance/Pepsi Max competition. This started them on the road to The Underwater Realm.

In March, I was longlisted for Laughing Stock, which caused much excitement.

In April, I attended the London Comedy Writers Festival, got some great advice and met some awesome creatives. I also wrote another feature script for Script Frenzy.

In May, Realm House hosted the first UWR big production meeting.

In July, Dave, Jon and I went on the first UWR feature script retreat.

In August, I made a wiki for Realm Pictures.

In September, I created my first storyworld.

In November, I went to the London Screenwriters Festival. I got more great advice, and met more awesome creatives, and I pitched my scripts to three producers. I’m waiting to hear back from one of them about The Greenwich Problem. I also wrote an 80K NaNoWriMo novel that I will start editing in January.

In December, Realm launched their Kickstarter. The fund is currently at 85K and climbing. An absolutely amazing response.

Wow, what a year!

So, in 2012, I will:
- Final FINAL draft Steampunk Assassins and send it to producers
- Edit my Cyber Crime Sleuth (NaNoWriMo) novel and send to publishers
- Finish my Asylum pilot, enter it in Red Planet Prize, and send it to producers
- Make a short film
- Get an agent
- See Realm Pictures take Raindance 2012 by storm
- Get married XD

Why the London Screenwriters Festival is necessary for London and Screenwriters

It’s been one week since I journeyed from deepest, darkest Wales to attend the London Screenwriters Festival. I was nervous, I was anxious – what if I forget my loglines? What if I meet proper writers and clam up? What if nobody likes me?

Thankfully, while I did ramble at one poor producer, I did meet proper writers without mishap (they had been drinking) and some people seemed to like me okay, or well enough to chuck their business cards at me.

So, why the grandiose title, London and Screenwriters? Am I being absurd to call LSF vital to the hearbeat of the city and the screenwriting community? No, and I’ll tell you why.

I can honestly say LSF consisted of the three most valuable and positive days of my writing life. I gained practical, insightful advice from writers, producers, agents and readers – from those who attended as speakers and from those who were attendees. I honed my pitch in the sunshine chatting to a group of writers at lunch. While practising in the mirror was a good plan, it was even better to talk to people other than my reflected self.

I participated in Speed Pitching, where I threw down my steampunk assassins feature and my sci fi sit com to three producer types. Despite the aforementioned rambling, I secured two script requests and one man’s useful advice on how to develop my project further. I also learned that pitching is pretty much talking – and Heaven knows I can do that!

I also took advantage of Euroscript’s advice session to talk about my Asylum pilot. We went through my two-page treatment, working out how to reflect a three series plan in a spec script and what plot threads were necessary to set up the series. Amazing experience – and all for the ticket price.

That was all on Friday.

It just got better from there, really. I can’t begin to describe the surprises I had as I learned about my craft and my place in the screenwriting world. If you’re serious about being a screenwriter, you need to be at LSF.

And what about London? Well, guess what, we can make films. We can make damn good films, if that little Oscar hoarder “The King’s Speech” is anything to go by. Film is a big industry and one in which we should take advantage. We have hungry screenwriters, we have a rich oral tradition, we have gorgeous natural sets from mid-Wales to Scottish Highlands to inner city Manchester. London needs the film industry and LSF is just one way we can demonstrate that we’re here and ready to take on the challenge.

Now that I’ve rambled out my manifesto, I will share my top tips gleaned from the sessions I attended at LSF:

1. “If you haven’t written a screenplay, you’re not a writer you’re a fantasist” – Vadim Jean

2. “Write what you know – about the human condition” – Danny Stack

3. “In the end, it’s as basic as ‘do I want to know what happens next? Am I excited?’” – Vadim Jean

4. “If you don’t have that thing in you that makes you love the cinema, stop now” – Martin Gooch

5. “Great endings are inevitable and shouldn’t be predictable while you’re on the journey getting there” – Paul Ashton

6. “Yesterday’s no may be tomorrow’s yes” – Lucas Webb

7. “The script must be able to stand on its own two feet and be sensational” – Lucas Webb

8. “What you can’t fix is someone who doesn’t write well” – Julian Friedmann

9. “If I’m not gripped and impressed within the first two pages, I won’t read anymore” – Julian Friedmann

10. “If I get a feature script that’s 90 pages, I’m impressed. If it’s over 120 pages, I won’t read it” – Julian Friedmann

11. “If you’re blocked, going and writing in someone else’s house is the best thing” – Richard Tierney

12. “People don’t live their lives in satisfactory three-act structures” – Christian Routh re: Biopics

13. “The fear of the the unknown is what drives horror” – Christian Routh

14. “Bring them back to ‘what are the problems?’. Don’t just take their solutions” – Emma Frost re: notes

15. “I always explore a note fully before I turn around to somebody and say ‘I think you’re wrong’” – John Griffin

16. “You’ve got to go down all your blind alleyways and try everything, otherwise you won’t know if you chose the right route” – John Griffin

17. “Telling your story out loud to something is an incredibly valid exercise” – Olivia Hetreed

18. “Drama is about character fighting their way for something” – Kate Leys

19. “Why should I pay attention if you’re not being attentive to what you’re telling me?” – Olivia Hetreed

20. “I’ve found something that I’m passionate about and that I would die for and is commercial!” – Rob Thorogood

21. “The difference between a good writer and a great writer is how to take notes” – Tony Jordan via Rob Thorogood

22. “Survival is the only success you can hope for in series television” – Rob Thorogood

23. “You should never, ever get put off by rejection” – Roland Moore

24. “If you’re a writer, it’s an illness you’ve lived with all your life” – Rob Thorogood

25. “An idea is an idea is an idea – it can be any kind of thing” – Tony Lee re: picking a medium

Pitching In Sixty Seconds (without bunnies)

If you’re attending the London Screenwriters Festival Speed Pitching and you’re not flailing in panic, it’s either because you have nerves of steel or are, in fact, an alien robot.

Condensing your beloved work of art into one or two pithy sentences and then selling it in five minutes sounds impossible and terrifying (moreso because, until about thirty seconds ago, I thought it was ten minutes. ARGH!).

Thankfully, people have done this before and SURVIVED! Some have even SOLD THINGS! The mind boggles.

How does one conquer this hill of terror?

I asked this same question before the London Comedy Writers Festival earlier this year, and Phill Barron and Laurence Timms provided excellent tips here (also in PDF).

But what about Speed Pitching specifically? How does one not die in a five minute conversation with A Really Important Person? Jared Kelly’s blog about Speed Pitching at LSWF is a Survival Handbook – and the most important (and scary) thing I gleaned from it is this: you have to pitch in sixty seconds.

But damnit, I’m wordy! I can’t order lunch in sixty seconds! How am I meant to sell a 110-page feature? That’s less than a second per page!

*breathes*

There are obvious things that you need to get out there.

1) Who are you? Do you have a name, pitcher? Sticking your business card in your pitchee’s eye probably doesn’t work here.

2) What are you pitching? Is it for TV? Is is a film? Is is a theme park and you’re in the wrong building?

3) What genre is it? Comedy? Horror? Steampunk action-adventure? And how are you going to reflect how funny/scary/geeky your project is in the rest of the pitch? Your pitch needs to be as genred as your script.

4) LOGLINE. It’s the one-sentence summary of your creation. It’s the thing cinemas publish to get you to see their film. It’s how you persuade your friends to see the film you want on a Wednesday night. It’s the DVD cover blurb.

And if you’ve never managed to persuade your mates to watch Inception instead of yet another Amy Adams rom com (my favourite’s Leap Year), it might be time to practice.

From there, you can talk about your character and your plot, their integral relationship, and how it keeps going wrong until it goes right (or everybody dies). Don’t fall into the trap of just regurgitating your plot but don’t jump around like the Energizer bunny on speed, hitting the highlights but forgetting to actually string them together so that they make sense to someone living outside your head.

Hopefully, once I’m a Speed Pitching Survivor, I’ll have more intelligent things to say on the subject. For now, this post on pitching only took me forty-five minutes to write. Things are looking up!

The Writer on Holiday

If, like me, a week away from your laptop and constant access to Twitter fills you with dread, here are some tips to appease your creative sensibilities while still getting some much-needed downtime.

1) Scribble on paper and then lock your notes in the safe

A paper note can be a refreshing way to examine your ideas and help you make connections you might not have otherwise grasped.

As for the safe, this is not because some would-be plagiarist might steal them (see Lucy V’s post here), but because the maid might be disturbed by the carefully planned murder laid out on hotel stationery.

2) Mobile apps are your friend

I drafted this post in the bar with a cocktail. Evernote, Celtx, Dropbox – make sure they’re synced and ready to go. Also, take advantage of any hotel wifi for a quick glance at email (though I dutifully set my auto-responder) – it’s particularly good if there’s a time limit to the thing, for those of us too weak to stay disconnected.

3) Research material

I’m aiming to bring an amateur detective to life in November, so my holiday literature consisted principally of detectives’ first outings. The rest were thrillers – get yourself in the mood. The same applies to the in-flight movie – pick something genre appropriate.

4) New locations, cultures, characters

A hotel, resort, or campsite is the perfect place to meet your cast. You’ll see the same folk by the pool, on the slopes, at the buffet, in the bars. And you may pick up a setting or the whiff of an exotic idea you’d never before contemplated.

Steampunk assassins was first conceived on a holiday to Sri Lanka, and I’m not entirely sure it could’ve been born anywhere else. Fawlty Towers is based on the Pythons’ stay with a grumpy hotelier in Torquay. Keep an open mind.

5) Remember to relax and switch off

Take some “me” time. A quick massage, a round of crazy golf, or even an extra helping of dessert can set you up wonderfully to start anew when you get home.

And maybe ditch that monitor tan for something people get from that sunlight thing.

A criminal mind

I haven’t got the head for crime.

Stomach, sure – I’ve been watching CSI over dinner for years. And the heart, certainly: Castle, The Mentalist, Poirot, Sherlock are amongst my firm favourites.

But the brain-juice? Not so much.

I just finished Jeffrey Deaver’s latest Lincoln Rhyme novel “The Burning Wire”. Deaver’s a genius and I’ve loved every single one of this series. But, once again, I couldn’t see the twist coming. Or the second twist. Or the final twist. Or the one after that (and that may not look logical but, trust me, it is truth – the man’s RELENTLESS with the TWISTS).

I NEVER see it coming. I can never get the bad guy. Once or twice, I’ve guessed it. That’s from watching about twelve seasons of CSI: Anyville, the above-mentioned shows, and numerous crime novels. Once. Or twice. Maybe three times tops.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. Congratulations, you might say, the girl gets the fun and horror of surprise from every crime. Huzzah!

Except I want to write a crime novel.

I’ve got my detective and her sidekick. I’ve decided on her city. I know how she gets involved in the work and what she brings to the table. I’ve even tentatively started outlining a villian and his victims.

But if my brain can’t follow someone else’s crimework, how am I ever going to construct my own? And, sure, maybe it’s something you can learn. But until I understand how it works, how the reader picks up the clues and puts the guess together, how can I replicate that experience? Short of simply coping someone else, and that’s beyond cheap.

So I’m re-reading my favourite crime books. I’m rewatching all of Castle (oh, the hardship!). But when I read The Bone Collector for the second time, I managed to fall for the same misdirection as I did last time. I thought I was being clever, remembering the twist – but it turned out that I had been drawn in AGAIN. Fool me once, etc.

Maybe I’m just not cut out for crime. Time to get back to something I actually understand – maybe that Steampunk Assassins script, eh?

A Whole New World

I’ve been knee-deep in development work for my projects this past month, responding to some thought-provoking notes on Steampunk Assassins from Ste Russell at Loves Me Not Films and attempting to whip The Greenwich Problem into shape before sending it out to producers.

However, three opportunities came along this week that had me dusting off old projects and exploring their potential.

The first was a call for feature screenplays based in and around Europe, which required writing a treatment for said screenplay. This seemed like a perfect fit for The Local, my Script Frenzy screenplay about an English doctor joining Welsh villagers in their fight against a construction company. A very “local” European story!

Unfortunately, I loathe treatments and I haven’t done a pass on The Local for about four months, so I needed to re-familiarise myself with the ins-and-outs of Act 2 to try and sell my story. Still ongoing, but my personal editor is on it.

The second is news of a relaunch for a new media series for which I was going to write before it got shelved. I had to flick through all my old e-mail correspondence from January (neatly filed, thank God) before I remembered what the script was even meant to be about!

And the third is a brilliant competition from The Immersive Writing Lab through Circalit – creating a storyworld.

Until today, I had little idea what I storyworld was but: think Star Wars. Think The Matrix. Think Battlestar Galactica. It’s a whole societal concept suitable for a multi-media platform.

Do I have something that might fit those requirements? Step in, Overambitious Island. There’s a reason I labelled the project with that daunting title and it’s because it’s a novel concept for which I developed not only an entirely new society but also a language. Yes, I decided I wanted to play Tolkien and have a go at amateur linguistics.

Remarkably, I can still wax lyrical about their education system, their core religious beliefs and their extensive martial arts. I can even remember the reasons the more right-wing elements of London hate their guts.

The lesson is this: if you were once enthusiastic about a project, you may set it to one side, you may even despair of it ever being worthwhile, but you should always keep an open mind about its future.

Except if it’s about dream heists. I mean, you could develop that thing for ten years, and nothing would ever come of it…

An octopus in a pie factory

You remember that New Years Resolution to concentrate on one thing at a time?

Yeah, guess how well that’s going.

Still reeling from my Laughing Stock second round status (unbelievable squee), I ran straight into a horror short about the Tube. Which is perfect for creepiness.

Oh, and I’m working on a webcomic idea with an incredibly talented artist. More on that when we’ve decided on Strip #1. For now, I’ll say three words: Victoriana. Spirits. Steaaaaam.

And there’s that other horror short? Why am I so in love with horror shorts? Horror films make me freak out.

I should probably actually finish Steampunk Assassins off, yeah?

Also, sticking my nose into my friends’ script will probably just end up in more work for me – though there may be a whiff of a credit.

I need to make like squash and CONCENTRATE.

One to one-hundred-and-ten pages

I went on an excursion to Bristol to visit a friend. From Pads, it’s about ninety minutes, so I left the laptop at home and took the hard drive (for TV catch-up) and the iPhone.

I do my best writing on trains. But would that hold true without keys beneath my fingers and the ability to do more than one thing at a time?

Turned out pretty well. I opened up my scripts in Celtx and fiddled about with them – the major downside was not being able to copy and paste long sequences, as I overhauled my final fight scene in Steampunk Assassins. I also looked up an old draft of the script using Dropbox to see if I still had an old scene that may get reworked into the finale sequence.

The other project I worked on was my entry for the Laugh A Minute competition, which is inspired by Lucy V’s call for sex. Unfortunately, nobody actually has sex, but they were about to get down to it before the hijinks ensued.

The difference between a one-page romp and a feature-length saga is obvious. One’s really long, innit? Also, things like setup, characterisation, plot and turning points go from being lovingly tracked through beats and acts to something quick and dirty that barely has a line to work with.

And, of course, Steampunk Assassins has been an idea for almost seven years and a WIP-script for around twelve months. This naughty little short went from genesis to completion in less than a week – including two rewrites.

I’m thinking about sending out my short tomorrow. I may not send out Steampunk Assassins for another six months. It’s harder to let go of something that you’ve sunk yourself into – but then what’s the point? I’m not writing for my desk drawer and my Dropbox.

Cool things:

Lucy V takes us through Thriller V Horror

Sherlock script up at BBC writersroom

More production blog from The Underwater Realm, which just looks prettier and awesomer (totally a word) with each passing week.

A million different doors

Firstly, congratulations to the exceptionally talented team at Realm Pictures for winning the Pepsi Max It competition. You can see their award-winning entry here and the production blog for their next project here.

So, with all this talent exploding just down the road, surely I should be drawing some inspiration and cracking on with my Next Big Thing?

Obviously. Which is why I’m updating my blog.

I finished my entry for Laughing Stock and then…what? There’s my Baking Lawyer rom com feature that I started to plot – then realised it was only half-baked (*groan*). I struggle with the “Fun and Games” parts of the scripts – the fun, trailer set pieces. I much prefer my turning points and my dark times.

Then there are a couple of short to medium length shorts that I have brewing in my brain. I wonder if they might be a better use of my time – and have a little more flesh to them already.

There’s also a novella and a comic book that I’ve sounded out to a couple of people, as well as doing a final pass on Steampunk Assassins.

In short, I have absolutely no idea in which direction to run.

So I’m standing still.

Plot on the go

Inspiration is unpredictable. And often inconvenient in timing.

I’ve gone through phases on how I record my lightning-bolt moments. Until recently, I used to carry a notebook in my bag to scrawl down whatever came into my head – the “rewrite” of Steampunk Assassins took place on a train (naturally) with a bunch of papers tied together with red ribbon.

When I was younger, I had a Dictaphone. I would write poetry and flash-fiction on it, record random plot ideas and sing songs into it. My co-writer and I once sat down all afternoon with it and recorded a lengthy discussion on how best to play out our magnum opus (as yet unwritten – ah, teen spirits!).

I also had a mini-computer, which did me very well – until I tried to use in on a coach and it careered into the window, smashing the screen. My PDA was bought for work purposes but was also appropriated for plotting and writing.

Now, I have an iPhone. And I’ve been using the Notes application to record my random plots – from new ideas to scene rewrites to character profiles. Until I realised that I couldn’t sync them with the laptop. And the iOS4 update erased them all, much to my horror.

Therefore, today I am transferring them all to Evernote. I’m already using it on my desktop, but the mobile version lets me record my inspiration moments and know that I’ve got them backed up online and on the laptop.

I’m also mobile with Celtx and Dropbox, meaning there is no excuse for slacking on my work, when I have my latest notes, script drafts and research at the bus stop on a rainy day.

Now, there are no excuses.

Damn.