Piggy in the Middle

The story so far…

Once upon a time there was a script.  Now this little script wasn’t a very happy script.  It was all broken up into pieces and - as was the world at the dawn of time - was without shape or form.

Lo, there came an Electric Writer who tried to fix the script.  And the script began to develop and take shape.  But still it wasn’t a happy script.  It still lacked form.  But slowly and surely the pieces began to come together…

Now, for the purposes of creating a dramatically suspenseful moment I could include the phrase “To be continued” at this point.  But, dear electric reader, you do not deserve to be exposed to such well-trodden material.

It has now been some time since the extended period of writers block suddenly disappeared and went on holiday (or “vacation” if you happen to be American).  However, it looms like the shadow of an alien spacecraft from such films as Independence Day and, er, that other film which is sort of like Independence Day.

However, the electric script for a forthcoming electric feature film progresses, slowly but surely.  It has, however, reached what I call The Lethargy Point.  The Lethargy Point works like this:

A writer spends many months developing an idea for a script.  He takes showers, writes notes, thinks in bed during the night, and finally decides that, yes, this is the script he is going to write.  Aforementioned writer then engages the A2SF2K (Arse To Seat, Fingers To Keyboard) formula and soon realises that much of the idea development should be jettisoned due to the creative flow taking a new organic direction.  It is at this point that some writers would begin to panic; our example writer does not do this because he realises that many things can change in a script between the idea and rough draft.

(One hastens to add that ‘rough draft’ can be an extremely useful alternative when referring to a first draft in case it turns out to be really shit, then one can say ‘But it’s only a rough draft; it’s just sketching out ideas for a first draft.’)

So our writer jollies along with the rough draft, whistling while he works, drinking tea, and looking forward to the end.  But then something curious happens.  The ideas dry up.  And the rough draft is too short.  Our writer reads through his masterpiece - which has a beginning, middle and end (though not necessarily in that order) - and realises that the script is running at only an hour!  He is now faced with a dilemma.

Our writer recalls a time when he heard someone mention a ‘medium length film’.  Medium length film?  Do such things exist?  Like The Twilight Zone, it is that strange middle-ground between science and superstition, or, in this case, between a short film and a feature film.  Thus, theoretically, our writer has a completed script - for a ‘medium length film’.  It would be so much easier to settle for this than go through the trauma of having to rethink the whole idea and expand the script to full-length.  Or does he grow a set of creative balls, realise who the fall guy is likely to be in this arena, and press on to page 90, 100 or even 120?  Because, let’s be frank here, folks: who the hell cares about a ‘medium length’ film?  It’s just a long short film.

The more astute of you out there will, of course, realise that the principles of The Lethargy Point amounts to nothing more than a metaphorical disguise for blatant laziness and another one of those displacement activities for not writing.  It is the point in one’s writing where the script reaches a length recognised in the industry as ‘medium length’ and it would be easier to stop there and then and come up with some cock-and-bull creative excuse for why this is the ‘ideal duration for the execution of this idea;’ or words to that effect.

In an ideal world it’s a short film, a feature film, or episode of EastEnders.

And so one stops for a metaphorical cup of tea at the metaphorical café situated at The Lethargy Point, thanks the waitress, and then presses on, ever forward, leaving it further and further behind.  That’s the signpost up ahead.  It says: “Stop deluding yourself and write a full-length script, you lazy git!”

Electric Reader

The most astute members of my electric fan club will have noticed that it’s been pretty darn quiet around here of late with a rather severe lack of bloggage.

Whilst most of those people will not feel any emotion towards the situation whatsoever, it is only fair that I offer an explanation.  For the whole of 2010 A.D. I was engaged with my electric digital camera taking photographic images each day.  This project is now over, and you can see the results at the end of this handy Project 365 link.

Meanwhile, I enter the new year with a renewed sense of optimism.  Well, not so much optimism - rather trepidation disguised as optimism who later finds out that it was probably only realism which, let’s face it, pretty much lives next door to pessimism.

But I continue on nonetheless with a re-ignited plan to write something other than the ramblings on this blog.  This is all part of a big plan, you see; a plan that is surely destined to (not) bring me fame and fortune.

One has decided that in order to keep the creative cogs churning (Surely “turning”? - Ed.) one should not only write a lot more but also read a lot more.  I therefore set out on a mission to enter the 21st century and acquired an Amazon Kindle reading device.  This handy gadget now allows me to carry my entire book collection wherever I go.  I have already begun to read a lot more.  However, I have also identified a number of pros and cons associated with this:

1. The purchase of an electric reader means I can carry many books and spend more time reading (pro)
2. By spending more time reading I am directly inspiring my writing (pro)
3. By spending more time reading I am spending less time writing (con)
4. By spending less time writing I am spending more time worrying about a) less time writing and b) imminent bankruptcy due to cost of replacing entire library with electronic books (con)
5. By spending more time worrying I am spending less time sleeping (con) 
6. By spending less time sleeping I am spending more time worrying about insomnia (con)
7. See point 5 above (con)
8. Endless loop of points 5-7 is likely to lead to total nervous meltdown and institutionalisation (pro or con, depending on who knows me)

It would perhaps be foolhardy to return the Kindle for a refund at this early stage based on the line of reasoning above, so I shall give it six months and see how things lie.

In the meantime, I find myself reminiscing over all the advice I used to give to the aspiring writers whose work frequented my desk in the BBC script unit where I used to work, and realising that the contents of the multi-page document “BBC Writers Guidelines” was largely a load of bollocks.

One has therefore refined one’s thoughts in this area and presents forthwith a new set of guidelines for anyone who wishes to be a writer:

ELECTRIC WRITER’S ELECTRIC WRITING GUIDE

1. Buy paper
2. Write something

Daytime Hell

Picture the scene: Struggling scriptwriter struggles out of bed in the morning and proceeds to struggle with conjuring up something worthwhile to write about.  This may be anything from a blog article to a full-on idea for a film screenplay.

Struggling scriptwriter decides to take a break (even though he hasn’t written anything yet) and decides to watch the electric television set for inspiration.  After struggling to locate the remote control (which is eventually discovered under the sofa cushion along with a strawberry-flavoured chewy sweet and two pecan nuts) struggling scriptwriter settles down to the inevitable menu of diverse and mind-expanding programming, the likes of which will relight his creativity and result in the best masterpiece he has ever written…

It does not take the genius of a brain surgeon to work out how this story ends.

The unfortunate truth is that daytime television programmes are the worst example of television programmes in the history of televisual entertainment, and anyone associated with them, however remotely, should be eliminated in the name of public health and safety.

There is a tragic dead zone in the morning from around 10 o’clock until midday when all that is available to watch is shows about buying houses or antiques.  No sooner had I switched on the television than I was subjected to the face of a grinning idiot who came out with the immortal line: “This house has had more extensions than a footballer’s wife’s hair.”

I am a firm believer that dialogue in any kind of show - whether it be dramatic, comedic or factual - should at least go some way to sounding how real people speak.  This is a problem for many aspiring scriptwriters; they simply write “dialogue” which doesn’t sound like dialogue.  It is either explanatory guff, poorly constructed or completely incomprehensible.

The scripts written for these daytime property and antiques shows are the complete opposite.  They are over-written, over-polished, and full of puns designed as seamless segues into the following item.  You can just sense the endless hours that have been spent in the production office by brainless “writers” trying to come up with these clever “links” whilst still making them sound as though they’ve been adlibbed on the spot.  What is worse is that they are spoken by people who possibly hold the record for being the most irritating people on the entire planet, with a manner that usually instils the urge to shove one’s foot through the television screen.  Thus, very little in the way of inspiration is gleaned from such vacuous material or, indeed, people.

However, on this particular day one did actually find an idea developing in one’s head stemming directly from the vacuous grinning idiot.  In fact, the scenario for a hugely-exciting cinema feature film began to form in one’s creative mind.  Picture the scene:

Struggling scriptwriter struggles out of bed in the morning and proceeds to struggling with conjuring up something worthwhile to write about.  Struggling scriptwriter decides to watch the electric television set for inspiration and settles down to the inevitable menu of diverse and mind-expanding programming.  Struggling scriptwriter is disturbed to see the menacing face of a grinning idiot who says: “This house has had more extensions than a footballer’s wife’s hair.”

Wracked with feelings of hate and revenge against those responsible for this travesty, struggling scriptwriter launches on a new career-move to rid the world of the televisual plague.  He joins MI5, engages in a specialist intelligence operation to wipe out all daytime television presenters from the face of the Earth, then forms an elite assassination squad to hunt down the man who wrote this line and shoot him.