Wednesday, October 29, 2014

'There's A Worm At The Bottom Of The Garden'

Yes it's a short story, but if you're not into reading fiction on the internet, it's a very short story, part of the 'Den Of Eek' anthology which has just been released on Kindle, with proceeds going to support cancer charities, as part of DenOfGeek.com's Geeks Vs Cancer appeal. Each story deals with the theme of urban legends.

I read this story as part of an event last Halloween, and was lucky enough to go last (everyone's receptive to the final story of an evening because then they can go to the loo qualm-free). I've never read a story out loud before, and there turned out to be a surprising amount of adrenaline involved, basically because the feedback loop for a scriptwriter is usually, at best, six months-ish, so hearing people's reactions seconds after I've flapped some wordings from my mouthhole was a weirdly new experience.

A lot of this story is in the reading, so you have to imagine my voice, which is like a cross between Benedict Cumberbatch and Jon Hamm but sexier than I've made that sound ANYWAY SHUT UP JAMES DO THE STORY.



There’s A Worm At The Bottom Of The Garden

That thing that every barcode has to contain the number ‘666’ or it doesn’t work? Or if you pull a face and the wind changes, you’ll get stuck like it? Or that thing about the dead granny on the car roof? My dad made all those up.

Dad loved his little stories. He was a writer, although if he’d told anyone that, he’d have had to kill them. Or give their name and address to a third party a couple of doors down who’d do it in-house. If he ever did have to tell people where he worked, he usually said Health and Safety. Which was true. Kind of.

It had all begun in World War Two. The British government had cracked the whole radar thing, and the Germans wanted to know how their bombers were suddenly being located in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night by Hurricanes and Spitfires that had come seemingly hundreds of miles out of their way for no good reason.

The explanation the British Government came up with was ‘carrots’. Two thriller writers and a librarian were pulled out of their normal duties and told to come up with a story that sounded good, before the Germans made the connection with the oddly-shaped concrete structures on the Kent coast and realised the Brits had the ability to see flying things and floating things from quite a long way away, and we lost our advantage for good. What the writers came up with was ‘carrots’.

Specifically, that carrots gave their consumers excellent night vision, and that the British populace had started eating carrots dawn, noon and night, and consequently every spotter on the ground, every plucky pilot with a handlebar moustache, every old maid cycling to church with a cold beer or something, had consequently developed hawklike 20/20 vision and the ability to spot a Heinkel bomber ten miles away on a dark night even in thick cloud.

The story was printed out and passed on to trusted agents who began spreading it in every tavern, teashop and town hall in the land. The Germans bought it. And the British bought more carrots. Many many more carrots. Because of the night vision thing. Which was why, when the Germans finally did twig radar, the two conscripted novelists and the librarian weren’t sent back to their units, but given a nice office and told to keep coming up with the stories, even after the war ended, the government thinking: if a made up story can sell carrots without even trying, how far can we take this thing if we really go for it? And thus the secret government department of UrbLeg was created.

The plan was to release controlled legends in conflict areas, carefully engineering flawed narratives into each story’s DNA, rendering them unbelievable once they had spread beyond a certain point. So by the time people started comparing notes and saying things like ‘Hey, if that thing with the clown and the scorpion is true, who the hell is telling the story?’, the damage was done, the seed of doubt sown, the regime destabilised, the rebellion suppressed.

Of course, it couldn’t work forever. Rival nation states quickly worked out what was going on, and began setting up their own UrbLeg departments, often contracting their best literary talents to work undercover. Early experiments often ended in failure: French weaponised narratives often imploded in ennui, the Russians’ went on for so long, and so gloomily, many of their targets simply wandered off, and the Americans included such overt product placement, the targets became suspicious. ‘And the murderer was calling from inside the house! On a Bell Electric Western System telephone, which has great audio clarity and comes in a variety of colours!’

It was bad enough that when these narratives met each other in the wild they started mating, creating thousands of bastard anecdotes with minor variations, each a little more macabre, a little more likely to dig in with it story hooks and be carried to places UrbLegs were never meant to go. Bad enough that they started coming home to roost, the creator of the ‘spiders bursting out of the boil on the girl’s cheek’ story hearing it told back to him just three weeks after he’d generated it after a bad marital breakup and way too much coffee. But worse, far worse, was what a squad of brutally conscripted magical realists locked in a bunker somewhere in South America managed to do, sometime around the early Seventies.

My dad had just started working at UrbLeg then, recruited after his regularly rejected series of children’s stories called ‘The Constant and Depressing Deaths of Tiny Emil and His Friend Harbottle” had come to the attention of a high-up civil servant with an eye for talent, and positions to fill after a number of internal breakdowns. And so his first day at work, my father heard the gasps of disbelief, and saw the trembling hands clutching faxes, that announced the first weaponised narrative had gone meta.

Out there, in the South American rainforest, the magical realists, who already had a bad rep for playing with nested narratives, had gone completely, bug-eyed insane, and created an urban legend that had turned itself into a coherent system of interrelated and sequentially organized stories sharing a common rhetorical desire to resolve a conflict by establishing audience expectations according to the known trajectories of their literary and rhetorical form. Shit had got real.

A United Nations approved list of literary critics were parachuted into the jungle, fighting three days and three nights until the breakout was suppressed, every single one desperate to point out the irony that they were critiquing urban legends in a singularly rural environment, but all the time knowing introducing one more ounce of self-awareness could turn the whole thing really fucking icky. Finally it was over, loose story threads burned from the trees by flamethrowers, every last potential sequel stamped squealing into the blackened ground, and my father and his new co-workers gathered round a speaker listening to the whole thing.

After that, it could never be business as usual. The South Americans had made a crack in the world, and it was only a mater of time until something forced its way through. Things quietened down, ambitions lessened. UrbLeg started restricting itself to homilies, minor anecdotes, satirical nursery rhymes. Many of the staff were laid off, and when I replaced my dad after he died after a thing in ninety-six, UrbLeg was down to three people. The internet gave us a brief resurgence, but was really just cranking out umpteen variations on the same old ‘waking up without kidneys’ stories on various forums. Still, it paid the mortgage.

Until the Coalition took over. One day, without warning, we were all sacked. And the next day, rehired again, on zero hour contracts by StoryCorp the same large corporation, with fingers in television, films and advertising that had, as far as we could tell, taken over every urban legend generation department across the known world.

For three days, nothing happened. There were rumours we were being integrated into viral marketing units, maybe doing some ARGs for some upcoming computer game. Then the order came, to every UrbLeg department across the world, just two sentences, one little story we had to get out to every sentient being on the planet. Our terms of employment ended after this last job, and we couldn’t help noting StoryCorp didn’t appear to have made any long terms plans for paying gas or electric on our building either.

The new story was “There’s a worm at the bottom of the garden, and his name is GARKASH THE DESTROYER, BRINGER OF THE END TIMES, DEVOURER OF HOPE. Please do not resist his coming”.

True story.




Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Readthroughs

I have been in London doing script readthroughs for The Delivery Man. A script 'readthrough' is where you read 'through' a script, where would you be without this blog and its industry insights eh, NOWHERE FAST that's where.

Junior actors, or 'actlets' get very excited about readthroughs, because they think it is an opportunity to try out different voices, and add or take away bits of dialogue depending on how clever they are feeling that morning, but they are WRONG, a script readthrough is mostly to see if the script is as long as the telly slot it is supposed to be fitting into. Ideally just a little bit longer, so if anything goes wrong you have stuff to cut, rather than being too short so that you have to add stage directions like 'everyone stares into space for 1min 32 seconds' like Pinter did WE'RE ON TO YOU PINTER.

If it's too long, that's not good, unless it's exactly twice as long, in which case you cut it in two and phone the broadcaster and say 'hey, good news, we have an extra episode!', which is more or less what happened with episodes eight and nine of Green Wing series one. #true

In case you don't believe I was in a 'room' with 'actors', here is a photo of me with 'actor' Alex MacQueen, who played Julius in The Thick Of It and is thus a hero to @Patroclus, who insisted I had my picture taken with him.


It turns out this is a great way to divide and conquer actors and thus let them know who's boss, by casually announcing 'my wife has insisted I take a 'selfie' with one of you BUT ONLY ONE WHO COULD IT BE'. Cue actors flicking their eyes from side to side with increasing nervousness over potential loss of status as I walk slowly around the room saying things like 'lalalala it could be you- BUT IT'S NOT, maybe it's this actor NO IT ISN'T, here we go it's Alex'.

It has been pointed out that Alex looks almost more excited to meet me than I was to meet him, which only emphasises how good an actor he is, and all the other ones could learn from him and his positive attitude.

Anyway, we start the readthrough, then realise no-one is available to time it.

ME: Where is Chris, the First Assistant Director? For usually it is he who times these readthroughs.
SOMEONE ELSE: Chris is in LA filming the new series of Episodes.
ME: CURSE YOU STEPHEN MANGAN AND YOUR ATLANTIC STRETCHING TENTACLES OF EVIL.

So I volunteered to time the readthrough, which disappointed everyone in the room because they were secretly hoping I would read some lines, at which I am very good. They didn't say anything, but I knew that's what they were thinking. However, now I had to not read lines and turn my phone back on, because I had turned it off so it didn't ring during the readthrough, which was very professional of me, I think.

Long silence.

DIRECTOR: Can we start now?
ME: My phone is still starting up.

Long silence. Eventually my phone makes a small beeping noise and something swims to the surface of the picture bit, 'screen', that's the word I was looking for.

ME: (helpfully) This phone is a Samsung Pocket Geo!

Everyone absorbs this information.

DIRECTOR: Now can we start?
ME: It's just sorting out its icons.

Further silence.

ME: Ooh, I've got Google+ on this, that's bound to come in handy at some point.

Bit more silence.

ME: Nearly there.
ACTOR: We could use my phone if it's-
ME: LOOK I HAVE ONE JOB ALL RIGHT?

Phone beeps.

ME: (calmly, with air of authority) You may all proceed.

I can now announce the following scoop, which will surely be in all the major media outlets seconds after I press 'Publish', that Episode 4 currently runs at thirty minutes twenty eight seconds, which is a bit long for an ITV half hour, which is twenty two minutes twenty seconds.

So basically we're going to have to sack someone. Not Alex though.



Thursday, September 25, 2014

The Delivery Man

I haven't done this blog for ages! Poor thing, I have neglected you.

Anyways, I'm surfacing, because to everyone's surprise, including my own, I seem to be co-writing a sitcom that is actually going into production. IN PRODUCTION! It is this one: The Delivery Man, and filming starts in November, to be shown on ITV sometime in Spring next year. It stars, amongst others, Darren Boyd, who I've written for in Smack The Pony and Green Wing but never actually met, so that'll be fun.

There is an actual production office and everything. Look, here is a prop!


Next week there is a full table read of the first three scripts. Which means I am going to be in a room with other people. SCARY.

Sunday, July 13, 2014

Penryn Arts Festival: Screenwriters/Writers Q&A

This is quite specific to Falmouth/Penryn, but as part of the Penryn Arts Festival, I'm doing a Q&A next Friday with Emma Frost and Emily Barr. Details below:

Jamaica Inn screenwriter to lead writers’ panel at Penryn Arts Festival PENRYN, 13th July 2014

Emma Frost, screenwriter of the Emmy-nominated BBC television drama The White Queen, as well as the recent BBC1 adaptation of Jamaica Inn, will be taking questions from drama fans and aspiring writers at a Q&A session at Penryn Town Hall on Friday evening.

The panel session is part of the Penryn Arts Festival, which takes place from this Friday 18th to Sunday 20th July at locations and venues around the town. Emma will be joined on the panel by fellow Falmouth and Penryn-based writers James Henry (screenwriter, Green Wing, Smack the Pony, Shaun the Sheep) and Emily Barr, author of thriller novel The Sleeper, set on the Cornwall-London sleeper train.

The Q&A is a fantastic opportunity for aspiring professional writers to ask any questions about the creative writing process; breaking into the industry; and balancing a professional writing career with living in Cornwall – as well as any questions about the three writers’ novels, dramas and comedies. The session is free to enter, but those wishing to attend are asked to reserve a place via the Eventbrite link

Monday, March 03, 2014

At Home With Writers

Half past seven. The children are in bed, and my wife @Patroclus and I have retired downstairs, where the gentle clicking of laptop keys is the only sound for half an hour or so. Finally:

ME: What are you doing?
@Patroclus: Thing about geoploitical implications for Finnish energy companies' IT systems.
ME: Ah.

Pause.

@Patroclus: What are you doing?
ME: Outline for that CBeebies thing, about a caterpillar.
@Patroclus: Ah.

Pause.

Suddenly:

ME: OH THIS IS TOO HARD!

I storm upstairs. After a while:

@Patroclus: Can I have a bath after you?
ME: GOD, WHATEVER, YES, FINE.

Half an hour later:

ME: I'm finished in the bath now, and I think.... I think, I've cracked the caterpillar outline.
@Patroclus: That's good, I've nearly done the Finnish thing now.
ME: OH WHO CARES ABOUT YOUR SORDID BUSINESS WORLD I'VE BEEN MAKING ART.

'DUGGEE' begins this September, on CBeebies.

Tuesday, February 04, 2014

Spec scripts and things that quietly went away.

I was slightly startled early in the new year to have a meeting with a development exec who told me she'd looked up my website and read my sitcom script sample 'Romey Loves Jools'. Startled, because a) I sort of forgot I had a website, and b) I wrote 'Romey Loves Jools' at least ten years ago, so I have no idea if it's in any way representative of my current work. I'm still very fond of it, I just have no idea if that's my 'voice' any more. Also it's only the first twelve pages, I should really put the whole thing up there. Or delete it entirely.

But it did make me think I should maybe put up something more current.The problem is of course you can't put anything too new up, because it might still be up for grabs, and execs hate being more than the third or fourth person to read a script, which is fair enough.

So I've put up one spec* sitcom script, which is dear to my heart, as it's about LARPing, but I'm going to have to accept that the look most comedy producers give me when I get all excited about a show in which 'people with social problems dress up as wizards and elves and fight each other in the woods with rubber swords' is probably not a positive one, and release it into the wild. It's called 'FELLOWSHIP OF THE WRONG'

The other script was developed with the lovely lovely people at Carnival Films, who after hitting gold with 'Downton Abbey' thought they could develop my idea about a failed superhero who ends up working in a gated community filled with (he discovers) reformed, or at least 'pretending to be reformed' supervillains, into something NBC might like.

Unfortunately, the relevant people at NBC kept wandering off, or dying, or regenerating into newer, less-interested people, and in the end we pulled the plug. But I'm still very fond of it, and it's up now and called 'HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO'

* A spec, or 'speculative' script being a non-commissioned or unsolicited screenplay. Upside: you can write about absolutely anything you want. Downside: it is entirely unpaid writing work, although you write in hopes someone will be interested enough to pay you something at some point, or (more likely, although still not *that* likely), it will interest some producer or development exec enough to lead to paid work elsewhere.

Bridge & Tunnel: How Opal Slew The Dark Lord








Friday, January 17, 2014

How Opal Slew The Dark Lord: Part Three

Here are the final three pages of the first Bridge and Tunnel comic, scripted by myself, illustrated by Sarah Gordon. Should be some news on where this is going to go next early in Feburary, so keep an eye out. In the meantime, thanks for reading, and for lovely comments on here and on Twitter.

How Opal Slew The Dark Lord: Part Two